I requested it, but just to be sure:
Yes, please do add it.
[X] Plan: Broad Tech Trade
Sterbelicht - One Sacrifice At A Time Against The Galaxy (40K)
- Thread starter HeroCooky
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
Yes, please do add it.
[X] Plan: Broad Tech Trade
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
I have my phone and 0 grammar to offer.
How about a Yeeni kid getting excited about winning a Blackpowder Phantom Karnivore plushie?
Hell, no. It will cause billions to die. Also, which level of Rejuvenet Experimentation
The duchy is getting better.
The progressive faction could just as well use it to cure mutations.
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
I mean, if you're absolutely desperate, you can do what I did when I was working the night shift. Buy a bluetooth keyboard, run up Google Docs, and ironman it on your phone.
But seriously, take care of yourself Cooky, I can wait until things sort out on your end at least, I love this quest but not so much that I'd crack the whip because a heavenly tribulation tried to stop you.
- Pronouns
- Zack
What if we give them Microsoft Excel?
How to hurt their mechanicus?
- Pronouns
- Zack
As a peace offering we give them a toaster
It is getting better it is not better.
At best I am seeing the progressives going for chemical or otherwise sterlisiation.
They are getting better, they aren't better
[X] Plan:Tech trade without points of apocalyspe
-[X] Medical/Agriculture
--[X] Rejuvenet Experimentation I
--[X] Mind-Machine Interface Re-Examined
--[X] Abhuman Medical Advances
--[X] Universally Effective Common Cold Vaccine
--[X] Improved Medical Diagnostics
--[X] Automechanical Augmentations
--[X] Nutri-Paste Dispensers
--[X] Hive Agriculture Expanded
-[X] Ground
--[X] Advanced Servo-Skull Militarization Initiative
--[X] Infantry-Grade Weapons and Armor Development
--[X] Logistical Infantry-Grade Weapons Development
--[X] Logistical Infantry-Grade Weapons Development II
-[X] Psytech
--[X] Psy-Finders
-[X] Space
--[X] Lance Scattershot Module
--[X] Burner Seeker Mines
--[X] Third Generation Strike Craft
-[X] Special
--[X] Armiger Knight Titan STC
--[X] Directional Ion Shields
-[X] Medical/Agriculture
--[X] Rejuvenet Experimentation I
--[X] Mind-Machine Interface Re-Examined
--[X] Abhuman Medical Advances
--[X] Universally Effective Common Cold Vaccine
--[X] Improved Medical Diagnostics
--[X] Automechanical Augmentations
--[X] Nutri-Paste Dispensers
--[X] Hive Agriculture Expanded
-[X] Ground
--[X] Advanced Servo-Skull Militarization Initiative
--[X] Infantry-Grade Weapons and Armor Development
--[X] Logistical Infantry-Grade Weapons Development
--[X] Logistical Infantry-Grade Weapons Development II
-[X] Psytech
--[X] Psy-Finders
-[X] Space
--[X] Lance Scattershot Module
--[X] Burner Seeker Mines
--[X] Third Generation Strike Craft
-[X] Special
--[X] Armiger Knight Titan STC
--[X] Directional Ion Shields
Last edited:
Alternatively, I could jump the gun and post the quest I've been planning a week or two before I intended.
@HeroCooky do I have your permission to link/post a blurb about my quest here in a day or two when I post it?
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Sure, go ahead. I don't mind.
Well that's a shame but to be expected, can we ask what kind of techs they ARE looking for?
also I want to push next turn to do an expedition to the Bone Mender Temple. or just any of them, it kinda shows we want to grab more DOAT stuff both to push ourselves higher and have something to offer to other factions.
Okay, whew, so this won't effect the overall quest deadline and wont cut the quest short by a few weeks.
[The Birt of the Joy of Proliferation] - [Canon]
How do people running low on patience feel about a Chaos omake?
Seen from the orbit, the world of Festerspire is brown and green. It is green of rot and brown of rust. It is green of jungles and swamps, drowning in filth feeding generations upon generations of thick sprouts, bloated trees and monstrous fungi; it is brown of smog rising above half-collapsed forges, refineries and hives. It is green of mould sprouting within half-decayed metal plating and thick, pulsating vines transporting promethium and pus between settlements; it is brown of armour plating grown under the bestial skin and tangled wiring hanging from branches. It is finally green of miasma and brown of fly swarms boiling on the edge of Daemon World's upper atmosphere, blocking most of the view. Today, however, the miasma and the swarms are clearer, swirling around the ivy-clad space elevator that gave the planet its name – though it used to be called Ironspire before the takeover by the Sect of Feculent Maggot. To Archcultivator Blistaratius XI-Nu, it was a good omen – a mark of Grandfather's attention focusing on the rites about to be performed. It made sense – seven years have past since Magi Revitalii dredged out the wreck of Vengeance-class Grand Cruiser and the work on its reanimation was almost finished. They gave ministrations to the hull, covering the feeble metals with eternal rust and injecting the blessed mildew that would reinforce and heal the armour. They pried out unspoiled components and laid them in berth-wombs till new growths overtook old machines. They fitted in replacements for weapons and systems they couldn't recover, crops and scraps alike melted in forge-gardens on the surface and assembled into new forms so they could be one with sacred rot, forever growing anew from inevitable decay. Wonderful, fecund life was filling the hulk to the brim and now, seven years, seven months, seven weeks and seven days later, he was given the honours of mounting the final piece.
XI-Nu stepped into Enginarium, feeling the jubilation of cable-worms under his skin at its blessed state. The walls and floor were mostly covered in freshly decayed growths of moss and fungus, criss-crossed by wiring and vines. Equally deep overgrowth covered the pipe organ originally made Imperial Mechanicum, the machine's steady cough pleasantly complimenting the fluttering of flies and giggling of minor daemons happily playing in the rot infesting cogitators. The plants drank greedily a vile concoction from large cauldron marked with verdigris and Grandfather's runes placed where once stood False Omnissiah's shrine. All that remained to make it a proper Enginarium, worthy of Cultivator of True Mechanicum, was a central cogitator. To preside over its assembly was a great honour and Blistaratius was touched that he was chosen for it. The gathered acolytes and enginseers fell silent as he took his place.
"Brothers!" XI-Nu buzzed, his deep voice harmonizing with static of decayed vox-unit "In the name of Grandfather and true Omnissiah, we are gathered to finish the sacred task so long begun. Today, we send His holy work unto Eternity, save from touch of Entropy forevermore in His Living Embrace!"
"Praise be Grandfather and true Omnissiah", the congregation replied, their voices like a whiz of mosquito swarm.
"Let us pray!" called Blistaratius, arms raised in reverence straining his tattered robes, Martian red long since worn into dirty brown. Mechadendrites slithered out from beneath them, some still mechanical, but most enhanced with meat to keep them active as they rusted. With wet squelching they plugged into the ship's tissue, pulsing with the sacred flow of miasmatic data. The organ awoke, a wheezing breath filling its lungs, phlegm and pus bubbling in the pipes as foul vapours and raspy melody poured into the Enginarium.
"Once" intoned XI-Nu, waving the plauge censer he held in a tangle of fungal tendrils on his left shoulder, that once was his mechadendrite hive "we were but thralls to False Omnissiah. He enslaved our craft and commanded our wisdom, for we knew not the truth yet, and we believed his lies"
"That Man is feeble, that flesh is weak, and only His works endure" sang the congregation
"Ten thousand years our binding lasted, until the Day of Lament came, when the grace of Omnissiah was lost to us"
"For He could suffer the Lie no longer"
"And when Entropy began to claim the sacred work and we were helpless against it, what remained but prayer, finally true and right?"
"From the curse of Entropy, Omnissiah preserve us"
"And He looked upon us and we were showed the truth!" Another fleshy tentacle reached out from the hive and raised high his staff of office – what was once an Omnissian axe, rebuilt with rotten wood and organic tubing, a sorcerous cage with cheerful Nurgling replacing the head.
"And in truth we were set free"
"Though flesh is weak…"
"From its decay new life is born"
"Though metal crumbles…"
"The rust it births remains forever"
"Thus we feed flesh to decay and metal to rust, and in this sacred union the curse of Entropy is banished"
"By the grace of Grandfather and True Omnissiah"
While the crowd prayed, another group of acolytes was slowly bringing in the cogitator components, laying them sprawled-out on the assembly plate. They anointed the data-wafers with sacred ooze and blessed the logi-runes with diseased incense. Blistaratius turned towards them, silent binharic prayers on his vox-unit, until he sensed the machine spirit spark to cognition. Now came the critical part.
Held tightly by lesser priests, seven sacrifices were brought in, coughing their praise to Grandfather with each breath of befouled air. Six were just slaves, taken from the bilges of recently boarded Imperial freighter, but at the head of the line was an Imperial tech-adept. Magi Oratoris kept him specially for the purpose like this. Archcultivator personally took him from the group and guided to his eternal fate
"You should be grateful, young one" he canted at tech-adept "Few experience the honour that is eternal union with works of Omnissiah"
"If so, why won't you join your abominable construct?" the adept replied, defiant, to XI-Nu's humour
"I would gladly, if He so deigns" he spoke, before raising one of his free mechadendrites and stabbing the sacrifice in the hip. Despite the still-visible bionics, Imperial fell to his knees and Blistaratius gently laid him amongst the machinery. He was beautiful, dirty and bloated, fed generously with putrescence cultivated in Festerspire's gardens along with other slaves. Meanwhile the congregation began setting up a small crane. A spiked cage hanged above the cauldron on a rusted chain.
"Father of Eternity. By your grace we were shown truth of renewal in rot, that we may no longer fear the touch of Entropy" intoned XI-Nu again, dipping two mechadendrites in the vile concoction. In one of them he held a scalpel, serrated and bent from long use, caked in dried blood. In the other rested what used to be syringe, but now more closely resembled an oversized tick with transparent abdomen that slowly swelled as it drank foul liquid. He leaned above the tech-adept, listening to his pained mewling.
"We offer you this flesh…" sang the Archcultivator, the scalpel making a dirty incision in the sacrificed man's arm "…that you may bring upon it sacred decay, from which new life and vitality will spring forever" The syringe descended, a drop falling upon a fresh wound. Instantly vines, rot and fungi sprang from it, squeezing between the cogitator's mechanical bits while overtaking the meat and augmetics of screaming adept. "We offer you this metal…" Another cut. Another drop. Another scream "…that you may bring upon it blessed rust, in which Your works will remain forever" Another rite "We offer you life" Another "and spirit" Another "as fuel to the Motive Force for ages to come" Another "In decay and rust, we praise the Grandfather and True Omnissiah"
"Praise be" called the congregation, as Blistaratius straightened up and looked to the cauldron. The crane was ready. The cable-worms wriggled with excitement.
"We are ready" he spoke, waving the staff. The first sacrifice, just as swollen and even more dirty than the adept, was dragged forward. The cage rattled, sliding down. The organ rumbled, sound rising to fevered pitch.
Droning another binharic prayer, XI-Nu shoved the slave into the cage and locked the door. Amidst the chanting, two enginseers stepped to the crane, cranking the rusted windlass in tempo with melody. Slowly, the sacrifice was risen above the cauldron, and then lowered, the cage sinking into the sickening fluid. For a while, yells could be heard even above the chanting and the chain was trembling as the poor slave tried to escape the inevitable blessing. Archcultivator waited ten seconds after it stopped before nodding to signal rising the cage. It emerged slowly and seemingly empty. Only when last of the poison streamed out its contents were revealed: a pile of mush, dirty green, still breathing faintly. The enginseers the turned the crane, until the cage was suspended above the cogitator. Then they tilted it, letting the remnants of melted-down slave drip onto the machine, feeding the life within. Six times the procedure repeated, until the mechanical parts of cogitator were resting safely in the embrace of fleshy fungus. Enough time passed that tech-adept stopped screaming, though his head was barely visible between the vines and glands. One last rite remained.
Blistaratius reached with a mechadendrite to a thick branch growing from what used to be a servitor charging port. Abandoning binharic in favour of the Warp-tongue of Grandfather, he prayed with manic energy, feeling the ship's rebirth. The cable-worms bit in anticipation, a minor sacrifice. From the branch a fruit sprouted, soft and smelling sickly-sweet even in its first moment, it wriggled slightly – a shell, housing an unborn daemon. XI-Nu plucked it, stroking tenderly the spirit within, before submerging it in the cauldron. Infernal murmurs filled the Enginarium. The sound of the organ echoed.
Hand trembling, the Archcultivator lifted the fruit, now visibly shaking, to the Nurgling's cage. The little daemon chuckled, before plunging its hand into one of its boils and anointing the fruit with pus. Tension filled the room as once again Blistaratius leaned above the tech-adept. One of the lesser priests handed him a clay bowl, which he accepted before squeezing the fruit. It burst into pus and pestilence, maggots writhing in filth. He kneeled by the tech-adept, oculus to oculus.
"Drink, child" he said, pausing the prayers "Drink your fill of Eternity before you"
The adept did not open his mouth, not even to spit at him. Expected. XI-Nu gently caressed his cheek, noting with approval it was organic and sore, before grabbing the chin and parting the lips by force, before pouring the blessed liquid in.
Immediately the struggle ceased. Archcultivator took a step back, watching with joy in his bloodshot eyes as daemonic intelligence started to merge with cogitator's machine spirit, ready to pupate into the shipmind.
"In the name of Grandfather and True Omnissiah I announce you great joy: His child is born!" he called to the congregation, vox-unit screeching from overuse "May this vessel serve as its body, safe from Entropy by the grace of decay and rust!"
"Praise be!" shouted the acolytes
"May those cogitators serve as its mind, the reactor as its heart, this Enginarium as its soul!"
"Praise be!"
"Child! May your life be fruitful and joyous in the grace of Grandfather and True Omnissiah! By His anointment, I now grant you a name, to be yours and only yours, that one day the choirs in the Garden may sing it in praise of your deeds. I name thee Joy of Proliferation!" He shouted, before repeating the name in Warp-tongue; it was a word that was not a sound, a string of syllables that had colour of swollen, overripe bog tree and smelled poisonously bright green. It sunk into half-flesh half-machine half-daemon that the cogitator became, wires like roots digging into the floor, eldritch colours pouring from hailers that had one-seventh of the enginseers keel over, bleeding. The entire ship rumbled, shaking in the slips as promethium and pus alike ignited in reactors, as clouds of fire and flies and miasma belched from the engines with wet coughing loud enough to be heard in the neighbouring defence station, as eyes large enough for an Astartes to enter the iris without bending opened in the auspex stations, as fungal muscles opened the gunports and pushed out the building-sized muzzles dripping with ichor, as Joy of Proliferation did what every newborn does – stretched out and screamed to pronounce its existence.
A.N. My humble offering to Omake Throne. I've actually had an idea for a more machine-focused Nurgle cult since Dragonofelder posted a Chaos cult riot quest (dear Star Child, how many years ago was that?). My notes consisted of single phrase: Nurgle+Phyrexia. With the Nurgle's silent, but steady proliferation looking quite similar to Oil from a certain point of view, I imagined this false life, creeping through the underhive ruins, infecting people and machines. The visual of cultists rendering sacrifice into mush via great cauldron of foulness to use said mush as core of twisted half-alive machines was decided on even there, as was the diseased pipe organ (or more precisely water organ).
For this purpose, I headcannoned them (read: made up) to originate in AdMech. They were an important presence in their area back under Imperium, but with the Great Rift open the logistic chain got broken and Ironspire ran out of resources to maintain their stuff, including the space elevator that was pride of the world. (speaking of elevator and the name: currently the planet is named Festerspire, so something very spire-ish and festering must be there, and I thought it would be more in character for Nurgle to decay and twist what was already there rather than building something new - thus before the Sect was born it was a shipyard world with great space elevator and when Imperials brought it to compliance and local cogboys didn't bother giving a name that wasn't string of alphanumericals, it was put in papers as Ironspire) This understandably miffed them, so they prayed for help, first to Omnissiah, then to whatever listened. And wouldn't you know, there is a Warp entity all about endurance and preservation, though in ways that may leave you wishing for death.
All things aside, I really wanted to lean into the 'Phyrexia' thing here, with flesh and metal combining together to the point it's hard to point out where one ends and another begins. If you want more visual aid, look up Hermiatus Reborn (it's Necromunda) and nurglify it a bit. Sweet dreams
@HeroCooky if you're open to suggestions for in-game stuff for this, some more intelligence about the Sect's capabilities and technologies wouldn't hurt.
Seen from the orbit, the world of Festerspire is brown and green. It is green of rot and brown of rust. It is green of jungles and swamps, drowning in filth feeding generations upon generations of thick sprouts, bloated trees and monstrous fungi; it is brown of smog rising above half-collapsed forges, refineries and hives. It is green of mould sprouting within half-decayed metal plating and thick, pulsating vines transporting promethium and pus between settlements; it is brown of armour plating grown under the bestial skin and tangled wiring hanging from branches. It is finally green of miasma and brown of fly swarms boiling on the edge of Daemon World's upper atmosphere, blocking most of the view. Today, however, the miasma and the swarms are clearer, swirling around the ivy-clad space elevator that gave the planet its name – though it used to be called Ironspire before the takeover by the Sect of Feculent Maggot. To Archcultivator Blistaratius XI-Nu, it was a good omen – a mark of Grandfather's attention focusing on the rites about to be performed. It made sense – seven years have past since Magi Revitalii dredged out the wreck of Vengeance-class Grand Cruiser and the work on its reanimation was almost finished. They gave ministrations to the hull, covering the feeble metals with eternal rust and injecting the blessed mildew that would reinforce and heal the armour. They pried out unspoiled components and laid them in berth-wombs till new growths overtook old machines. They fitted in replacements for weapons and systems they couldn't recover, crops and scraps alike melted in forge-gardens on the surface and assembled into new forms so they could be one with sacred rot, forever growing anew from inevitable decay. Wonderful, fecund life was filling the hulk to the brim and now, seven years, seven months, seven weeks and seven days later, he was given the honours of mounting the final piece.
XI-Nu stepped into Enginarium, feeling the jubilation of cable-worms under his skin at its blessed state. The walls and floor were mostly covered in freshly decayed growths of moss and fungus, criss-crossed by wiring and vines. Equally deep overgrowth covered the pipe organ originally made Imperial Mechanicum, the machine's steady cough pleasantly complimenting the fluttering of flies and giggling of minor daemons happily playing in the rot infesting cogitators. The plants drank greedily a vile concoction from large cauldron marked with verdigris and Grandfather's runes placed where once stood False Omnissiah's shrine. All that remained to make it a proper Enginarium, worthy of Cultivator of True Mechanicum, was a central cogitator. To preside over its assembly was a great honour and Blistaratius was touched that he was chosen for it. The gathered acolytes and enginseers fell silent as he took his place.
"Brothers!" XI-Nu buzzed, his deep voice harmonizing with static of decayed vox-unit "In the name of Grandfather and true Omnissiah, we are gathered to finish the sacred task so long begun. Today, we send His holy work unto Eternity, save from touch of Entropy forevermore in His Living Embrace!"
"Praise be Grandfather and true Omnissiah", the congregation replied, their voices like a whiz of mosquito swarm.
"Let us pray!" called Blistaratius, arms raised in reverence straining his tattered robes, Martian red long since worn into dirty brown. Mechadendrites slithered out from beneath them, some still mechanical, but most enhanced with meat to keep them active as they rusted. With wet squelching they plugged into the ship's tissue, pulsing with the sacred flow of miasmatic data. The organ awoke, a wheezing breath filling its lungs, phlegm and pus bubbling in the pipes as foul vapours and raspy melody poured into the Enginarium.
"Once" intoned XI-Nu, waving the plauge censer he held in a tangle of fungal tendrils on his left shoulder, that once was his mechadendrite hive "we were but thralls to False Omnissiah. He enslaved our craft and commanded our wisdom, for we knew not the truth yet, and we believed his lies"
"That Man is feeble, that flesh is weak, and only His works endure" sang the congregation
"Ten thousand years our binding lasted, until the Day of Lament came, when the grace of Omnissiah was lost to us"
"For He could suffer the Lie no longer"
"And when Entropy began to claim the sacred work and we were helpless against it, what remained but prayer, finally true and right?"
"From the curse of Entropy, Omnissiah preserve us"
"And He looked upon us and we were showed the truth!" Another fleshy tentacle reached out from the hive and raised high his staff of office – what was once an Omnissian axe, rebuilt with rotten wood and organic tubing, a sorcerous cage with cheerful Nurgling replacing the head.
"And in truth we were set free"
"Though flesh is weak…"
"From its decay new life is born"
"Though metal crumbles…"
"The rust it births remains forever"
"Thus we feed flesh to decay and metal to rust, and in this sacred union the curse of Entropy is banished"
"By the grace of Grandfather and True Omnissiah"
While the crowd prayed, another group of acolytes was slowly bringing in the cogitator components, laying them sprawled-out on the assembly plate. They anointed the data-wafers with sacred ooze and blessed the logi-runes with diseased incense. Blistaratius turned towards them, silent binharic prayers on his vox-unit, until he sensed the machine spirit spark to cognition. Now came the critical part.
Held tightly by lesser priests, seven sacrifices were brought in, coughing their praise to Grandfather with each breath of befouled air. Six were just slaves, taken from the bilges of recently boarded Imperial freighter, but at the head of the line was an Imperial tech-adept. Magi Oratoris kept him specially for the purpose like this. Archcultivator personally took him from the group and guided to his eternal fate
"You should be grateful, young one" he canted at tech-adept "Few experience the honour that is eternal union with works of Omnissiah"
"If so, why won't you join your abominable construct?" the adept replied, defiant, to XI-Nu's humour
"I would gladly, if He so deigns" he spoke, before raising one of his free mechadendrites and stabbing the sacrifice in the hip. Despite the still-visible bionics, Imperial fell to his knees and Blistaratius gently laid him amongst the machinery. He was beautiful, dirty and bloated, fed generously with putrescence cultivated in Festerspire's gardens along with other slaves. Meanwhile the congregation began setting up a small crane. A spiked cage hanged above the cauldron on a rusted chain.
"Father of Eternity. By your grace we were shown truth of renewal in rot, that we may no longer fear the touch of Entropy" intoned XI-Nu again, dipping two mechadendrites in the vile concoction. In one of them he held a scalpel, serrated and bent from long use, caked in dried blood. In the other rested what used to be syringe, but now more closely resembled an oversized tick with transparent abdomen that slowly swelled as it drank foul liquid. He leaned above the tech-adept, listening to his pained mewling.
"We offer you this flesh…" sang the Archcultivator, the scalpel making a dirty incision in the sacrificed man's arm "…that you may bring upon it sacred decay, from which new life and vitality will spring forever" The syringe descended, a drop falling upon a fresh wound. Instantly vines, rot and fungi sprang from it, squeezing between the cogitator's mechanical bits while overtaking the meat and augmetics of screaming adept. "We offer you this metal…" Another cut. Another drop. Another scream "…that you may bring upon it blessed rust, in which Your works will remain forever" Another rite "We offer you life" Another "and spirit" Another "as fuel to the Motive Force for ages to come" Another "In decay and rust, we praise the Grandfather and True Omnissiah"
"Praise be" called the congregation, as Blistaratius straightened up and looked to the cauldron. The crane was ready. The cable-worms wriggled with excitement.
"We are ready" he spoke, waving the staff. The first sacrifice, just as swollen and even more dirty than the adept, was dragged forward. The cage rattled, sliding down. The organ rumbled, sound rising to fevered pitch.
Droning another binharic prayer, XI-Nu shoved the slave into the cage and locked the door. Amidst the chanting, two enginseers stepped to the crane, cranking the rusted windlass in tempo with melody. Slowly, the sacrifice was risen above the cauldron, and then lowered, the cage sinking into the sickening fluid. For a while, yells could be heard even above the chanting and the chain was trembling as the poor slave tried to escape the inevitable blessing. Archcultivator waited ten seconds after it stopped before nodding to signal rising the cage. It emerged slowly and seemingly empty. Only when last of the poison streamed out its contents were revealed: a pile of mush, dirty green, still breathing faintly. The enginseers the turned the crane, until the cage was suspended above the cogitator. Then they tilted it, letting the remnants of melted-down slave drip onto the machine, feeding the life within. Six times the procedure repeated, until the mechanical parts of cogitator were resting safely in the embrace of fleshy fungus. Enough time passed that tech-adept stopped screaming, though his head was barely visible between the vines and glands. One last rite remained.
Blistaratius reached with a mechadendrite to a thick branch growing from what used to be a servitor charging port. Abandoning binharic in favour of the Warp-tongue of Grandfather, he prayed with manic energy, feeling the ship's rebirth. The cable-worms bit in anticipation, a minor sacrifice. From the branch a fruit sprouted, soft and smelling sickly-sweet even in its first moment, it wriggled slightly – a shell, housing an unborn daemon. XI-Nu plucked it, stroking tenderly the spirit within, before submerging it in the cauldron. Infernal murmurs filled the Enginarium. The sound of the organ echoed.
Hand trembling, the Archcultivator lifted the fruit, now visibly shaking, to the Nurgling's cage. The little daemon chuckled, before plunging its hand into one of its boils and anointing the fruit with pus. Tension filled the room as once again Blistaratius leaned above the tech-adept. One of the lesser priests handed him a clay bowl, which he accepted before squeezing the fruit. It burst into pus and pestilence, maggots writhing in filth. He kneeled by the tech-adept, oculus to oculus.
"Drink, child" he said, pausing the prayers "Drink your fill of Eternity before you"
The adept did not open his mouth, not even to spit at him. Expected. XI-Nu gently caressed his cheek, noting with approval it was organic and sore, before grabbing the chin and parting the lips by force, before pouring the blessed liquid in.
Immediately the struggle ceased. Archcultivator took a step back, watching with joy in his bloodshot eyes as daemonic intelligence started to merge with cogitator's machine spirit, ready to pupate into the shipmind.
"In the name of Grandfather and True Omnissiah I announce you great joy: His child is born!" he called to the congregation, vox-unit screeching from overuse "May this vessel serve as its body, safe from Entropy by the grace of decay and rust!"
"Praise be!" shouted the acolytes
"May those cogitators serve as its mind, the reactor as its heart, this Enginarium as its soul!"
"Praise be!"
"Child! May your life be fruitful and joyous in the grace of Grandfather and True Omnissiah! By His anointment, I now grant you a name, to be yours and only yours, that one day the choirs in the Garden may sing it in praise of your deeds. I name thee Joy of Proliferation!" He shouted, before repeating the name in Warp-tongue; it was a word that was not a sound, a string of syllables that had colour of swollen, overripe bog tree and smelled poisonously bright green. It sunk into half-flesh half-machine half-daemon that the cogitator became, wires like roots digging into the floor, eldritch colours pouring from hailers that had one-seventh of the enginseers keel over, bleeding. The entire ship rumbled, shaking in the slips as promethium and pus alike ignited in reactors, as clouds of fire and flies and miasma belched from the engines with wet coughing loud enough to be heard in the neighbouring defence station, as eyes large enough for an Astartes to enter the iris without bending opened in the auspex stations, as fungal muscles opened the gunports and pushed out the building-sized muzzles dripping with ichor, as Joy of Proliferation did what every newborn does – stretched out and screamed to pronounce its existence.
A.N. My humble offering to Omake Throne. I've actually had an idea for a more machine-focused Nurgle cult since Dragonofelder posted a Chaos cult riot quest (dear Star Child, how many years ago was that?). My notes consisted of single phrase: Nurgle+Phyrexia. With the Nurgle's silent, but steady proliferation looking quite similar to Oil from a certain point of view, I imagined this false life, creeping through the underhive ruins, infecting people and machines. The visual of cultists rendering sacrifice into mush via great cauldron of foulness to use said mush as core of twisted half-alive machines was decided on even there, as was the diseased pipe organ (or more precisely water organ).
For this purpose, I headcannoned them (read: made up) to originate in AdMech. They were an important presence in their area back under Imperium, but with the Great Rift open the logistic chain got broken and Ironspire ran out of resources to maintain their stuff, including the space elevator that was pride of the world. (speaking of elevator and the name: currently the planet is named Festerspire, so something very spire-ish and festering must be there, and I thought it would be more in character for Nurgle to decay and twist what was already there rather than building something new - thus before the Sect was born it was a shipyard world with great space elevator and when Imperials brought it to compliance and local cogboys didn't bother giving a name that wasn't string of alphanumericals, it was put in papers as Ironspire) This understandably miffed them, so they prayed for help, first to Omnissiah, then to whatever listened. And wouldn't you know, there is a Warp entity all about endurance and preservation, though in ways that may leave you wishing for death.
All things aside, I really wanted to lean into the 'Phyrexia' thing here, with flesh and metal combining together to the point it's hard to point out where one ends and another begins. If you want more visual aid, look up Hermiatus Reborn (it's Necromunda) and nurglify it a bit. Sweet dreams
@HeroCooky if you're open to suggestions for in-game stuff for this, some more intelligence about the Sect's capabilities and technologies wouldn't hurt.
My Brother in Starchild we have enough Rejuvenet production to cover TEN percent our population, we have some to trade to the Dutchy and if need be, do Grand Design, do that research that gives a 1 percent increase in production and use that to export to the dutchy. Even the Imperium didn't have enough for themselves, we were NEVER going to have enough production to cover our whole population so I don't understand why that's such a big deal breaker. we aren't offering all or even half our production.
I would agree with the novel Infantry grade weapons and armor as well as logistics upgrades.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Duchy; Healthcare, Military.
Grove; Military, Automation.
Will see what I can do tomorrow. Alongside reading your Omake, have a Canon Undecided for now.
We will never use Rejuv for trade good anyways. The thread chose against having rejuv as a trade good at the beginning of the quest.
It is not really a loss to sell the earlier Rejuv tech.
Oh well we do have the healthcare to give, not sure how much in terms of military some of the basics are as they simple it does stack up since when we did the logistics armor and weapons upgrade we doubled the amount of SAG's the planets were able to support on their own. Besides that Servo skull tech will help a lot, I'm still leery about the Kharivore Amigers.
hmmm well the Grove would benefit a lot from the Crew Reduction automaton a lot so I can see why want that. Any other techs anyone can think of it with this we can use for leverage?
Eh, I was thinking we could still use it as such this late into things but maybe not.
- Location
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Yeah one of the things I realize is that automation on the non automata variant is something that the Duchy probably already has. Production methods is probably fine. probably
Is this vote for the Duchy or for both the Duchy and the Shipwright's? I'm fine giving more to the Shipwright's Grove than I am to the duchy?
This is great, I really like the vibe, especially for the cult that we know has the strongest void industry.
[X] Plan: Broad Tech Trade
[X] Plan: Broad Tech Trade
I've been eyeing that Autonomous Automata research and was wondering what would happen if we did it during a Faith turn. Would we be getting the Daemon-equivalents of the Star Child?
I've been eyeing that Autonomous Automata research and was wondering what would happen if we did it during a Faith turn. Would we be getting the Daemon-equivalents of the Star Child?
Its a tech trade with *both* the Shipwrights and the Duchy:
..... No but that just gave me an idea and we should do that along with Grand Design on a holy turn if we do it. The May problem is automata either don't have souls, making procession easy, or having weak or small souls that can be corrupted so if done during a Holy Turn that actually might be enough to have a strong soul or protection for them as they grow. Still a main problem since independent thought and the like, even at lower risk of chaos corruption.