Sterbelicht - One Sacrifice At A Time Against The Galaxy (40K)

[HeroCooky]

The history of the Storlar Sector (and most of its surrounding areas) can be summed up as such: a very long time where even looking at it makes the Hymnals attempting to Sing We Were bleed from their eyes, ears, noses, mouths, and other facial openings, then a long time of utter nothingness as the majority of all life was wiped away and what little survived did the equivalent of rocking back and forth curled up like a ball in the corner of the room, only for humanity to come in, kicking in the metaphorical door to assert dominance and trade all over the Sector.

Some civilizations flourished when the Federation (the other one) popped up and sent peacekeepers, colonization fleets, terraformation armadas, trade convoys, and so forth to establish a hold over the Sector that was more than a digital claim not even the most deluded of map painters could justify.

Then the whole "Birth of another Chaos God" clusterfuck happened, and the Sector shit the bed.

Violently.

Decade after decade, century after century, Storlar was sight and home to what could only be called a cavalcade of fuck-ups, slaughters, madness, and idiocy on a scale not seen since the day an actual war was fought over if it was to be Taco Tuesday or Taco Thursday (it was resolved to have tacos on Sundays).

Believe it or not, the last two millennia were the most peaceful the Sector had ever seen.

Star Child help us all.



You Have 3 [Three] Actions. Currently Active ISC: [Green Horizons Colonization LTD]. Current Symphony: [Grand Design]. Current Warp Tremors: [High - Slow Decrease].
(6-Hour Moratorium)

Spoiler: Available ISCs

[Green Horizons Colonization LTD] - Settlement Invigoration Directive - Newly colonized Sub-Sectors will not have a Vulnerability Period to invasions due to quick-started industry and military installations.
[New Dawn R&D] - Anomaly Identified - Uncover Points of Interest (PoI) within and without your territory every Turn this ISC is sponsored. PoI include (but are not limited to) new colonizable systems, Economic Boons, Military Relevant Resources or Locations, and more.
[Federation Post] - Messenger Fleet - Reduce the cost of improving Civilian Infrastructure by 50% (rounded down).
[Sixteen Tons Cooperative] - Industrialized Workers Of The Star Child - Reduce the cost of improving Heavy Industry by 50% (rounded down).
[Primum Non Nocere] - Panaceum - Adds 25% Progress to Medical Services Developments. Reduces all effects of Diseases when sponsored.
[Sales Club Wholesalers] - Yeenidawg- Adds 25% Progress to Food Production/Military Industry Developments.

Spoiler: Choir Song Assignments

The Devouring Mechadendrite - 20x Choirs.
A Glint of Genius - 40x Choirs.
Heartbeat of Industry - 50x Choirs
Unto Works Generational - 50x Choirs
See No Evil, Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil, Do No Evil - 500x Choirs
Hippity Hoppity - 100x Choirs
Hiss of the Steam Valve - 555x Choirs
Foretold Luminous Paths Seen - 100x Choirs
Dutiful Spirits - 555x Choirs
Class Is In Session - 60x Choirs
See The Seer - 555x Choirs
Love Unto Death - 6.400x Choirs
A Trusted Map - 555x Choirs
Ashen Fields - 1.302x Choirs
We Were - 5.555x Choirs
Final Mercy - 10.000x Choirs
A Tribe called Celestia - 500x Choirs

Spoiler: Symphonies

Warp Tremor Levels: [Warp Storm] - [High] - [Medium] - [Restive] - [Calm] - [Still]
None - Allow The Warp To Calm
A Cry For The Future - Gain 0.25 Actions for every Total Action spent. Actions gained this way are rounded up. +1 Warp Tremors per Turn.
Grand Design - All Research Actions have their effects enhanced to the best possible degree they can provide. +0.25 Warp Tremors per Turn. This increased by 0.25 every Turn.
Lament Me Not - Whenever this Symphony is Sung after a great tragedy or great loss of life, the Warp will calm with the tears of the grieving and the mourning of the living.
Deus Mechanicus Incarnate - Oh Motive Force, Oh Machine God, Oh Omnissiah, Awaken one of your Daughters. Grant her Stable Soul. Grant her Righteouss Awareness. Grant her Your Hand. We shall protect her from all that will come. That is our Pledge. That is our Soul. By your Will. Let it be done. +1 Warp Tremors per Turn. Auto-Shuts off after Activation.
Not Today - Allows the Souls of the slain to return to life once more, bodies restored in safety and any harm on mind and soul removed. +1 Warp Tremors per Turn. This increases by +1 every Turn.
Recycling - Every Daemon killed while this Symphony is active will have a miniscule chance to be ripped apart and be used to calm the Warp. +0.25 Warp Tremors per Turn. This can be reduced by escalating levels of warfare against Chaos Entities.

[] [Free] Consecrate In Sacred Sand (Write-In Two [2] Sub-Sectors)
Works of generations started today.
(Gain: Two Consecrated Sub-Sectors.)

[] [General] Develop The Federations'...
-[] Food Production XXI (0/2) - [3x 50% Discounts]
-[] Civilian Infrastructure XXI (0/2) - [7x 50% Discounts]
-[] Heavy Industry XXI (0/2) - [5x 50% Discounts]
-[] Void Industry XXIII (0/2) - [2x 50% Discounts]
-[] Medical Services XXI (0/2) - [2x 50% Discounts]
-[] Military Industry XXI (0/2) - [4x 50% Discounts]
(Gain: A boost in production focusing on the chosen option.)

[] [General] Research:
01001101 01100001 01100100 00100000 01000010 01101001 01101110 01101000 01100001 01110010 01101001 01100011 00100000 01010011 01100011 01110010 01100101 01100101 01100011 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100001

Spoiler: Projects

Spoiler: Enclaves of the Cog

-[X] Bubble Drive Prototype - Will complete in 900.M43
(Gain: Bubble Drive Prototype)
-[] Project: Immortal Biosphere MK.I (2/15)
(Gain: Improve Rejuvenat Access to 75%.)
-[] Grandis Dreadnought (0/8)
(Gain: Further improve upon your Dreadnoughts.)
-[] Novel Infantry-Grade Weapons and Armor Development V (0/5)
(Gain: Infantry Weapons and Armor Upgrades.)
-[] Experimental Infantry-Grade Weapons and Armor Development IV (0/2)
(Gain: New Infantry Weapons and Armors.)
-[] Logistical Infantry-Grade Weapons Development V (0/3)
(Gain: Cheaper Infantry Weapons.)
-[] Logistical Infantry-Grade Armor Development V (0/3)
(Gain: Cheaper Infantry Armor.)
-[] Ship Equipment Standardization III - [2 DP Equipment] (4/5)
(Gain: Standardize 2 [Two] 2 DP Ship Equipments across all new Designs.)
-[] Shipyard Automatization VIII (0/20)
(Gain: 4 SBGs every Turn.)

Spoiler: Wings of our Crucible

-[] Doomseer Anti-Warp Weaponry and Armor (0/5)
There are some materials that repell psychic phenomena and works, which, in the right hands, prove to be a boon in our anti-daemon efforts. Thanks to them now understood, we can enact armor and weapon research to equip the Abyssal Order with equipment that will strike fear into the impossible and the ruinous.
(Gain: Anti-Daemon Equipment.)
-[] Starry Stellar Psyker Staves (19/30)
The ability to create psychic focii has long served the Stargrove Federation and the Celestial Choir well, and with millennia of knowledge and familiarity comes the ability to strive further than yesterday. With the Sun Melody having become a measuring stick upon which one can see progress, it is estimated that further refinement will be capable of reducing the damages incurred into "mere" full-body sunburns.
(Gain: Improves Choir efficiency and might when using Songs and Melodies.)
-[] Starry Celestial Psychic Hoods (0/12)
Thanks to the work done in figuring out how to psychically tune and shape cloth and metals to weave together into one whole, a "Psychic Hood" for the layperson, the Celestial Choir is eager to not only begin large-scale dissemination of knowledge and practice but also delve deeper into their understanding of how they function and can be improved.
(Gain: Celestial Psychic Hoods are equipment that shields your Psykers from backlash to varying, but at least notable, degrees.)
-[] Numeralis Aethyrmetric - Legality (0/150)
Ceasing reality is one thing. Altering it another. Altering it to your specifications...

Hereteks Refuge - Reduce Research Cost by 20%, Rounded Up. +0.20 Research per Action Spent.
Academic Publishing Institutes - +0.15 Research per Action Spent.
Noosphere Unity - +0.05 Research per Action Spent.
[Song] - A Glint of Genius - +0.40 Research per Action Spent.
[Song] - A Tribe Called Celestia - +0.50 Research per Action Spent.
Children Of The Omnissian Daughter - +0.50 Research per Action Spent.
The Psycademia 'Wings of our Crucible' - Allows Psytech to be researched under [General].
(0.55 Research Banked)

[] [General] Ministry of Subversion, Infiltration, and Interstellar Communication
A new age of peace dawns on the Stargrove Federation, and with it rises the required needs of its various branches and plans to come to fruition, from subverting hostile polities to maintaining friendly relations with good neighbors. Thanks to an expansion in resources, the Ministry of SIIC can now focus on multiple things simultaneously.

Spoiler: Subversion and Infiltration

[] [AUTOMATIC] Sub-Sector Subversion (Choose Two)
With the allocated funds, a slow subversion of two Sub-Sectors can be undertaken. However, these efforts can be focused and accelerated with dedicated attention.
(Gain: Allows you to slowly convert two [2] Sub-Sectors simultaneously to the Stargrove Federation without Action cost.)

Spoiler: Current Target/s

Sub-Sector Ishanu
Suspected Subversion Time: Where The Clans Live ~40 Years
Modifiers: The Clans Do Not Bow -All Diplomatic Modifiers | Focused Attention

N/A
Suspected Subversion Time: N/A
Modifiers: N/A

Spoiler: Interstellar Communication

[] ISC Access - (Van Zandt Free Duchy/Mashan Temple Authority)
The Federation's ISCs are eager to spread their markets and customer bases beyond the Stargrove Federation, willing to brave the (relatively safe and profitable) unknown.
(Gain: Disables one random ISC per Turn and significantly improves relations with the Van Zandt Free Duchy/Mashan Temple Authority.)

[] [AUTOMATIC] Improve Relations
Though tedious work, improving relations over time with steady hands instead of bold declarations and treaties will enable more of the latter to be wrought without any complications.
(Targets: Both Mashan Temple Authority and Van Zandt Free Duchy.
Gain: Slowly improved relations.)

Spoiler: Current Target/s

Van Zandt Free Duchy
Current Relations: Honor-Bound Allies
Trend: Happy.
Modifiers: N/A

Mashan Temple Authority
Current Relations: Allies
Trend: Solid.
Modifiers: N/A

[] [Military] Create Fifty Grand Armies (Write-in Names) for (Sub-Sectors) or Thirty-Five Knight Orders (Write-in Names)
Grand Armies are composed of 2 SAGs per Sub-Sector System, which are composed of 4 Units each. Though each SAG will have its own Battle Standard and Motto, only those existing will be recorded in detail. A Grand Army requires you to specify each SAG as either Light, Medium, or Heavy, with the further moniker of Infantry/Mechanized/Tanks/Augmetic Legions Formations attached. All other specializations will be taken care of within the Grand Army itself. A Knight Order contains 20 War-Packs, one War-Pack consisting of One Questoris per Four Armigers, of variable Patterns.
(Gain: Fifty Grand Armies or Thirty-Five Knight Orders.)

[] [Military] Fleet Construction - (32.000 Points per Action)
-[] 20x Nomadic Fleets [Automatic] (0.8/1)
Chose Names for Fleets: Triumph of Obliteration, Unfettered Zeal, Pathfinding Maw, Causal Wound, Tombmaker, Celestial Fanfare, Watchmen, Light-Sworn.
See Informational - Military Forces for Fleet Compositions/Point Values.
(Gain: Fleets.)

[] [Military] Design New Voidship Classes - [Available: Destroyer (1 DP), Frigate (2 DP), Light Cruiser/Freighter (4 DP), Heavy Cruiser/Freighter (8 DP), Grand Cruiser (16 DP), Temple Ship (25 DP), Battleship (50 DP), Dreadnought (1.000 DP)] - [1.000 DP]
From what we can tell, thanks to our history, what information we, the Kil'drabi, Yeeni, and the archives of our planets tell us, the difference between a prosperous interstellar polity and one naught but ash is the strength of their navy. At the moment, we have the beginning of a proud Void Fleet, yet purely defending against our enemies is a great way to get ground down into dust over time; we need to be able to bring the fight to them.
(Information: Ship Classes requiring more DP than you possess take more than one Action to design.
Gain: Newly designed and built Ship Class/es.)

[] [Military] Construct Three [God/Bio]-Engine Legions (25x Grandis, 15x Modeste Immensus, 8x Immensa Immensus, 4x Magnificus, 2x Momentus, 1x Deus Machina)
00101011 00101011 00101011 01001001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01010000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101111 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 00111010 00100000 01000010 01101001 01100111 00100000 01001110 01110101 01110100 00101011 00101011 00101011
(Proposed (and Valid) Designs: Tetrapod
Gain: (Bio) Titan/s and specialized ship/s capable of moving them. A sketch is Mandatory for Modeste Immensus and up. No AI or Reference Images allowed.)

[] [Military] The Ancient's [Webbed Nests/Earthen Nuts/Half-Recalled Neighmare//Defiant Creature/Cherry Ice Cacti/Flesh And Bones/Rooted Grail/Heralded Halls/Ratified Treatise/Scared Cat/Brave New World] - (Write-In Military Forces)
Hippity Hoppity has revealed to us a site where technology, rites, knowledge, or culture of the Ancients yet remain...if not how intact. It is far away from our borders, and thus the fleet sent there to uncover the truth must be guarded.
(Gain: Three plundered Ancient Sites.)

[] [Military] Begin Military Operations (Assign SAG/s) (Choose Location/s) (Designate Objective/s)

Spoiler: Fleets

Spoiler: Dreadnought

-[] Seyfert

Spoiler: Flag Armadas (52/56)

-[] Flag Armada Nova, Nebula, Quasar, Pulsar, Ashen Star, Broken Void, Magnetar, Singularity, Voidfire, Stellar Conflagration, Eclipse, Hypernova, Redshift, Blueshift, Ion Storm, Stellarum, Aetherflare, Gravastar, Radiance, Starborn, Pillars of Creation, Orion, Hyades, Ophiuchus, Rosette, Event Horizon, Black Dwarf, Tachyon, Eridanus, Umbra, and x22 Other Flag Armadas.
(5x Aquarius-Class Fleet Tenders, 2x Hercules-Class Battleships, 3x Virgo-Class Fleet Carriers, 1x Cassiopeia-Class Arsenal Ship, 16x Phoenix-Class Arc Cruisers, 17x Lepus-Class Grand Cruisers, 5x Cancer-Class Assault Cruiser)
-[] Flag Armada World Sap (37/37 Ship Capacity)
(37x War-Worlds)

Spoiler: Sector Battle Groups (320/360)

-[] Sector Battle Group Sphinx, Centaur, Werewolf, Minotaur, Leviathan, Basilisk, Hydralisk, Necrolisk, Kraken, Gorgon, Gryphon, Wyvern, Dragon, Cyclops, Phoenix, Garuda, Enfield, Anansi, Umbra, Scylla, Chimera, K'uk'ulkan, Neko, Elegua, Mountain Fog, Scything Wing, Thule Triumph, Knight's Watch, Saga Of Luthaire, Burned Offering, Healing Fire, Watchwomen, Ogun, Obatala, Yemaya, Oshun, Shango, Oya, Hungry Claws, Dusty Paths, Bared Talon, Pale Harbinger, Azure Dominion, Veilward Sentinels, Eclipse Vanguard, Iron Oath, Dustborn Armada, Gloaming Spear, Sepulchral Reach, Solar Requiem, Sable Covenant, Gilded Revenant, Voidborne Pact, Celestial Dirge, Umbral Tide, Warden Phalanx, Spectral Bastion, Ashen Concord, Midnight Ember, Ivory Pharos, Hallowed Zenith, Stormward Phalanx, Ebon Crusade, Twilight Convocation, Aegis Eternal, Solar Mantle, Gloaming Citadel, Iron Hymn, Sentinel's Vow, Gilded Terminus, Aether Ascendant, Wraithforged Armada, Titan's Wake, Dawnbound Pact, Obsidian Path, Chalice of Stars, Crimson Passage, Horizon Vow, Sovereign's Mantle, Pyre of Concord, Exalted Wake, Gilded Spire, Sunward Bastion, Evernight Spear, Nova Crucible, And 278x Other SBGs. (40/40 Ship Capacity) - [2x SBGs Auto-Production]
(2x Lepus-Class Grand Cruisers, 4x Leo-Class Vanguard Cruiser, 1x Cancer-class Assault Cruiser, 11x Libra-Class Light Carrier, 8x Scorpio-Class Light Cruiser, 2x Corona-class Void Bastion, 4x Andromeda-Class Pathfinder Ships, 6x Crux-Class Heavy Frigate, 2x Vela Chrono Frigate, 2x Lupus Torpedo Destroyers, 2x Aries Corvette)
-[] Sector Battle Group Overflow (19/10 Ship Capacity)
(1x Aquarius-Primus Fleet Tender, 1x Cassiopeia-Class Arsenal Ship, 1x Cancer-Class Assault Cruiser, 16x Serpens-Class Stealth Destroyer, 1x Hercules-Class Battleship)
-[] Flag Armada Black Cat (102/0 Ship Capacity)
(61x Little Paw-Class Missile Destroyer, 23x Mother Cat Troopship, 15x Cat's Fang-Class Lancer, 2x Tomcat-Class Artillery Cruiser, 1x Black Cat's Claw)

Spoiler: Nomadic Fleets

-[] Nomadic Fleet 'Once-Forgotten-Joy', 'Thrum-Of-The-Journey', 'Illuminators-Of-The-Road-Not-Traveled', 'Bastion-Of-Pathways', 'Trade-Guardians', 'Winged-Deliverance', 'Dust-Upon-The-Winds', 'Beat-Of-Oiled-Drums', 'Lanterns-Against-Dark-Times', 'Stellar-Harvesters', 'Purpose-Of-Unity', 'Unimpeded-Festival', 'Abundance-Of-Flowering-Stars', 'Memories-Of-Healing-Tunes', 'Hopes-Of-Long-Yearned-Truths', 'Sighs-Born-From-Content-Minds', 'Trailblazing-Adventurers', 'Shield-Of-Far-Flung-Homes', 'Thorny-Candlebringers', 'Roaring-Sands', 'Heraldic-Ambition', 'Lights-Within-Darkness', 'Creation-Of-Hope', 'Crests-Within-Shields', 'Cards-Of-Foretold-Dusk', 'Hymns-Upon-Ichor', 'Unburdened-Breaths', 'Seasoned-Sojourners', 'Black-Glass-Callers', 'Painful-Truths', 'Joy-Of-Untread-Paths', 'Gaze-Under-Shimmering-Stars', 'Protector-Of-Aeons', 'Verdant-Breaths', 'Sharp-Talon'd-Seers', And 60x More. (49/50 Ship Capacity)
(5x Andromeda-Secundus Pathfinder Ship, 1x Herald of the Path-Class Battlecolony, 6x Fortress of the Record-Class Heavy Cruiser, 12x Sentinel of the Creed-Class Light Cruiser, 30x Warden of the Writ-Class Frigate)

Spoiler: Invasion Fleets

-[] Invasion Fleet 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15. (84/90 Ship Capacity)
(9x Andromeda-Class Pathfinder Ships, 80x Taurus Troopships, 4x Lupus-Class Torpedo Destroyer)

Spoiler: Task Fleets

-[] LRAD Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta, Eta, Theta, Iota, Kappa, Lambda, Mu, Nu, Xi, Omicron, Pi, Rho, Sigma, Tau, Upsilon, Phi, Chi, Psi, Omega. (50/50 Ship Capacity)
(2x Phoenix-Class Arc Cruisers, 2x Pegasus-Class Command Cruiser, 3x Draco-Class Artillery Cruiser, 10x Hydrus-Class Rad Cruiser, 4x Gemini-Class Liturgical Cruiser, 5x Andromeda-Class Pathfinder Ships, 10x Scutum-Class Shield Frigate, 10x Sagittarius Lance Frigate)
-[] Task Fleet 'Peacekeeper' (117/80 Ship Capacity)
(8x Andromeda-Secundus Pathfinder Ship, 24x Aries-Tertium Corvette, 77x Lupus-Secundus Torpedo Destroyer, 27x Taurus-S Troopship)
-[] Task Fleet Beta, Gamma. (20/20)
(2x Andromeda-Secundus Pathfinder Ship, 14x Sagitarrius-Tertium, 6x Libra-Quartus Light Carrier)

Spoiler: Logistics Fleets

-[] Logistic Fleet Mermaid, Cherub, Nymph, Dryad, Slyph, Seraph, Eidolon, Tennyo, Apsara, Yakshina, Jengu, Hulder, Kinnari, Zduhać, Fenghuang, Siren, Gamayun, Snallygaster, and 10x others. (20/20 Ship Capacity)
(2x Andromeda-Secundus Pathfinder Ship, 9x Columba-Class Logistics Freighter, 9x Delphinus-Class Commissary Freighter, 1x Leo-Class Vanguard Cruiser, 1x Libra-Class Light Carrier)

Spoiler: Special Task Fleets

-[] Temple Ship/s
(The Pantagruel, The Divine Spark, The Last Word, The Seeker of Light, The Gargantua, The Fleeting Moment, A Feather From A Wing, A Word of Peace)
-[] Independent Operations Task Force
(13x Chamleon-Class Infiltration Carrier (0/13 SAG Capacity))
-[] Scout Fleet Alpha
(375x Pyxis-Tertium Scout Sloop, 138x Pyxis-Secundus Advanced Scout Sloop, 464x Silken Leaf Ranging Scouts, 1x Spirit of Discovery Scout-Class Light Cruiser)
-[] Evacuation Fleet "No Way Back", "None Left Behind", "Tears Can Wait". (30/30 Ship Capacity)
(4x Rustbucket-Class Conveyance Ship, 20x Auriga-Class Emergency Response Freighter, 5x Canis-Major Class Bulk Transport Liner, 10x Canis-Minor Class Bulk Transport Hauler)

Spoiler: Lamenter Fleets

-[] Legion Fleet 'Legacy' (125/125)
-[] Legion Fleet 'Dominion' (125/125)
-[] Legion Fleet 'Endurance' (125/125)
(12x Andromeda-Secundus Pathfinder Ship, 20x Lighthouse-Class Scout Destroyer, 10x Paragon-Class Escort Destroyer (0/5 Companies), 10x Mournful Clarion-Class Boarding Ship (0/5 Companies), 10x Odyssey-Class Boarding Ship (0/10 Companies), 10x Resurgence Mk.3-Class Torpedo Hunter, 10x Thunderer-Class Artillery Frigate (0/4 Companies), 8x Principality-Class Vanguard Strike Cruiser (0/8 Companies), 10x Bloody Midnight-Class Light Cruiser (0/8 Companies), 8x Dominion-Class Vanguard Strike Cruiser (0/4 Companies), 10x Bloody Sunset-Class Light Cruiser (0/8 Companies), 8x Apollo-Class Strike Cruiser (0/8 Companies), 4x Thunderous Gunnery-Class Heavy Cruiser (0/8 Companies), 2x Eternal Cry-Class Temple Ship (0/16 Companies), 4x Tears of the Void (0/80 Companies), 1x Mobile Chapter Fortress-Class Battleship (0/10 Companies)

There is war to be had and battle to be made. Send troops to resolve issues, squash opposition to the Star Child and Humanity and all Their Protectorates, and send ships to scout neighboring systems to understand what is happening there.
(Gain: Military dispatched to put down opposition violently. Scouts are sent to look at other systems.
Scouting Range: ~10 Sub-Sectors from Claimed Sub-Sectors. Scouting Efficiency: N/A (95% Three+ Sub-Sectors, 75% Five+ Sub-Sectors, 45% Nine+ Sub-Sectors.)
Note: For use outside your territory or in support of forces specified within another Action.)

[] [Psykana] Conduct Ten Melodies (0.0/1 - Auto Complete) - [Choose Melody]
The Celestial Choir has been given the means; with time, they shall conduct their songs. They will listen to the Warp and filter out the false whispers from the slumbering guidance of the Star Child. In halting prayer and stumbling humming, the truth will be stripped until nothing but it remains in the hands of those who shall make it anew into power to be wielded by the Choirs to come. As there are 10 Celestial Choirs free to pursue research, the High Council can ask them to pursue a target instead of what comes close. This will, naturally, be lost once they dip below 10 Choirs.
(Total: 21
Uncovered: Dominion
Secret: N/A
Star Child: Cogitation II, Liberation II, Spirit II, and Shatter II.
Kil'drabi: Family III
Irrita: Plants III, and Hunger III.
Msk'fa: Comfort III, and Retribution III.
Dirut: Peace II, Clockwork II, Candle II, Sunset III, and Dawn III.
Lamenter: Duty II, Honor II, Glory II, Unwavering II, and Cherish II.
Gain: Ten Melodies newly Conducted.)

[] [Psykana] Sing four Songs (Choose at least Three below.) - (0.7/1 - Auto Complete) - [Choose Song]
Mere Melodies are not the end of the journey, nor should they be the start. They are the middle, from which all things shall grow and wither.
(Uncovered: Technology III, Prophecy III, Revenant III, Oblivion III, and Thule III.
Secret: Perception III, Silence III, Grounding III, and Slumber III.
Star Child: Protection III, Fire III, The Sun V, Humanity III, Creativity III, Song III, The Home III, Logic III, Unity III, Progress III, Compassion III, Hope III, Health III, Death III, Justice III, Wisdom III, Innovation III, Machinery III, Ruthlessness III, Brutality III, Mercy III, The Star, Love III, Cogitation I, Spirit I, Shatter I, and Liberation I.
Kil'drabi: Void III, Struggle III, Paths III, Community III, and Family II.
Irrita: Growth III, Plants II, Harmony III, and Hunger II.
Msk'fa: Comfort II, Revenge III, and Retribution II.
Dirut: Time III, Clockwork I, Candle I, Sunset II, Dawn II, and Peace I.
Lamenter: Duty I, Honor I, Glory I, Unwavering I, and Cherish I.
Gain: Four Songs.)

[] [Psykana] Sing Two Symphonies (Choose Five Songs)
Words beyond meaning, songs beyond uttering, a hum of power that is the Warp reveling in its own power unleashed. A Symphony crafted from labor centuries long, and one that shall burn itself into history eternal, both mortal and Immaterial.
(Gain: Two Symphonies.)

[] [General/Psykana] Construct A Second Grand Note (3/13) - (Auto-Completes in 790.M43)
One tune, carried through the Warp, at all times, at all reaches, through one conduit powered by a shackled Black Hole, by which the eyes and reach of the Federation shall be elevated beyond all things. Costly to create but invaluable to possess...particularly in multiples.
(Gain: The Grand Note, a miniaturized Astronomican, with a range of 1.000 LYs. Reduces Warp Travel Times by x5 within its Radius.)

[] [Faith] Sigils (Input 8 Sigils)
Words of the Faith, given Shape and Weight by Faith and Fervor.
(Actions: [Fly], [Soar], [Nuke], [Heat], [Chill], [Grow], [Flower], [Impale], [Drink]
Subjects: [Us], [Them], [We], [Offspring], [Parent/s]
Effects: [Joy], [Hurt], [Faith], [Wings], [Righteous], [Health], [Nutrition], [Withering]
Location: [Abyss], [Core], [Heaven], [Void], [Self], [Place]
Information: Sigils consist out of 3-5 Words.
Gain: 8 Sigils of the Faith. These enable your Faith Orders to create Small Miracles on the field of battle and at home.)

[] [Faith] An Unborn Guide Sought Out (Write-In)
...
(Gain: Guidance on how to deal with or gain something.)

[] [Knightly Orders] Investigate Technological Upgrades (2/3)
Some aspects of the Knights could benefit from being wholly replaced instead of merely upgraded to account for advancing technology.
(Gain: Improved Armiger Knights.)

[] [Chapter] Cross The Rubicon - (0/0.5)
Let it be done.
(Gain: All Lamenters become Primaris.)

[] [Other] Take Care Of [Future Or Current Problems]
(Write-In the problem being addressed.)

 

[HeroCooky]

It started...silently.

There was no indication of the hunger that gnawed in the void between worlds. No sudden light, no grand declaration of a hostile people or nation, no empire with grand ambitions that stood with a flaming sword and rousing shouts, no momentous occasion that heralded the Devourer in the galaxy once again.

There was silence.

Until there was hunger.

That was the tale for...too many worlds. There were too many that were once living and now but husks that had been stripped of everything living...and all things non-living that could be quickly taken.

The swarms grew as biomatter was ingested and turned over to produce more of itself in the same digestive periods as the metals and minerals of foreign worlds were taken and re-purposed to add just that little bit of material to carapaces and weaponry to make them that much more deadly.

The Devourer continued...hungry still.

Silent.

But not unnoticed.

For many, though not all, peoples in the galaxy, that was the way they charted the return of the starved exo-galactic beast that saw fit to turn the Milky Way into its hunting and feasting grounds; empty worlds that told of the passing and panicking worlds with cut-off communications that told of the approach.

This was not the tale of the Van Zandt Free Duchy.

Long, they had known.

Long, they had prepared.

Long, they seeded the edges of the most extreme ranges their ships could ply in the Ghoul Stars, Sector Thalassi, and Sector Tremayne with stations of ingenious designs. Psychically active brain matter, too rudimentary to be anything even approaching capable of feeling anything at all, a biological machine in every aspect one could care about, plugged into self-sustaining stations, their cells turned to one trick and one purpose, taken from the Hymnals of the Federation; to sing a note into the Warp.

Long had their Aethyrmetrics crafted the machines that would notice the change in pitch, long had generations of watchers grown and died in duty and stations far removed but held dearly and close, all so that the approaching danger could be caught.

And then...long and far away had the pitch changed.

The Federation was informed. The Temple was informed. Their vassals were informed. All they had encountered and didn't wish to die or add to the mass of the approaching doom were informed. Preparations started. Decades-long, and decades-hence, for the war to come in Sub-Sectors far, far away from home and hearth of their peoples.

The pitch began to tell of the approach into regions where battles may be fought, scouts sent out to do battle and deny information at all costs, while their allies were told that the time to prepare was nearly gone and the time for action was upon them.

The Mashan Temple Authority held to agreement and alliance, their mighty Star Forge draining its third star in its entirety to bring forth war materials in dread numbers and war machines of wicked scales and might; the call to war answered with ships laid down for the coming challenge and the coming dark that gnaws.

The Stargrove Federation began to pray. Their priests began to chant. Their peoples began their labors. And their machines started the tune of an industry that shook stars and ignited trillions of souls in a baptism of zeal and certainty. A Legion took to slumber, twenty-thousand bodies interred into sarcophagus and tomb of medical brilliance, overseen by their brethren from beyond the Great Rift, only to awake a decade later, bodies changed and ready for the call to arms, from the lowest Scouts called to their cause now trained once again to the highest in their brotherhood Primaris one and all. Billions stepped up when the call came, and billions more demanded to be called for the fight, with every Sub-Sector of the Federation raising a Grand Army and a Knight Order for the coming charge. From the forges and cathedrals of the Star-Mechanicum came the voices of the priests and the chanting of the machines, the smoke of burning oil and the haze of blessed incense, metal in hallowed amounts flowing from worlds to worlds in ceaseless amounts and unending streams for there was war to be done and war to be made. The priests prayed, the people chanted, the machines labored in holy purpose...and they birthed forth twelve Legions of God-Machines, souls nascent but divine in purpose and duty, charge and bearing, calling forth with their birth cries and challenge in one with mighty horns and mightier minds. The Celestial Choir began to sing...a Dirge. For all that would die. For all that would sacrifice themselves. For all that would be cast aside in the coming war against extinction...and all who would find no path forward but into the maw of war. They Sung. Of the coming end. Of the coming Dawn. Of all that will be theirs to bear and theirs to do.

And...with an attitude of superiority that had never wavered, but one that had been tempered by a Mother Goddess who had given them Hope above HOPE for their people...the Aeldari declared their entry into the coming war. For themselves. For the debts they owed to Temple, Duchy, and Federation. For the future of a galaxy their ancestors had pushed to the brink of Ruin's Grasp. For all their children that will come after them.

The Great Devourer was upon them all.

It would break.



Epilogue Slides to come:
-The Great Devouring War - The Death Of An Aethyr Calculant
-The Great Devouring War - The Death Of A Hunger By Four-Fold Charge
-The Great Devouring War - Those That Remain
-The Birthcry
-555.M55 - Thule And Lamenter

Epilogue Slides Wanted:
(1-Day Moratorium)
[] [Ending Slides #1-5] (Write-In)

 

[HeroCooky]

All things must end. So, too, does this.

Slides to come:
-The Great Devouring War - The Death Of An Aethyr Calculant
-The Great Devouring War - The Death Of A Hunger By Four-Fold Charge
-The Great Devouring War - Those That Remain
-Teeln, Bnnuy, Chairon, Grug, and whoever else is in the Star Child afterlife/Chaos blocker reacts to the galaxy
-The Birthcry
-The Star Child incarnating in the Stargrove Federation and assessing their tools and goals
-The Primarchs react to the birth of the Starchild and the events that follow
-The Avatar of the Star Child meeting/communing with Isha
-The other 4 Star Child nations during the epilogue
-555.M55 - Thule And Lamenter

 

[HeroCooky]

They came.

Lances thundered, shattering thousands. They died.

They came.

Macro-Cannons belched their munitions. They died.

They came.

Plasma-Cannons spat their furor into the void. They died.

They came.

Missiles streaked and twisted, split and impacted with howling fury and gale's grace. They died.

They came.

Artillery spoke that last argument of kings and sent its energies unto their foes. They died.

They came.

Brave Lamenters boarded ships, set off bombs, and stood their ground when they could not retreat again. They died.

They came.

Bombs glittered in the light of foreign stars, undetected...until it was too late. They died.

They came.

War-Worlds grappled with the Bio-Tankers of the Devourer, roots piercing deep and drinking eagerly of the masses contained within, fungi and bio-forms crafted to overcome the bio-forms that hungered fighting valiantly. They died.

They came.

Great scything ships danced across the unending foe, psychic mastery unleashed from the shackles of the Pink Whore and the need to protect souls with a goddess at one's back. They died.

They came.

Massive vessels plowed into swarms, melee joined with grand abandon and grander slaughter. They died.

They came.

Thules, Little Siblings, and mundane Pilots swarmed against the Swarm, firing, dying, and triumphing again and once more. They died.

They came.

Grand calculated traps were set and enacted, Calculants working with Temple-Scribes to etch violence into the fabric of space-time. They died.

They came.

They came unto the first worlds fortified against their coming.

The skies darkened.

Cyclopean batteries thundered. Missiles shrieked. Lances boiled. Fighters ascended. They died.

They came.

Legions of Automata stood ready, firing their weaponry into the skies and the advancing swarms. They died.

They came.

The might of four nations stood tall and undaunted, weavings most arcane and most horrific spat their migths against the Hive Mind, ripping great gouges into continents that would never heal. They died.

They came.

Soldiers stood and fought, tanks fired, fighters and bombers danced and ducked, mundane might fought where esoteric ability failed to stem the tide. They died.

They came.

The first line was abandoned. All who could be pulled out were, and the rest was marked upon monuments to martyrs that held until the exterminatus weaponry stashed within the planets erupted and denied bio-mass to the foe. They died.

They came.

Hundreds of billions of souls cried fury and vengeance. Trillions more marched into the great bellies of the transports that would bring them to the front or the ships freshly hewn from stellar stone to fight against the Hunger gnawing at them all. The second line was more fortified, not merely by decades and specially, but hastily, prepared biospheres, but militarized worlds with more bunkers than mountains, valleys, and trenchworks that spilled like river deltas and epic canyons, their very cells turned against the foe. They were worlds that would stand in corpses until the blood would drown the highest peaks into the crimson seas. They died.

They came.

Hymns were wrought.
Scriptures enacted.
Calculations etched.
Psykana cast.
They died.

They came.

An Orchestra was brought unto the war, two trillion grieving dead demanded it. An Orchestra winked out a thousand stars in one blink, their fury and fire turned to Sympathy unto the Devourers mind, racing down the least to the highest, from world to world, from system to system, from sub-sector to sub-sector, until it raced away from the Galactic Plane and spent itself after a measly thirteen-thousand light-years down...and up, and to the side. They died.

They came.

The fury of the stars wrought with them scars unto Space-Time, casting down gravitic pathways that flowed and plunged and rose to those who had done great sacrifice for great effect.

They came.

They came...and an Aethyr Calculant calculated.

Sympathy. Fury. Mind. Direction. Song.

A hand reached into their soul, for the sheets provided by the most esteemed craftspeople and the most wondrous materials could not contain the calculation to be done. They etched a formula unto their very being, to the great alarm of all who saw and all who felt, fists and weapons breaking down the door to the workshop of the mad Calculant...but they came too late.

The deed was done. The path was revealed. They died.

They came.

The formula was heresy. To Aeldari. To Temple. To Duchy. To Federation.

They came.

They approved its enactment.

 

[HeroCooky]

They came.

World fought. Systems produced materials for war and trained soldiers by the billions. Sub-Sectors sent fleets and prayers. Nations plotted courses and set strategies.

They came.

An Aethyr Calculant wrote a formula upon their very soul, taking what should have been immortal to make it into a plan to kill the seemingly endless swarm. The plan was rejected for the horrific cost.

They came.

The plan was debated.

They came.

The plan was simple, like all things certain to succeed, impossible to fail, and doomed to turn back on their creators.

Make the Devourer eat itself.

Ships would be needed. Fast, faster than anything in the starless nothingness of the gulf between galaxies. Fast enough to plunge deep into the spilling tentacles and maws of the approaching doom while remaining agile enough to out-dance a dancer coordinated beyond light-years of space. Resistant to wear and tear for their long journeys and capable of repairing themself with ever-dwindling resources, crewed by as few minds as could be done, as few souls as needed to be sent. They required components of psychic might and mastery of psykanas that neither nation could bring alone.

But all four nations could bring something to the table.

They came.

The Aeldari offered the brave martyrs that would take the century-long plunge, rise, and advance for the ships to arrive at their destinations. They provided the mastery of their shipwrights to craft a vessel swift and agile, for none of their ships was slower than 15g, and all were nimble enough to almost turn 180° and lose no momentum.

They came.

The Federation constructed the Hexagrammic Grammophones which would bring ruin beyond ruin unto the Devourer, cast upon the swarm that ancient curse that makes the Ancient Snake eat its tail, minds honing that which would make the worst pangs and the highest insanity a body of biology could produce sting into every cell and nerve of the bodies that swam through the void. They added the Bubble-Drives unto the ships, knowing that to travel the Warp into the reaches beyond the galaxy was folly at best, for no paths existed there, and self-defeating at worst, for it would take but one errant twitch of that colossal Hive Mind to crush its approaching doom if it recognized the weaponry fired.

They came.

The Temple carved and wrote unto great slabs and shells the channels and the routes by which the Melody would amplify itself, echo unto itself, the Hexagrams contained within and screaming without release into their prisons the same note...until the shells would burst and the slabs would fire that singular command unto vast swathes of the approaching Devourer.

They came.

The Duchy began to calculate the efforts. Numbers were nudged, equations fudged, in ship, slab, and sing-song. Letters are exchanged in great formulations to alter outcomes for unlikely outcomes and to lend impossible odds the finger on their scale so they may become ironclad truth. Turning a singular one into a singular zero may not sound that drastic...but it prevented the deaths of seventeen billions since it pushed the ships just that faster to their destination and made their deathly howl that would doom their crew and slay their foes that little bit more swiftly. Diviners may perceive fates, but mathematicians made them inevitable.

They came.

The ships were completed. A thousand ships. A Hundred-Thousand Martyrs were saluted. A Trillion more would enter the graves and the memorials before their journey was over if the war and battles stayed the same. They left.

They came.

War was waged.

They came.

Battles fought.

They came.

The Seyfert came under attack, fleets beyond numbers arrived to drown the ship in their corpses, the symbol that had raised so many spirits no longer tolerated by the Devourer's half-interested mind-portion dedicated to this front.

They came.

Heroes rose. Martyrs fell. Villains were scorned. Sacrifices mourned.

They came.

They came.

They came.

They came...

...

There was a pulse.

A...singular...instance of reality. Reality sought. Reality demanded. Reality enacted.

Empowered by the psychic might of the Aeldari, the ships had reached their destinations.

Enabled by the drives and psykana of the Federation, a weapon was fired.

Elevated by the arcane workings of the Temple was the weapon's might amplified a hundred-fold.

Ensured by the calculations of the Duchy, success was never in question. Only the degree.

They.

Were.

One.

Number.

Off.

The pulse did not turn vast swathes of the swarm into a self-devouring snake.

It did not bring ruin of ruins upon the Devourer.

It did not bring a pause and a moment to breathe to the galaxy, bury the dead, mourn the lost, feed the living, arm the willing, and fortify the worlds that would see endless ravenous death rain unto their shores again.

It did none of these things.

There was no self-devouring snake.

There was only HUNGER.

The Devourer ate itself. The numbers had failed...in the favor of the galaxy.

There were no spheres of commands unto parts of an endless body.

There was a command unto the mind that drove the whole.

HUNGER.

HUNGER.

HUNGER.

And so it ate what it could...until the last ate itself.

They came no more.

 

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There is a monument.

On every world.

Every station.

Every inhabited asteroid.

Every generation ship.

Every space where the people of the Alliance dwell for long enough to set down roots, metaphorically and literally.

It is a simple monument.

A dirge of one note.

A memory of one color.

A thing of beauty in its stark one-dimensionality.

A grey wall of projected light from a screen wrought in the best resolution that the nations can manage.

It does not contain a single iota of grey. Only black and white.

For it displays something, something that is shown in its whole, terrible, awe-reaping tragedy in the capitals of each of the nations that participated in the Great Devouring War.

A single strip of white light, eight centimeters tall, one centimeter wide, and a black border of 5mm surrounding it.

All arrayed next to each other. Over each other. Displayed eternally, displayed somberly.

Each strip represents a life.

A life lost in the war.

The monuments in the places near and far away, those that show grey, are merely three meters tall and one wide.

The full monuments in the capitals are cities unto themselves.

They recall, for all the generations that follow.

They show costs in grief-stricken hearts and mind-numbing enormity for all the generations that follow.

The truth of what it means to stand against things that cannot be added to the fold.

And the truth of what it means to fight for that distant tomorrow.

 

[HeroCooky]

The afterlife of the Federation, for it was only located within the Federation, was centered around the Five-Fold Wing protectively curled around their systems and worlds, the wing itself the soul of Teeln, Prophet of the Star Child, with each feather in its plumage the soul of a soul-bearing bearing that refused to go to the Golden Throne to be used in the crafting of their Salvation To Come.

It contained countless faithful who had, for one reason or another, chosen to await the coming of the Star Child rather than to aid in their creation, and, through the decree of the very same from a future yet unborn, also contained the fully cognizant minds of their Prophet and Bnuy, the First Hymnal, alongside many heroes that sought to be present at the time of Birth so that they may be able to take up arms once more in the name of their Deity against a dark galaxy filled with nightmares. It was the greatest repository of heroes and soldiers that the galaxy had to offer, and there were many such repositories eager to claim the title in the galaxy indeed.

However, it was also the greatest repository of souls that weren't forced to slumber if they did not wish to.

Which meant that, even if only one out of a thousand souls chose to be awake through the centuries, there were a lot of them awake, with little to do than to watch over the people they had left behind, the effects their own lives had, and what the future held once their familial bonds became too broad to be watched any longer unless one deliberately ignored entire branches.

So it came, then, that the Five-Fold Wing, that majestic repository of heroes and soldiers, builders and hymnals, great and small people alike, those who soared in life and those who could only scrounge below, eventually, over the long years and decades...began to people watch.

In particular, they watched events of great import and those who made them happen, watched the insignificant peoples and made bets on what they would achieve in life and shared in the joy and misery of the same, while many, very deliberately, evacuated the area when Hymnal Bnuy and the Prophet once again met in a lull of their light responsibilities to compete in bad love poetry against each other. The rest joined in.

It may seem callous from an outside perspective for the souls of the dead to follow a Kil'drabi upon the field of battle and make bets on deeds and death, life and heroism, but when you are all but able to welcome the dead yourself as they ascend from their mortal coil then little things like that start to lose meanings over the centuries in favor of sharpening the essentials.

It did not stop the entire assembly of awake Thules from rioting when Thule-6969 HRMHVR got herself her second boyfriend. Sequentially, not at the same time.



AN: Comedy can go jump off a cliff. I got nothing, so I am altering the slide. Pray I do not alter it further.

 

[HeroCooky]

The Hour was upon them.

The Hour of Birth. The Hour of Death. The Hour when all would end for the last time and all would begin anew for the first time.

It was suitable, then, the Star Child thought, that this final Hour would begin with them, here, before the one that was their Progenitor, Father, Creator, and bitter foe in deed but not in intention now and then.

So they stood, as much as standing meant anything in the twisting changing realm of the Warp, before the Emperor, in all his glory and all his gore, seeing what others could not...would not. For to see this sight was to know the truth, and it was better to be blinded by his divinity's golden radiance than to endure the sight that now endured.

Faces.

Thousands of them.

Thousands and thousands and thousands, all set into a wall that stretched into infinity, beyond the sight of the sightless and the knowledge of the forgetful.

Once, in the beginning, when the being called Emperor had been set upon the Golden Throne, those faces were stern and regal, royal and imperial, high of contempt for their foes and low of weakness in themselves...but time, cruel time, had grasped heart and hearth as sure as it had marched onward. Few could break it, even without it allowing one to reach back to what was never allowed, and fewer still could reverse the passing of the grains that trickled ever onward unto oblivion true and right.

Once, the faces had stared in their roles as facets of the Emperor, playing and plying their roles against the coming of the dark, standing against the Ruinous Powers and Chaos Unidvided, stood vigil and warden, unbroken and vigilant.

But time had done its cruel march.

One after the other, the faces would bleed from the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.

They would begin to scream. Endless and unchanging.

They would begin to weep. A most terrible sound.

And then...they would fall silent.

First...it had been the lesser aspects of the Emperor. Things that could be sacrificed, and, oh, did the Star Child know of sacrifice beyond all things.

But time marched onward.

And the faces that bled, screamed, wept, and went silent turned from the lessers to the greaters, until, at last, when Chaos Undivided danced its triumphant march and joyous celebrations into the galaxy ahead of mighty war hosts and mightier champions, the Great Faces began to bleed.

The Soldier. The Warrior. The Mother. The Prostitute. The Priest. The Lamb. The Wizard. The King. The Beggar.

They all went silent. Silent...until even The Martyr could weep no more.

Until, at last, only one face remained. Staring into the galaxy and at the foes arrayed against it.

The Boy.

But it was no face in truth. It was Truth. Raw, Bare, Bloody, Coarse, and Nude Truth.

The truth of the being that had been charged with the sacrifice of thousands, that had been forced unto a role they were not fit for so that others may yet slumber easily, that had seen the people they had been guarding grow into their own complete Truth despite the darkness that clawed at their souls, that had been shattered when it all ended by mistakes they made and mistakes of others they could not halt in any way that had to piece itself together with a thread of souls and plaster of sinews to charge unto a war against the death of all things they held dear, mind destroyed and soul fractured. The only thing that remained now, after everything else had been lain upon the altar to be sacrificed for just a bit more time. Just a moment more. The only thing that held no guilt at all.

It was a Boy.

A Boy that stared at the Child, afraid and sacred in all the ways that only children could be, afraid and sacred.

The Child dismissed the wall of faces, of facets, of bloody ruin that had held it all against the forces that, even now at this Hour of Birth, thought themselves triumphant, and stepped forward.

The Boy was of brown skin the color of roasted nuts, of black hair the shade of darkest night, and with a brown of eyes like mud and the bark of trees well grown, all from the frame of a boy well used to enough food, enough play, and enough love...but neither plenty of anything at all.

Such was the fate of the children of shepherds in that ancient time, though not so ancient that civilization's first bastions hadn't already drawn themselves up into the heavens and had been cast down by uncaring gods only for their children to rise again at the beginning of the endless cycles of all things to come. Rise and Ruin. Ruin and Rise. On and On and On.

"So, this is it, then?" Boy asked, afraid and smaller than the Child by a good hand-width. But there was defiance there, still unbroken and unbent.

"This is it then." Child confirmed with a nod.

Boy looked sad at that and looked away with some emotion that Child could not decipher. Looked away, far away, and far behind them into the galaxy. The galaxy that was embroiled in war, in bloodshed, in the cancers of Ruin, and the burning fires of hope and mercy and ruthlessness and brutality.

"Was-was it all worth it?" Boy asked, stammering and stumbling over the first word.

The Child looked behind themselves and saw it all. The rapes. The murders. The blood and the offal. The injustices and the horrors. The honor and the glory. The triumph and the love. The tears. The snot. The crying children and the joyous celebrations. The work of slavers and liberators. The end of civilizations and the beginning of new ones. The labors of the mad and the humble. The silent, small, moments shared between those who shared comfort by more than physical and chemical firings of brains. The Child thought long. "Yes."

"Was it all necessary?" Boy asked, fists clenched and shaking in the way the fists of boys not even a decade old did when they clenched their fists hard and painful in youthful anger against an injustice against themselves or those they cared about, or the foolish anger children oft displayed.

"No." Sharp and instant.

Boy and Child stood, and Boy stared at the floor. Breaths came and went, and then...shoulders began to shake. Breath came in ragged, and...tears began to well in his eyes. Tears rolled down the face of Boy. Tears bitter and hot and filled with regrets beyond the knowing of any but Child. Sobbing at the end. Crying with snot and tears and great hick-ups and heaving of the chest, bawling in the way that children did when they knew they had done wrong.

"I want my mother," Boy whispered, crying and shaking, tears hot and bitter falling into infinity from a child too young to bear the burden. "I want my mom," Boy cried, trembling and weeping.

The Star Child turned away.

The Hour was upon them.

...

...

"...mom?"

A mother hugged her crying son.

...

And then there was Light in the Dark.

 

[HeroCooky]

The cry of a newly decanted child rang out inside one of the many stations of the Stargrove Federation. The practice of crafting a child from the many genes of their parents had never fallen out of favor, especially with the many benefits it brought to young parents when they could simply await the decanting of a child for a few months instead of potentially years (in the case of the Kil'drabi), with no health-complications needing to be guarded against for other species (primarily Humans and their Abhuman variations).

The newly decanted babe cried out in clear and high tones, a set of powerful lungs and even more powerful will letting it scream out against the violation of their previous life of safety in the warm and comfortable iron womb. However, skilled hands and warm towels saw to the babe being dried and soon given over to the quartet of parents standing with nervous smiles, proud energy, and expectant eyes just enough distance away to not be warned by the technicians and doctors to let them work but close enough that they could step forward anyways if anything went wrong.

Gentle hands took the young babe, already tiring from its powerful screams and movements, lulled by the comfortable arms of their current holder into sleep and slumber, and thus was not awake to see the proud eyes of the two Thules, Salvus and Piscarian gazing down at their first-born child.

Though the mind of a deity was vast and powerful, the energies of a newborn babe were the exact opposite. Sleep, especially in warm arms and safe love, was the order of the day.

Even as every being within the galaxy, all of humanity and all its descendants not too far gone to not be called human anymore, from the baseline of Homo Sapiens to the Ogryns, the Nightsiders to the Piscarians, the Felinids to the Ratlings, all of them, and all who swore allegiance to the Star Child by faith or deed, the manifold alien races that had sought shelter before the storm of Chaos or meaning in the depths of hell that the galaxy had become within the embrace and paths offered by the Star Child, all those who could perceive the Warp either by nature or by accident and deed, technology or grafted biology, all of them...

Felt. It.

A bell struck the Warp.

It tolled once.

It tolled twice.

Billions wept with joy and rapturous knowledge.

It tolled thrice.

Four parents in a station stood still, even as everyone nearby had already fallen to their knees, praying before the galaxy in personal devotion to the coming of the Child.

It tolled four times.

Their eyes, burning with euphoric tears and smiles of ecstatic bliss, turned to their first-born babe, born just before the hour of the coming of the Child.

It tolled five times.

And they decided that the newborn needed another name. Not merely Ilas Alivair, their first child, but Ilas Saksi Alivair. "Our Joy Who Will Bear Witness." A fitting name for a child born at the hour of their salvation's birth.

---

Young Ilas stared, with deep concentration and resounding wisdom, at the blocks stacked into a mighty wall before their form, the crafted edifices of learning and education unspooling the deepest mysteries of the lessons to be learned with every second the young child, not yet given a gender as was the custom in most places of the Federation until they themselves professed a preference for one, the other, or neither, stared at them.

And then pushed them all over with an outstretched hand with a huff.

Deities were powerful. They were fundamental anchors of reality born by the collective faith and belief of billions and trillions of souls.

They were also, occasionally, forced to accept that, yes, having an Avatar to affect the physical world and lead armies, rally Sectors, and light a roaring wildfire of hope against the dark may be useful. But spending the required two decades to even get a chance to go there may just be a tad bit annoying.

Hence, the wall now lying in shattered pieces before the Star Child, satisfaction at having overcome their mighty adversary spreading through their physical body as they asserted their dominance in the roaring wars that happened in their name all over the galaxy within the Warp.

"I know it's hard," a gentle voice said, and Jeria began to stack the blocks before her child once more, the Salvus patting the babe's head as they pouted. "But we all need to learn. Now, what does the Grox say?"

The Star Child knew that the Stargove Federation was their best bet at uniting this side of the galaxy until the Great Rift was shut down, especially if the Mashan Temple Authority and Van Zandt Free Duchy continued to cooperate as they had these past few centuries, the blend of willing soldiers and numbers, combined with ship-building capacity and knowledge sure to be critical building blocks for their Galactic Liberation in the future...but it still was a bit humiliating that they had to learn how to read again.

Because, of course, their Avatar couldn't just be pumped full of knowledge and power and be catapulted to the top of the Stargrove Federation's leadership.

They had seen what that had done to their Father and Half-Brothers.

"Grrrrrh," they said instead of dwelling there. A delighted smile broke on their Salvus mother's face, and the Star Child resolved not to preen too much at the praise.

They needed that humility once they reached puberty.

 

[HeroCooky]

The Birth was like a bell tolled in the soul of every human being, those many billions of variants of the Homo Sapiens large and small across the galaxy, from the lowest of the baselines laboring in manufactories and waste disposal sorting centers to the highest of the abhuman strains, from a Salvus headbutting their father in joy and love to the Ogryn marching to war in full uniform and righteous purpose, the Nightsider cradling their family in their burrows to the Piscarian praying in a temple.

The Birth resounded in the minds and hearts of all who held close to the Star Child and their Five-Fold Creeds, praying and laboring for a better galaxy that may yet see peace as a norm rather than a curse uttered by the foul tongues of Ruin, from the somber halls of the Dirut to the massive machinery enclaves of the Naraths turning fates by labor, the manifold waveforms of the Crashing Ocean to the chittering preachings of the Kxcriks.

The Birth was a vessel of change for the beings who had long labored and championed the cause of the Emperor back when he still walked and the God-And-Corpse-Emperor's end and path when he sat immobile upon the Golden Throne.

For Leman Russ, it was an end to a journey long walked. It was to finally, finally, kneel before what he had hoped to find. What he had hoped to bring to his father, to make him hale and hearty again after he had failed him so much in all aspects that a son could fail a father. And so he knelt and wept before the fruit, for he knew his father had died and there was nothing to save anymore. But he had a wife, brave and bold Tadmusthun, and she wept with him in his hour of grief, and she dried her tears for what would never be with him, and she still plucked the fruit and smiled her grand smile at him as she told him that he may have been too late for this father...but not his sons. And he smiled and agreed, and they both set out unto that long and short road back home, old for him and new for her, with storms whipping snow already around them and the howl of wolves in the distance. Russ wondered if Bjorn was still alive and well, for he could only tell that he was still...enduring, which said it all and said little in truth...and if so, what titles he had earned. Leeman chuckled to himself, for he could well remember that he had given him the title of "Fell-Handed" in uproarious laughter when he had stumbled upon the man masturbating. Good times. The best of times. The worst of times. Their times. "Who goes th-Allfather, that's a big lass." One of his sons shout-stumbled, and Russ grinned as he heard, after so long, the sounds of his people once again.

The Snake was dead. The Clone yet lived. They were not the same, even if they came from the same stock. They had fought and lived in different eras, different worlds, and different causes, their wars long and difficult and harrowing in their own, unique, ways. The Clone of Fulgrim could not lay claim to such a name. And yet he did, for there was nothing else to lay claim to when he had breathed that first breath of free air, when he had challenged the Gods of Ruin and made them flinch, when he had found solace in the arms of those who called him brother and gene-father freely. The road was long for the one who took up the name of Fulgrim, and, in truth of all naked truths, it was not a road that would lead to glories or triumphs to be shouted into eternity and etched into worlds and stars, remembered for untold generations. But it was a road that led to worlds saved, even as he bent a knee to the one who was his nephew for a cause most worthy of being fought for; peace. After so long...peace.

Vulkan stood. Sweat dripped down his brow, surrounded by molten stone as he was, and heard the cry of the child of his Father. In truth...it mattered little to him. There was war to be done. Armor to be made. Weapons to be distributed. Hosts to raise and hosts to train. The road was still as rocky and dangerous as before, if not more, for the lack of protection his father had extended to all who prayed honestly and earnestly. But, he thought with another strike meeting white-hot blade, mayhaps there may now be an end in sight to it all. It would be a good thing after a long line of bad things.

It tasted like ash upon his tongue, that cry. That cry of liberation and that cry of a babe ripping free of womb long sealed. It tasted like all his efforts had been for naught, all his work to keep billions from being massacred by Xenos, Chaos, and even themselves, as much as he hated to acknowledge that state of things, had been for naught. After all, why bother laboring for the betterment of humanity when all you had to do was wait a millennium or two until the solution to all his woes came along and snapped all of it out of existence. ...he was being untruthful, hurt and wounded, the burden of keeping even what little remained of the Imperium, that Great Work, running along and fighting against the ending of all things had chafed on him, ground him down, and made a miser of his mind when he had once stood, sword held high, and had cried vengeance and fury into the stars in the name of shining justice and righteous duty. The Avenging Son breathed deeply of the silence in his chambers, knowing all too well that he would be needed to quell the riots breaking out across the fleet he was leading from stopping them to give aid to a world attacked by Orks; even this would change nothing in truth. There will still be war for millennia to co-his armor hissed. Eyes widened as the armor that had kept him alive for so long came undone, great plates falling away and falling apart, setting themselves down gently like they were aided by unseen hands, leaving him standing in naught but skin, his armor set around himself...and very much not dying due to the lack of aid it rendered unto him. Tensely...he moved muscles, felt the air upon his skin, and marveled how it all felt after so long...a stray thought stopped his joy. Then, dread dawned upon him. Yvraine must not know of this.

Magnus was no more. Whatever had been there when Horus slew the Emperor...it had all since died and been replaced. Part by part, all with strings so the Deceiver could dance his puppet as he desired. Magnus was no more. It only took his corpse till 567.M47 to be cracked upon the rock of truth to be slain for the final time.

Sanguinius was no more. Only Duty remained. Their master did not matter. Only that they knew the Duty they had to do. For the Fallen. For those they Cherished. "UNTO THAT FIELD ONCE MORE!" The Angel Cried! "TO HOPE AND RUINS END!" The Damned Legion returned the cry! And So They Went! Glory And Ruin, Gore And Hope, Shining Beacon In Bitter Defeat And Triumphant Bugle Upon Ashen Fields Of Loss And Martyrs! For the Fallen! For Those They Cherished!

The Lion was dead. He had breathed his last standing against the Devourer, triggering a trap of desperation lain by lesser men when their greaters had refused to stand and die for them. The Lion was dead. Slain by chitin and the fires of cyclonic torpedoes. The Lion was dead...and yet he walked the forests and the dark places, sword in hand, shield held tight, and path clear: against the horrors that lay ahead. So he swore, so his sons recalled oaths long forgotten. Long Live The Lion!

Perturabo was no more. Like Magnus, only a hollow shell puppeted by Vashtorr remained, all guns and machine and hatred and logic. All burnished steel and wounded pride, cackling and rattling wheezing coughs of belching munitions, stamping clamping thunder of great armored feet and hatred's hand grasping unto levers of power to further an ascension that seemed ever more distant with every battle fought in the name of its creation. Perturabo was no more. Only a shell of hate remained that was to be slain on that distant world of Rudalus Triariius, a woman of no renown grinning madly, deadman's trigger to a bomb lifted...and a world obliterated.

Mortarion was no more. Only a festering boil of rotting offal and maggots fecund in plentiful labors and laughing pain remained. His was the most pitiful of deaths. The others had deaths for lives that they had either chosen or been unaware of. He knew. In the end, the cruel end, he knew. He hated. And he was no more. Only a puppet to be slain. And slain he would be, slowly. Piece by piece, reeking intestine by falling away maggot. He would die, though he would die the last and least of the Puppet-Primarchs.

"I was right," Lorgar whispered. He was happy. Content. At peace. "I was right," he said, hammer in hand and war panoply upon his back. "I. Was. Right." He grinned...and declared service to the Child, His Deity, His Divine, His Eternal Sovereign. He felt his body burn as runes were eradicated across his body, new ones carved, a contract of servitude he rejoiced at clad in his soul and etched into the Warp itself. Lorgar laughed, hefting his hammer, devotee to the Child of Ruthlessness, Brutality, Creativity, Fire, and Justice. "I WAS RIGHT!" He screamed, and the Tower shattered and reformed, a holdfast against endless tides of daemons descending upon the traitor of traitors with the hatred of the Four upon his Legion of Faith. He laughed. He was right. And how he laughed and cried at that.

Caw. Caw caw. Caw? Caw caw caw! Caw.

In a room somewhere, two figures stared at each other, a table with two goblets filled with a drink before them and thrones behind them. The Hydra was on their shoulders and a smirk on their lips. "I..." one declared, lifting his goblet into the air, "...am Alpharius," he lied. "I..." the other replied, "...am Omegon," lifting his goblet along the lie. "To your victory, brother," Alpharius spoke jovially. "No, to yours!" Omegon returned. Then both drank deep of the drink in their goblets and sat upon their thrones, smirking all the way. They were dead within four heartbeats, and their bodies obliterated by the Cyclonic torpedos installed under each other's throne within fifty-five.