Suffer Not ≡][≡ 40k Inquisition Quest

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Character Sheet
  • Informational
    • ≡][≡ Inquisitor Joanyn Praxis ≡][≡
    Imperial Inquisitor, Ordo Hereticus
    Attributes
    Physical Attributes
    Strength - 1
    Agility - 2
    Melee - 1
    Endurance: 4

    Mental Attributes
    Intelligence - 3
    Tactics - 2
    Nerve - 1
    Fortitude: 6

    Social Attributes
    Charm - 4
    Presence - 3
    Contacts - 3
    Resolve: 10

    Faith Attributes
    Belief - 2
    Scripture - 0
    Fire - 1
    Conviction: 3
    (3) - The Imperium should be an alliance of solidarity for the weak, not an alliance of strength for the strong.
    (2) - People are more than problems, weaknesses, corruption vectors to eradicate. Their feelings and dreams matter.
    (1) - A Shot Fired is a Shot Wasted

    <1> - Victory makes me feel alive.
    Strength is raw physical conditioning. Lifting stuff, swimming, running a long time, punching hard. It's added to many melee attack damage as well.

    Agility is swiftness, reaction speed, and immediate awareness. It's used for dodging things, jumping, ducking, outrunning folks, and other twitchy reactions.

    Melee is the general skill of up close combat with knives, swords, fists (power or otherwise), chainsaws, whatever else.

    Intelligence is raw intellectual power, knowledge, and drive to learn and study stuff. It is also used for military logistics.

    Tactics is your knowledge of battle tactics, from the strategy of leading armies to simply knowing when it is safe to rush across a hallway in a gunfight.

    Nerve is the stat both for shooting firearms and for keeping your cool. Nerve checks are common in combat to prevent from panicking or fight through pain.

    Charm is the social stat used for flattery, smoothtalking, lying, seduction, verbal sparring, deflection, and navigating high culture.

    Presence is the social stat used for reasoning, explaining, teaching, intimidating, impressing, or public address.

    Contacts is rolled to know people you need to know, and to have a good reputation with them.

    Belief is your actual faith in... whatever you have faith in. The Emperor, hopefully. It is used to resist temptation and corruption.

    Scripture is your knowledge of the intellectual side of your religious faith. If you can quote from the holy books and theologians. It's intelligence for matters of faith.

    Fire is your ability to project your faith out and convince others of it. Want to convert somebody or whip a crowd into a fanatical fury? This stat.
    Weapon: Laspistol
    Weapon: Hellpistol
    Trade: Manager
    Trade: Spy
    Trade: Political Operator
    Talent: Verbal Sparring
    Talent: Seduction
    Talent: Dishonesty
    Talent: Intimidation
    Talent: Exfiltration
    Talent: Logistics
    Talent: Propaganda
    Talent: Indirect Persuasion
    People: Dahlia
    People: The Corrupted
    People: High Imperial Politicians
    Knowledge: Imperial Political Theory
    Social Loadout
    1 Compact Laspistol, 1 Laspistol Reload, Flash-Safe Glasses, 6 Concealed monoknives, 1 Show Knife, 1 Belt Buckle Gun, 1 Plastex Bodyglove/Flakweave Suit, Displacer Field

    Combat Options
    +1 Hellpistol, +1 Transonic Machete

    Compact Laspistol
    Small Handgun
    Attack Dice: 1/d10 -or- 2/d10-1
    Aim Bonus: +1
    Damage Bonus: +2
    Armour Reduction: 0
    Magazine Size: 4
    Special
    Laser: Does not cause bleeding.
    Blinding: If operated without flash protection, witnessing the impact of a las-weapon will blind for 3 rounds.

    Concealed Monoknife
    Small Knife
    Attack Dice : 1/d10
    Damage Bonus : Agility + 1
    Armour Penetration : 2
    Parry Bonus : -1
    Disarm Bonus : +0

    Show Knife
    Medium Knife
    Attack Dice : 1/d10+1
    Damage Bonus : Agility + 1
    Armour Penetration : 0
    Parry Bonus : +0
    Disarm Bonus : +0

    Buckle Gun
    Tiny Handgun
    Attack Dice: 2/d10-2
    Aim Bonus: +0
    Damage Bonus: -2
    Armour Reduction: 0
    Magazine Size: 1
    Special
    Hidden: Will always escape searches.

    Plastex Bodyglove/Flakweave Suit
    Clothing
    Armour Value : 3
    Coverage : All but Head and Eyes
    Resistances : Impact, Blunt

    Displacer Field
    Energy Screen
    When hit with an attack, roll 1d10.
    1: Displaced into worse danger.
    2: Displacer field fails. Take the hit.
    3-6: Displaced hard. Take 1 Sore from bumping into something.
    7-9: Displaced. Attack avoided.
    10: Nothing personal, kid.

    Hellpistol (Voss Pattern)
    Medium Handgun/Carbine
    Attack Dice: 1/d10 -or- 2/d10-1 (One-Handed)
    Aim Bonus: +1
    Damage Bonus: +3
    Armour Reduction: 2
    Magazine Size: 12
    Special
    Laser: Does not cause bleeding.
    Blinding: If operated without flash protection, witnessing the impact of a las-weapon will blind for 3 rounds.
    Convertible: When converted to Carbine mode, gain +1 to Attack and Aim Bonus.

    Transonic Machete
    Medium Knife
    Attack Dice : 1/d10+2
    Damage Bonus : Strength + 3
    Armour Penetration : 1 + Half of enemy Armour (Round Down)
    Parry Bonus : +0
    Disarm Bonus : +3
    Special
    Sickening Vibrations: Enemies with 3 meters of an active blade count as being at -1 to all stats.
    Sister Charitina
    A member of the Order Famulous who found her faith again thanks to the Inquisitor. Praxis' closest confidant, dearest friend, and irritating ex-girlfriend.
    Attributes of Note: Nerve 3, Contacts 4, Charm 3, Scripture 2, Fire 2
    Skills of Note: Career - Order Famulous, Weapon - Bolt Carbine, People - Inquisitor Praxis
    Equipment: Half-Plate Power Armour, Bolt Carbine, Burning Blade
    Known Values: (3) The nobility is a blight on the Imperium, (2) I trust the Inquisitor's vision for the future, (1) Galaxy grim and dark, tiddy soft and warm.

    Dahlia Hussian
    A 17 year old unsanctioned psyker, rescued by Praxis from the witch's pyre she volunteered for at age 12. Loves the Emperor, and hates herself for being unworthy and twisted.
    Attributes of Note: Power 1, Control 2, Sight 2, Faith 5, Strength -1, Nerve 0
    Skills of Note: Talent - Self Discipline, Talent - Self-Hatred
    Equipment: Web Derringer
    Known Values: [3] I am here because I was given a chance. I should extend the same chance to others, [2] The Emperor is all things, [1] I can atone for my existence by aiding the Inquisitor

    Marvel Ann Alemanga-Zero
    A Magos of the biology wing of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Marvel Ann is an exuberant, odd, and enthusiastic cyborg lady who is an expert in medicine and bionics. She's Joanyn's current sweetheart, and she autotunes her voice.
    Attributes of Note: Intelligence 4, Charm 3, Strength 4
    Skills of Note: Career - Cyberdoc, Talent - Surgery, Talent - Singing
    Known Values: [2] Adventure is to be seized with both hands (and as many mechandrites as possible)

    Fraser Bookter
    A positively ancient scribe who served Praxis' teacher, Bookter has seen all manner of things. Despite that, he keeps good humour.
    Attributes of Note: Intelligence 4, Scripture 2, Contacts 2, Strength -2
    Skills of Note: Career - Archivist, Knowledge - Imperial History
    Known Values: ???

    Korey Kilimnik
    Once a Lightning fighter pilot for the Navy, until he was caught fucking an admiral's son. Kilimnik professionally doesn't care unless it has jet engines.
    Attributes of Note: Nerve 5, Agility 3
    Skills of Note: Career - Fighter Pilot, Talent - Piloting, Talent - Causing Trouble
    Known Values: [2] By death or rejuvenation, age will never slow my reflexes
    Penalties​

    ≡][≡​
    Sore​
    Strain​
    Stress​
    Stain​
    ≡][≡​
    ◹☠◸​
    0/4​
    0/6​
    0/10​
    0/3​
    ◹☠◸​
    ◹⛉◸​
    3 XP​
    XP3​
    33 XP​
    9 XP​
    ◹⛉◸​
    CURRENT RP
    6

    RULES SUMMARY
    ROLZ ROOM​
     
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  • Informational
    • Just lookit these beauts.

    Displacer Field
    Energy Screen
    When hit with an attack, roll 1d10.
    1: Displaced into worse danger.
    2: Displacer field fails. Take the hit.
    3-6: Displaced hard. Take 1 Sore from bumping into something.
    7-9: Displaced. Attack avoided.
    10: Nothing personal, kid.

    Hellpistol (Voss Pattern)
    Medium Handgun/Carbine
    Attack Dice: 1/d10 -or- 2/d10-1 (One-Handed)
    Aim Bonus: +1
    Damage Bonus: +3
    Armour Reduction: 2
    Magazine Size: 12
    Special
    Laser: Does not cause bleeding.
    Blinding: If operated without flash protection, witnessing the impact of a las-weapon will blind for 3 rounds.
    Convertible: When converted to Carbine mode, gain +1 to Attack and Aim Bonus.

    Transonic Machete
    Medium Knife
    Attack Dice : 1/d10+2
    Damage Bonus : Strength + 3
    Armour Penetration : 1 + Half of enemy Armour (Round Down)
    Parry Bonus : +0
    Disarm Bonus : +3
    Special
    Sickening Vibrations: Enemies with 3 meters of an active blade count as being at -1 to all stats.
     
    6-1: And They Shall Know No Fear
  • Threadmarks
    • Within four hours of takeoff, your shuttle touched down in the hanger of the Siegebreaker. This was no ordinary Imperial ship, this was a Strike Cruiser of the Gate Wardens chapter, a four and a half kilometer long mass of dark red, green, and blue steel tipped with a truly enormous cannon. The entire construct radiated power and menace as it loomed closer and closer, especially because, unlike most Imperial ships, it was unlit by running lights or portholes, with just a handful of tiny windows showing that it was manned at all. And you knew it was nowhere near as dangerous as its cargo.

    The Siegebreaker was, by happy coincidence, on it's way to Valdor already, linking up with a task force intended for a mop-up operation of one the conflicts spilling out from Armageddon. They had been happy to divert a few days to pick you up, and as you descended the ramp you were met with an honour guard of almost twenty Marines in perfect ranks and full armour, truly putting on a show. Opposite you was Lieutenant Basak, subcommander of the 4th Company to which these Marines belonged. Like all the marines, his armour was mostly a faded red, with parchment-white trim and a single band of green on the lower torso plate, almost like a belt or sash. The Lieutenant was wearing what almost looked like a sleeveless jacket, hanging open, over the chestplate, and he had a curved power sword at his hip that was probably longer than your leg. On the back of his right gauntlet was a five-digit number. Behind them were arrayed three Thunderhawk gunships, one of which seemed to have its underside replaced with a pair of clamps and had additional engines. The space was cavernous, easily capable of holding many more craft and marines.

    "Lady Inquisitor! We're honoured by your presence, truly." Lieutenant Basak said, mirth in his voice even behind his helmet.

    You approached and, awkwardly, unsure what else to do, you stuck out a hand to shake, realizing as you were doing so that it was completely absurd, especially considering how far you had to look up to meet the Marine's gaze. In his armour, he had to be eight feet tall, a solid wall of adamantium, plasteel, and ceramite looming over you.

    But then he put out his hand in turn, though there was no way with the mismatch in size for a proper handshake to occur, so you just sort of... touched hands a moment, while trying not to look too stupid.

    "The honour is all mine. That you for heeding my request."

    "Of course, Lady Inquisitor. Come, let's get you settled in, we don't want to lose any time."

    This wasn't your first time interacting with Space Marines, but it was the first time you'd been aboard one of their ships and taken part in their life outside battle. Most of the time, you'd just seen their backs as an armoured wall pushing out in front of you as they solved some problem on your behalf in a wave of bolter fire and explosions. You'd never had a conversation with a Space Marine that wasn't a mission briefing, just snippets and orders. Space Marines and regular human beings simply didn't interact very much, and you were very quickly learning that they were not good at it.

    The first problem as, quite simply, that Lieutenant Basak took off at a brisk walk back into the vessel's halls, and by the time the first turn came you'd completely lost him. He was so tall and moved so easily that he simply crossed the deck too fast to keep up, even the jog you'd tried to employ. Eventually he doubled back, found you, and was quiet confused why you weren't following until you explained, while helping poor Bookter catch his breath.

    "Oh. Of course, my apologies."

    He then made a point of moving much more slowly, and you felt very awkward about that. It was like idling a groundcar down a street or something, he didn't seem suited for it. Finally, you reached the quarters set aside for you, long-disused 'guest quarters' that had rapidly been recommissioned for your party by the near-invisible crew of Chapter Serfs, who you caught only brief glimpses of. Unsurprisingly, your luggage had beaten you to your rooms and was neatly piled.

    "Make yourselves at home, please. My marines are getting back to their tasks, but dinner is at 8:00 tonight and you are invited, if you are interested. Good day."

    And with that the massive marine turned and began moving down the halls, the sound of his footfalls mismatched with the scale of his boots and the weight of his armour.

    ---

    A few hours later, you and your crew found yourself deeply out of place at the dining table of the Gate Wardens, feeling a little like children in the way you were dwarved by your hosts and your surroundings. You'd always imagined Space Marines ate, like, pills or something, some kind of super ration, but instead they had some kind of incredible feast of roast meat, breads, and vegetables that rivaled anything you might see at a Governor's banquet. And they ate a lot. Twenty-five thousand calories a day, apparently.

    "You eat this well all the time?" Charitina asked, helping herself to more. You'd been a little shy at first, until you saw the portions they were taking.

    "In quantity, yes, in quality... we did have the serfs pay extra attention." Lieutenant Basak said with a smile.

    "Of course, we try to eat well in transit, because it's a lot harder in the field!" one of the more talkative marines, Brother Demirel, added cheerfully, "Trust me, you do not want to have to eat our field rations."

    "I don't even think they can." another marine added, with a bit of a sour look on his face.

    Despite the feast, there was no booze, though. It wasn't a universal Space Marine thing, most Marines occasionally drank a little at least ceremoniously, but Basak explained that the chapter had a long tradition of avoiding drink, going back to the founding, so that they would not interrupt their vigilance even symbolically. Dahlia, in the smallest voice you'd ever heard from her, so quiet you could barely hear her from right beside her, asked where it came from, and instantly there was a change over the room.

    Most of the marines were not good at socializing, at least not with you. There were about three who bothered speaking with you at the table: Basak, Demirel, and one of the scouts that sat at the far end of the table, Topal. The rest regarded you with something between suspicion and complete disregard, but once this question was breached, everyone paid attention.

    "Three thousand, one hundred and five years ago..." Lieutenant Basak started, "a Space Marine task force of one hundred and eighty marines, from the Second, Seventh, and Ninth companies of the Sons of Dorn, landed at a planet named Hadleys Hope. It was a small settlement at the time, merely twenty thousand strong, miners and hardy folk. The Sons of Dorn were there only as a rallying point, awaiting the arrival of the rest of their battle group before embarking on an attack on a system held in the grip of the Enemy. But their location was betrayed by forces unknown. A fleet struck their ships from the sky and boiled the Warp to cut them off from their allies, and then began a bombardment and landing a force ten million strong."

    He was telling this story like he'd told it a thousand times, which he probably has. It was undoubtedly the most important story in the history of the Chapter, and he must have heard it told like this himself when he joined.

    "The Sons of Dorn were lead by Captain Murad of the Second Company, who was a clever and resolute man. He ordered an evacuation into mountains of Hadleys Hope, where thick peaks and ancient mines would shelter them, into a canyon with only one way in. There, the Sons of Dorn and the civilians dug trenches and earthworks, laid traps and minefields, and even planted fields behind the lines to feed them, and they prayed that salvation would come. The enemy assembled on the field before them, burnt the settlement as an offering to their foul gods. And then they attacked, and the marines had to hold until help arrived."

    Dahlia was wide-eyed, utterly captivated. You had to admit, the man could spin a yarn.

    "And hold they did. Not for a week, not for a month, but for six long years they held the front. They had no moment to rest, no moment to let their guard down. They fired every bolt and bullet they had, they emptied their ammunition stores, they shot the lasguns of the planetary guard until the lenses warped and the power cells burnt out. They fought with knives, shovels, picks, blasting charges, and their fists. They stacked rocks to hurl and roll at their enemy, and they held until there were just thirty men left, pushed all the way back to the entrance of the mine that sheltered the colonists. Among them was Captain Murad, with a broken sword in either hand, his armour rent and torn apart from the fury of their attacks, holding the line."

    The other Marines were paying rapt attention. This was sacred to them.

    "When all hope seemed lost, light lanced down from the heavens and smote the foe, breaking and scattering them, and the survivors found themselves aided by their brothers, who had finally made it through the warp storms. So impressed were they by the stalwart defense that they petitioned Terra to found a new Chapter to gift to Captain Murad, and he called them the Gate Wardens, for the held at the gates to the last. And the first generation of recruits came from Hadleys Hope, but the population simply was not large enough to support them, so instead of founding a fortress there, our chapter now recruits from the orphans of every war they touch. I myself was born on a planet they saved."

    "As was I." Brother Demirel added.

    "As was I." another marine said.

    And then it rolled through the table as each marine said it in turn.

    Marvel Ann applauded, a moment, before realizing that wasn't what she was supposed to do. You thanked your host for the wonderful story, and finished your meal.

    ---

    There was little to do on a long journey through the warp, this one estimated to take somewhere on the order of two months. The usual standby of watching holos was out, mostly, and the Marines were always so busy with training that it quite simply felt like you had the run of the ship, so your party went out in expeditions, two or three at a time, exploring the massive space. When you and Marvel Ann managed to leave your rooms, you paced the halls, so unlike any vessel you'd ever seen, still gleaming after two thousand years. You took a moment at one point, just out of habit, to ask a serf how their masters treated them, and everything seemed on the level. Charitina and Dahlia spent a great deal of time in the chapel, Kilimnik somehow convinced their Thunderhawk pilots to allow him to use their training simulator, and Bookter located the ships library and simply disappeared.

    You still met with the Marines frequently for dinner, and you soon started to get a feel for them, learn names, personalities, and histories. Likewise, the marines started warming up to you, and you started to get a rather familiar vibe about them. You saw them frequently out of their armour, wearing simple clothes in their chapter's colours as they exercised, maintained equipment, and trained. They sparred constantly, often seeming to attack each other without warning, sometimes even with live steel. They joked and laughed and even playfully insulted each other, the way you'd often seen young soldiers behave. They seemed... human, just larger. Not just physically, but emotionally, huge. Their silences were deafening, their laughter full-bodied, their momentary anger a storm.

    Outside their armour, with their faces bare to the world, they hid very little. You had spent a great deal of time around soldiers who had been through terrible things, and more than a little around those suffering from traumatic stress. And almost every Space Marine here showed signs of it.

    For all that they trained and fought, they also showed great respect for one another. The marines moved with a great deal of care and silence, talking in low voices, and it felt solemn, but you soon realized it was to sooth their nerves. They warned each other when they passed behind one another, or before they fired weapons in training. One marine, Brother Suvari, never left his armour, only reluctantly removing his helmet to eat, and nobody challenged it.

    After prayer one morning, you lingered a while, and after assuring your hosts you were alright, and they assuring you that you didn't have to leave, the marines began a curious ritual. They sat in a circle and discussed their well-being, talking frankly about their stresses and anxieties, about the difficulties they were having, about their worries for upcoming missions. One marine confessed he was experiencing nightmares that sounded very familiar, the sort you took sedatives for, and they were preventing him from getting the four hours sleep they were recommended. Another said that he'd set his helmet stummers to cancel the sound of bolt guns because they were wearing at his nerves and making him shake, and his brothers lauded his adaptive solution, even as they discussed alternate approaches that would not hamper his alertness. Several marines discussed suicidal feelings.

    To say you were shocked was an understatement. You thought you had been disabused of all of the Imperium's myths, but this one was shattering. You left midway through, ashamed to have seen it, and a few hours later Lieutenant Basak tracked you down to the hanger where you were standing on a gangway, trying to process it as your leaned against the railing and studied the dropships below.

    "Lady Inquisitor. Can I have a word?" he asked, deadly serious.

    "Of course." you responded automatically, "I'm so sorry."

    "Well, that rather stole my thunder, I was coming to apologize to you. When you stayed, I presumed you knew what would happen next." he said, sitting, "I hear most chapters do something like it. But now I realize we may have tarnished our image somewhat, and that image is important to Imperial subjects. Even, it seems, to Inquisitors."

    "I've seen a great many things, but few have shaken me like that, I'll admit." you said, "I suppose I thought Space Marines were fearless. I've seen you in battle, and I've heard your stories... the stand at the Gate, all that. It seems... incongruous."

    "Of course. As the Emperor Himself once said, 'and they shall know no fear', right? Well... allow me to let you in on a secret, if you would."

    You nodded, feeling completely out of your depths.

    "In my body are seventeen implanted organs, genetically engineered at the dawn of the Imperium itself. I can go weeks without sleep, breath poison gas like air, learn the instincts of an animal by eating its flesh, and my very bones are made of the same material as my armour. It is a remarkable and holy process, and it is in no way arrogant to say it makes me a more potent warrior than any natural human that has ever lived. But do you know what none of those organs do?"

    You thought you did, but you stayed silent.

    "Not one of them does anything about fear. We train, we pray, we harden our body and minds, and even while we sleep hypnotic messages instruct us. In combat, we know how to fall back on that instinctive drive. We were out on the Eastern Fringe for twenty-five years before we were recalled here. I faced a Tyranid screamer-killer as it came roaring at me, four talons as large as I was, and I was terrified. I thought I was absolutely going to die, and I was in no way prepared for it. But I killed it, drove my sword through its brain, though it took a few pokes to find it. Not the largest, you see."

    You laughed absurdly, not sure what else to do.

    "We train non-stop so that our fight, flight, or freeze response will always be fight, and so that even when we are overwhelmed with fear we will fight with skill and ferocity. But it is still there, when the situation is dire enough. After the creature was slain and the battle won, I had a fit of hysterical laughter and then a breakdown, I was practically catatonic until their next wave came. And the beast... it pursued me for months in my nightmares, and I still see the devil now, sometimes. But if he ever comes back for a second go, well, I know where to stick my blade now. You've been in situations like that, I can only imagine."

    You nodded. You absolutely had. Not just combat, backed into a corner by heretics at Hoight with your gun near empty, when that demonette cut your hellgun in half and then went for your throat, under artillery barrage at Tellerax Prime. No, there was also the fear when you were pleading for a planet's life with a fellow Inquisitor, trying to avoid what seemed like an inevitable war, talking down a crowd before they got themselves massacred. You'd known fear, and you still knew it, and the only reason you were still here was that through skill and training and sheer pigheadedness you kept fighting, kept talking, kept going until you won the day.

    "It's just a saying, Lady Inquisitor. We know fear. And that's why we can beat it."

    ---

    Three days later, the Siegebreaker dropped out of warp. This was common, a way of getting one's bearings in realspace and checking any uncertainties in the exterior of the ship. This time, you did so in a system that didn't even have a name, just a long string of numbers, and you had been invited onto the bridge for the ceremonial opening of one of the ship's few viewports. You brought Dahlia up to watch, sure she would appreciate it.

    Almost immediately after doing so, one of the serfs turned to Lieutenant Basak to deliever a sharp report.

    "My lord, we have detected a ship in the system. It appears Imperial." he said, and the marine nodded.

    "Company. Unusual. Vox them." he said, then he turned to you to explain, "Might just be a passing merchant, might be criminals hiding in a dead system, might be something worse. Best we find out."

    The radio waves took thirty minutes to cross the void, and thirty minutes back, and the response seemed on the level. The Lieutenant was about to order the transition back to the Warp when Dahlia pulled your sleeve, and you sheparded her off the bridge to talk.

    "What is it, Dahlia?"

    "They're lying. The... the ship, of course, not the m-marines, um... okay. Sorry. There's more than just people on that ship, there's something else, sorta. It's big and smart and hungry and they're all part of it." she said, wringing her hands nervously, "Can you please warn them?"

    You went back in to do so, but Lieutenant Basak was already issuing orders. He turned to you with a smile.

    "I heard. Quite a trick from the girl. If she's right, I think there may be a genestealer cult aboard that vessel, and they'll spread to wherever they go next. Lady Inquisitor... may I have your permission to divert from our mission to deal with this threat?"

    "... how long?" you asked.

    "Two days." he replied with confidence.

    ---

    [ ] Our mission is too vital. Flag the ship and send a warning out by astropath, but we must continue.​
    [ ] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.​
    ​
    ​
    There were two ways I could have written Space Marines, and I wasn't sure which way I would until I got here.​
    ​
    The first, my initial idea, was to make them just awful people. To make them the SS in this fascist nightmare, the ultimate agents upholding this horrible society, their ubermensch. Something monsterous and inhuman, that would put immediate lie to the idea that they could be at all good and that the Emperor could have created them for a good reason.​
    ​
    And then the second approach, and the one I went with. Space Marines as tragic heroes, really and truly doing their utmost to protect people they no longer understand and systems they are far outside, caring for each other and fighting on against the impossible odds. Superhuman, but still human. Not all Marines are this noble, there are probably some closer to the former idea, but I was enamored with the idea, especially once I did realize that there really was no reason that Space Marines ought to be capable of fighting their neverending war and not be touched by it.​
    ​
    I realized then I could only do this, because this is what I want from Warhammer 40,000. I don't want nihilistic horror. I want a tragedy. ​
    ​
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.

    open_sketch said:
    There were two ways I could have written Space Marines, and I wasn't sure which way I would until I got here.The first, my initial idea, was to make them just awful people. To make them the SS in this fascist nightmare, the ultimate agents upholding this horrible society, their ubermensch. Something monsterous and inhuman, that would put immediate lie to the idea that they could be at all good and that the Emperor could have created them for a good reason.And then the second approach, and the one I went with. Space Marines as tragic heroes, really and truly doing their utmost to protect people they no longer understand and systems they are far outside, caring for each other and fighting on against the impossible odds. Superhuman, but still human. Not all Marines are this noble, there are probably some closer to the former idea, but I was enamored with the idea, especially once I did realize that there really was no reason that Space Marines ought to be capable of fighting their neverending war and not be touched by it.I realized then I could only do this, because this is what I want from Warhammer 40,000. I don't want nihilistic horror. I want a tragedy.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    I'd say its very well done.
    And that well...even the jackboots are worn by humans. Many of which truly believe they're doing the right thing, or at least, the thing most close to right that they could achieve.
     
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    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.
    I am a big fan of the more humanitarian marine chapters (For those we cherish, we die in glory!) so I am glad this is the direction you took them.
     
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    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.
    My reasoning is... basically exactly what the option is. We can take two days to spare a world this nightmare, even with our other mission. Genestealers suck and are freaky (official Inquisitorial description), it's within both our and the marine's purview and, dare I say, duty to eradicate them.

    open_sketch said:
    Marvel Ann applauded, a moment, before realizing that wasn't what she was supposed to do. You thanked your host for the wonderful story, and finished your meal.
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    God I love Marvel Ann so much, she is Good.

    I love this take on the Space Marines, I wonder what Charitina thinks of their practices? I can definitely see how a different chapter could just as easily have formed over a significantly more toxic philosophy and set of traditions, but I'm glad we ended up on a Gate Wardens ship. Their origin, and to a resulting degree their recruiting practices, were founded on compassion, and that echoes on through the way they care for one another. I don't doubt that there are chapters out there who do truly reprehensible things entirely of their own volition, but it's heartening to know that earnest defenders of humanity are out there among the stars.
     
    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.

    I doubt that Araleth expects us so precisely that this would disrupt their plans.
     
    *feeeeeels*

    they're so big, not just physically, but in Larger-that-life-ness, and yet in the end the ya re mortal with mortal foibles. There's a beauty in that tragedy.
     
    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.

    I don't even remember what we were supposed to be doing. Was it the thing to help the Eldar ex? If there was foresight involved we're probably fine. Or equally screwed. Same thing.
     
    Nuew said:
    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.

    I doubt that Araleth expects us so precisely that this would disrupt their plans.
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    Given the vagaries of warp travel I'd assume that they are probably planning around receiving us within a relatively broad timeframe yeah.

    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.
     
    I think the type of Space Marine matters too, to some extent. Chapter to chapter, squadron to squadron, there's no doubt a spectrum. Some Space Marines are doubtless jackbooted thugs, and some are kind.

    I'm glad Praxis's first deep encounter was a humanizing one, and didn't end up with one of the more insane chapters.
     
    Do we even know what our mission is besides 'something big' from our xenos informant that wants to talk to us?
     
    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.
    Areleth waited months, whatever cut-price farseer sent us here can enjoy ridicule for missing a crew-sized psychic presence. While it is possible that a mere warning could get the ship smote by planetary defences, it would be optimism most foul to assume the message sift through the bureaucracy in time to warn them, and they have the means to stop it. And if they get planet-side, find a hole to nest in, it could be decades before anyone finds them again, with all the horrors that entails. Someone will need to face this, and these are The Imperium's best, unless The Smurfs are getting protagonist treatment again.

    ExNihilo said:
    That's close range, but a -1 to all stats sounds really powerful. I think it's most useful feature would be making it easier to talk people down (-1 to social stats should do that right?)
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    Pfft, talking people down? That's nothing! Stealth rolls are where it's at!
    "Do you hear? Or... do your not? The birds, the bugs, all is quiet, too quiet, and that cardboard box in in the middle of the path, someone could stub a toe on it!"
    *click* *kroowkroowkroowkroowkroowkroow*
    "Oh, nevermind, it is not too quiet anymore, and now my ears are aching and my eyes are throbbing. That seems medical! I should abandon my patrol and go to the infirmary! No doubt the next patrol will deal with this cardboard box."
    Stealth check: Passed!

    ExNihilo said:
    I'm glad Praxis's first deep encounter was a humanizing one, and didn't end up with one of the more insane chapters.
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    *Urge to link Text-To-Speech-Device scene about eating orks: rising.*
     
    Query: Seer is a path, yes? Farseers are prestigious? Would not a great many younger Aeldari find themselves drawn towards that path, perhaps with more ambition than consideration? I can't help butthink that The Seer Path is mostly occupied by the Aeldari equivalent of goths, or possibly garage bands. Basically the sort of people who are forced to sit on the Aeldari equivalent of a gellar field because of their habit of surrounding themselves with the equivalent of lava lamps, staring up at an aurora-filled night's sky, while under the influence of Guaranteed 99.999% Sensation-free hallucinogens meditating upon oneness with the universe.
    So, the query is as follows: Is there any risk that Areleth is the sort to take counsel from such a person? How thorough was Areleth with their sources back when we collaborated?
     
    @open_sketch If we're going to be recreating Aliens in Warhammer 40k we'll need to ditch our sleeves and get a flamethrower.

    [X] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.
     
    Marvel Ann fanart
  • Media
    • I'm not a very good artist at all, but I've been meaning to try drawing Her.


    Edit: Oh my god I didn't even look in the media threadmark category or see her canon design at any point................... embarrassing........................😬
     
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    • open_sketch said:
    This wasn't your first time interacting with Space Marines, but it was the first time you'd been aboard one of their ships and taken part in their life outside battle. Most of the time, you'd just seen their backs as an armoured wall pushing out in front of you as they solved some problem on your behalf in a wave of bolter fire and explosions. You'd never had a conversation with a Space Marine that wasn't a mission briefing, just snippets and orders. Space Marines and regular human beings simply didn't interact very much, and you were very quickly learning that they were not good at it.

    The first problem as, quite simply, that Lieutenant Basak took off at a brisk walk back into the vessel's halls, and by the time the first turn came you'd completely lost him. He was so tall and moved so easily that he simply crossed the deck too fast to keep up, even the jog you'd tried to employ. Eventually he doubled back, found you, and was quiet confused why you weren't following until you explained, while helping poor Bookter catch his breath.

    "Oh. Of course, my apologies."
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    Poor everybody.

    A few hours later, you and your crew found yourself deeply out of place at the dining table of the Gate Wardens, feeling a little like children in the way you were dwarved by your hosts and your surroundings. You'd always imagined Space Marines ate, like, pills or something, some kind of super ration, but instead they had some kind of incredible feast of roast meat, breads, and vegetables that rivaled anything you might see at a Governor's banquet. And they ate a lot. Twenty-five thousand calories a day, apparently.

    "You eat this well all the time?" Charitina asked, helping herself to more. You'd been a little shy at first, until you saw the portions they were taking.

    "In quantity, yes, in quality... we did have the serfs pay extra attention." Lieutenant Basak said with a smile.

    "Of course, we try to eat well in transit, because it's a lot harder in the field!" one of the more talkative marines, Brother Demirel, added cheerfully, "Trust me, you do not want to have to eat our field rations."

    "I don't even think they can." another marine added, with a bit of a sour look on his face.
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    :p

    To be fair, I think the Astartes probably do legitimately earn the right to eat enough for ten normal men apiece.

    Despite the feast, there was no booze, though. It wasn't a universal Space Marine thing, most Marines occasionally drank a little at least ceremoniously, but Basak explained that the chapter had a long tradition of avoiding drink, going back to the founding, so that they would not interrupt their vigilance even symbolically. Dahlia, in the smallest voice you'd ever heard from her, so quiet you could barely hear her from right beside her, asked where it came from, and instantly there was a change over the room.

    Most of the marines were not good at socializing, at least not with you. There were about three who bothered speaking with you at the table: Basak, Demirel, and one of the scouts that sat at the far end of the table, Topal. The rest regarded you with something between suspicion and complete disregard, but once this question was breached, everyone paid attention.
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    Our favorite psychic appears to have (inadvertently?) done the equivalent of be a gentile friend of the family innocently and accidentally asking "so, how is this night different from all other nights" at Passover...

    Dahlia was wide-eyed, utterly captivated. You had to admit, the man could spin a yarn.
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    Well, they have had three thousand years to patiently optimize the art of telling this exact story.

    Kilimnik somehow convinced their Thunderhawk pilots to allow him to use their training simulator
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    Hm. I wonder how he found the difficulty level.

    Kilimnik:

    "I can tell you how to tell controls on a Marine ship. All the buttons and switches and handles are designed for hands about three times too big, and all the font sizes are about three times too small..."

    Outside their armour, with their faces bare to the world, they hid very little. You had spent a great deal of time around soldiers who had been through terrible things, and more than a little around those suffering from traumatic stress. And almost every Space Marine here showed signs of it.

    For all that they trained and fought, they also showed great respect for one another. The marines moved with a great deal of care and silence, talking in low voices, and it felt solemn, but you soon realized it was to sooth their nerves. They warned each other when they passed behind one another, or before they fired weapons in training. One marine, Brother Suvari, never left his armour, only reluctantly removing his helmet to eat, and nobody challenged it.
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    "And they shall know no fear" doesn't say anything about "and they shan't have nightmares about it afterwards," indeed.

    Over and above the PTSD, the Marines also have inhumanly keen senses, and I wouldn't be surprised if in some Astartes that translates as being very easy to distract, having trouble filtering out distractions when trying to rest, and hypersensitivity to external stimuli under these conditions.

    The fact that this particular chapter recruits heavily from war orphans probably doesn't help.

    "Of course. As the Emperor Himself once said, 'and they shall know no fear', right? Well... allow me to let you in on a secret, if you would."

    You nodded, feeling completely out of your depths.

    "In my body are seventeen implanted organs, genetically engineered at the dawn of the Imperium itself. I can go weeks without sleep, breath poison gas like air, learn the instincts of an animal by eating its flesh, and my very bones are made of the same material as my armour. It is a remarkable and holy process, and it is in no way arrogant to say it makes me a more potent warrior than any natural human that has ever lived. But do you know what none of those organs do?"

    You thought you did, but you stayed silent.

    "Not one of them does anything about fear.
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    ...That too, that too. :(

    The radio waves took thirty minutes to cross the void, and thirty minutes back, and the response seemed on the level. The Lieutenant was about to order the transition back to the Warp when Dahlia pulled your sleeve, and you sheparded her off the bridge to talk.

    "What is it, Dahlia?"

    "They're lying. The... the ship, of course, not the m-marines, um... okay. Sorry. There's more than just people on that ship, there's something else, sorta. It's big and smart and hungry and they're all part of it." she said, wringing her hands nervously, "Can you please warn them?"

    You went back in to do so, but Lieutenant Basak was already issuing orders. He turned to you with a smile.

    "I heard...
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    Superhuman hearing. :p

    [ ] Our mission is too vital. Flag the ship and send a warning out by astropath, but we must continue.
    [ ] We can spare two days to spare a world this nightmare.
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    Hm. Now if only I could remember what our mission was. :(

    There were two ways I could have written Space Marines, and I wasn't sure which way I would until I got here.

    The first, my initial idea, was to make them just awful people. To make them the SS in this fascist nightmare, the ultimate agents upholding this horrible society, their ubermensch. Something monsterous and inhuman, that would put immediate lie to the idea that they could be at all good and that the Emperor could have created them for a good reason.

    And then the second approach, and the one I went with. Space Marines as tragic heroes, really and truly doing their utmost to protect people they no longer understand and systems they are far outside, caring for each other and fighting on against the impossible odds. Superhuman, but still human. Not all Marines are this noble, there are probably some closer to the former idea, but I was enamored with the idea, especially once I did realize that there really was no reason that Space Marines ought to be capable of fighting their neverending war and not be touched by it.

    I realized then I could only do this, because this is what I want from Warhammer 40,000. I don't want nihilistic horror. I want a tragedy.
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    ...Exactly.

    And sure, some are closer to the former- there are always the Marines Malevolent, if nothing else, and there's surely something else. The Space Wolves, for instance, when not portrayed as lovably goofy Space Vikings, would be a good candidate for this- because they were always the Emperor's hatchetmen, and Leman Russ was the primarch the Emperor sent to capture or kill another primarch.
     
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