Suffer Not the Witch (Warhammer 40k Psyker Quest)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Location
- London, England
Alright, Vote Called, talking to Sidhe about art and what it means/what is good or bad art wins by a comfortable margin.
Now how many times can I make an Aeldari insult someone without repeating herself...
Now how many times can I make an Aeldari insult someone without repeating herself...
And without it becoming childish.
I swear some of the canon Eldar behave less like enigmatic space elves and more like high schoolers.
Last edited:
Emy
Artificial Defender
We will probably want the Persuasion, but as a general system note I'll point out that at our current attributes and skills, we have 2 in both Fellowship and Persuasion, and they cost the same to advance to 3. Once they're higher, Attributes become more expensive, but when choosing between improving a low skill and improving an equally low attribute, the attribute is better because it costs the same but applies its benefits to more rolls.
Shard
One and Many
- Location
- Malaysia
Insult recursion.
Insult about the quality of their insults about the quality of their...
16 characters
Sick and tired of being Sick and Tired
- Location
- Alta California
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Well, she was trading with humans so presumably, she doesn't think there are no differences that can't be bridged with the tinkle of coins.
Varder
Tired Cultist
- Location
- Hell
Ciro has amazing (perfect?) physique, inspires loyalty and devotion, projects a charming personality and now he's good at singing. I'm becoming more and more convinced, that if he is a Chaos Space Marine, he's a Slaanesh-devoted one.
VII - The Meaning of Art
- Location
- London, England
The Carrion grant you the use of a small room, really more of an antechamber, and a ragged selection of poorly stitched clothing alongside a pail of water that gleams with an oily residue. You suppose you shouldn't really complain about either - you've seen the lichen farms where they grow the closest thing to fabric and the handful of steam cyclers that make the ship's water reserves safe for drinking. They can't spare much of either for your vanity, and in that light the sleeveless vest you end up donning is actually fairly generous, even if it clashes somewhat with the tailored pants that you managed to preserve despite the stains. It doesn't take you that long to wash and change, really, but by the time you're finished everyone else appears to have wandered off on their own accord anyway.
Cautiously, you set out to look for them and explore the Carrion's… well you'd call it a camp, but really it's closer in scale to a town, supporting a population that you expect numbers in the low thousands. There is a strange and rigid order to everything, not an inch of space wasted or taken for granted, a fact you can only attribute to the immense effort necessary to carve a safe living space from the corpse of a drifting ship. The Carrion watch you wherever you go, and you take pains to avoid anything that you think they might regard as private - personal space is a rare commodity in a hive, so how much more must it be in such a constrained and hostile space such as this?
There is one exception, as it turns out - a wide chamber that you think must have once been some kind of mess hall or workstation, long since stripped of its furnishings but otherwise left abandoned and untouched in the very heart of the Carrion's domain. It's easy to see why, for across one entire wall of the room is carved a grand mural of the God-Emperor on his Golden Throne. The structure is inset and embossed to create a shockingly lifelike vista, and no sooner have you entered the room than the judgemental eyes of the divine seem to fix on you, pinning you to the spot with an immortal's unflinching gaze. Even you feel uncomfortable here, knowing who and what this is - how much more unsettling must it be for these abandoned descendents of sailors and slaves, knowing only the threatening assessment of those ancient eyes? Hunching your shoulders, you turn to retreat from the room.
"What's the matter, mon-keigh? Is the gaze of your own god truly so unbearable?"
You flinch, spinning to scan the empty room for any sign of the threat… and then lift your gaze to the heavens, only to find Sidhe there instead, reclining in a small nook of the room's vaulted ceiling. The Aeldari looks down on you with a curious expression on her sharp face, and in the shadows of her perch the beautiful craftsmanship of her armour stands out all the more. It looks like beams of moonlight caught and worked into a thousand segmented plates, each of them overlapping with its neighbour to hide her from the world, and it occurs to you that none of the Ecclesiarchal sermons you attended on Malfi ever made mention of the idea that product of an alien's artifice could be beautiful.
"If one believes in priestly orthodoxy, then my god despises me for what I am and condemns me for what I have done," you say honestly, trying not to fidget beneath the alien's inquisitive gaze, "So, yes. A tad uncomfortable, as you might imagine."
"You must learn to abide and embrace the feeling, then, or else never walk on an imperial world again," Sidhe says with what you think is a smile, though whether it is meant as encouraging or malicious is harder to tell, "Though perhaps that would be a kindness, if it spares your eyes from the ugliness that so encrusts the land wherever your kind spread."
Raising your eyebrows, you cross your arms and lean back against the chamber wall. "Is there something wrong with imperial art?"
She could have been talking about humans in general, you suppose, but in an effort to be charitable you will act as though she merely meant your art and taste in architecture. Which is a fair concern by itself, you will admit - the feeling of the aquila's judgemental gaze, inciting fear and paranoia where once it meant benign security, will not leave you any time soon.
"It can hardly be called such, garish and crude as it is," Sidhe sniffs, looking down on you in more ways than one. You're not actually sure how she's staying up there, you can't see any real platforms to support her weight. Magnetic pads in the armour, maybe? "Hasty and inelegant propaganda, all of it, made to bludgeon the masses into reverent obedience."
"That is rather the point of it," you say with a nod, and are pleased to note that the unexpected yield wrong-foots arrogant Aeldari every bit as well as overconfident duelists, "The nobility maintain private galleries filled with more varied art, but the public installations of art exist to shape the thoughts and deeds of the populace."
"Purpose? That you speak of the purpose a piece of art holds is already a sign of blind assumptions," Sidhe shakes her head, the fetishes of bone and metal in her hair clinking softly with the movement. "Art exists for its own sake, bereft of such petty concerns and mundane goals, else it is not truly art."
"Art is created with the intent of inspiring reaction," you counter, smiling as your points are met and new ones brought forth. Sidhe seems a little surprised, but really, what did she expect? That you would merely grit your teeth and endure, or simply shrug off her critiques of your people and their crafts? "Be it joy, contemplation, or as you put it, reverent obedience. The artist who thinks their work exists absent the reaction of an audience is wilfully blind."
"Oh? And do you suppose the gods were thinking of us, when they filled the galaxy with their work?" Sidhe sneers, but you catch the genuine interest underneath the surface layer of contempt. Or you think you do, anyway, how would you even tell with an alien? "Or would you deny the beauty of a sunset, or the splendour of the stars at night?"
"They are beautiful, to be sure, but not everything that is beautiful is a form of art," you reply, and to your own surprise you find yourself enjoying this, flexing these old muscles and engaging with another being on a level above mere steel or lightning, "by extension, not all art is beautiful. Something repulsive that makes us think about the nature of the world or our own bodies can, I think, be quite artistic."
"I have had this conversation before, and it was no more pleasant or bearable then," Sidhe says with a disgusted sigh, detaching from the roof and dropping to the ground. It is impossible to forget, when watching her move like with such liquid grace, that she isn't human. "Let us depart, and speak no more of it."
"Of course," you incline your head gravely, "If you would rather retreat with some dignity, instead of proposing an alternate framework to judge the worthiness of art, I accept your concession."
Wow, those shining eyes are really well suited to expressions of rage and withering contempt, you're actually rather impressed. "And now you remind me of my peers, as well as my home. If you must know, Aeldari prefer our art to have some subtlety and grace to it. Our emotions run hotter than yours, our senses are sharper… the average imperial hymnal might as well be a malfunctioning drone screaming in our faces."
"Interesting," you murmur, frowning in thought. You'd never have thought of that by yourself, in the abstract you always assumed that everyone saw the world more or less as you did, but the possibilities add context and nuance that you had never quite expected. "I suppose, by that same measure, many pieces of Aeldari art would likely seem minimalist to the point of confusion or ambivalence."
"Ah, proof of your clumsy inferiority," Sidhe proclaims archly, for which you reward her with nothing but a flat look. "Oh, fine. In truth you are correct, at least when it comes to… what is the word, when one wishes to describe a widely accepted standard?"
"Tradition, perhaps," you offer, "or in a more religious sense, orthodoxy."
"By the standards of artistic orthodoxy, you are not wrong, much art produced by my people is minimalist to the point of being tame, most rhetoric obscure and subtle," Sidhe says with a faint sigh, "Though it was not always so. I left my home behind to wander the stars out of frustration with such staid, limited vision, in hopes of seeing the galaxy as it truly is. Thus far, I have spent more time staring at drab imperial architecture or answering the questions of stunt-minded fools than anything else."
Huh. You study Sidhe for a bit, trying to discern the truth behind her words, the clues in her slender build and the way she carries herself. After a few moments you give it up as impossible, for you have not met nearly enough Aeldari to have a proper point of reference, but a story such as that one is… not entirely unfamiliar.
"If I might hazard a guess… you are not very old by Aeldari standards, are you?"
"That seems entirely irrelevant," Sidhe replies sharply, glaring at you with those large, liquid eyes. Yeah, you think you have the right of it. She's young by her species' standards, right at the age where she rebels against conformity with the demands of society and runs away to see the world and indulge in some wild adventures. Which means she's filled with just as much pride and ambition as any hotheaded noble teenager, more than one of whom was entrusted to your protection once upon a time.
"As you say, my lady," you bow, hiding a smile, and Sidhe's glare intensifies. She seems like she is about to retort, but before she can speak the air shivers with the distant echoes of loud drum beats, the pounding answered by raised voices from the Carrion beyond the hold.
"...it seems your degenerate cousins have finished preparing their muster," Sidhe says instead, turning deliberately away from you and making for the doorway, "Let us rejoin the others, and get this whole sordid business over with."
Smiling, you follow her down the path, pleased at both the discussion and what you've learned about your fellow escapee in the process. The Aeldari was easily the most mysterious and distant of the four, and it is good to have at least some basis for future predictions. You always felt safer when you could…
Crane...
You stop, blinking rapidly, one hand rising to your temple. The whisper didn't come from outside your head, but within, a voice like nails against the inside of your skull echoing in the confines of your mind.
Crane is your enemy… our enemy… he sends his minions to control the murderers, the servitors…
"Mon-keigh?" Sidhe says, but the disdainful voice might as well be a hundred leagues away, the world shimmering and distorting around you as though some great pressure is resting on your eyes.
They are on the Gun Deck. You must hurry… hurry!
A final phrase, a snarled exhortation… and then the voice is gone, the world snapping back to normal in its absence. Sidhe is staring at you with evident curiosity from further along the corridor, and you think you can taste blood in your mouth.
"Mon-keigh? You look unwell…"
"It was nothing," you say in reflex, shaking your head, even as your mind races to put the pieces together "Or, rather, it was momentary. A lingering effect of the stasis sleep, perhaps."
You're lying. You know exactly what that was - someone tried to reach out to you with telepathy, to you specifically. It was faint and short-lived, the sign of a weak user or perhaps some manner of interference or confusion, but it was distinct. The only question then is one of motive, and by extension identity. Any psykers among the prisoners would have been kept in the stasis tubes like you, any among the crew would surely contact the Carrion instead of you… who then? The Inquisition, some gambit by Crane and his people to send you to a certain place? The voice called itself Crane's enemy, but short of a daemon you don't…
Oh. Well.
Shit.
Cautiously, you set out to look for them and explore the Carrion's… well you'd call it a camp, but really it's closer in scale to a town, supporting a population that you expect numbers in the low thousands. There is a strange and rigid order to everything, not an inch of space wasted or taken for granted, a fact you can only attribute to the immense effort necessary to carve a safe living space from the corpse of a drifting ship. The Carrion watch you wherever you go, and you take pains to avoid anything that you think they might regard as private - personal space is a rare commodity in a hive, so how much more must it be in such a constrained and hostile space such as this?
There is one exception, as it turns out - a wide chamber that you think must have once been some kind of mess hall or workstation, long since stripped of its furnishings but otherwise left abandoned and untouched in the very heart of the Carrion's domain. It's easy to see why, for across one entire wall of the room is carved a grand mural of the God-Emperor on his Golden Throne. The structure is inset and embossed to create a shockingly lifelike vista, and no sooner have you entered the room than the judgemental eyes of the divine seem to fix on you, pinning you to the spot with an immortal's unflinching gaze. Even you feel uncomfortable here, knowing who and what this is - how much more unsettling must it be for these abandoned descendents of sailors and slaves, knowing only the threatening assessment of those ancient eyes? Hunching your shoulders, you turn to retreat from the room.
"What's the matter, mon-keigh? Is the gaze of your own god truly so unbearable?"
You flinch, spinning to scan the empty room for any sign of the threat… and then lift your gaze to the heavens, only to find Sidhe there instead, reclining in a small nook of the room's vaulted ceiling. The Aeldari looks down on you with a curious expression on her sharp face, and in the shadows of her perch the beautiful craftsmanship of her armour stands out all the more. It looks like beams of moonlight caught and worked into a thousand segmented plates, each of them overlapping with its neighbour to hide her from the world, and it occurs to you that none of the Ecclesiarchal sermons you attended on Malfi ever made mention of the idea that product of an alien's artifice could be beautiful.
"If one believes in priestly orthodoxy, then my god despises me for what I am and condemns me for what I have done," you say honestly, trying not to fidget beneath the alien's inquisitive gaze, "So, yes. A tad uncomfortable, as you might imagine."
"You must learn to abide and embrace the feeling, then, or else never walk on an imperial world again," Sidhe says with what you think is a smile, though whether it is meant as encouraging or malicious is harder to tell, "Though perhaps that would be a kindness, if it spares your eyes from the ugliness that so encrusts the land wherever your kind spread."
Raising your eyebrows, you cross your arms and lean back against the chamber wall. "Is there something wrong with imperial art?"
She could have been talking about humans in general, you suppose, but in an effort to be charitable you will act as though she merely meant your art and taste in architecture. Which is a fair concern by itself, you will admit - the feeling of the aquila's judgemental gaze, inciting fear and paranoia where once it meant benign security, will not leave you any time soon.
"It can hardly be called such, garish and crude as it is," Sidhe sniffs, looking down on you in more ways than one. You're not actually sure how she's staying up there, you can't see any real platforms to support her weight. Magnetic pads in the armour, maybe? "Hasty and inelegant propaganda, all of it, made to bludgeon the masses into reverent obedience."
"That is rather the point of it," you say with a nod, and are pleased to note that the unexpected yield wrong-foots arrogant Aeldari every bit as well as overconfident duelists, "The nobility maintain private galleries filled with more varied art, but the public installations of art exist to shape the thoughts and deeds of the populace."
"Purpose? That you speak of the purpose a piece of art holds is already a sign of blind assumptions," Sidhe shakes her head, the fetishes of bone and metal in her hair clinking softly with the movement. "Art exists for its own sake, bereft of such petty concerns and mundane goals, else it is not truly art."
"Art is created with the intent of inspiring reaction," you counter, smiling as your points are met and new ones brought forth. Sidhe seems a little surprised, but really, what did she expect? That you would merely grit your teeth and endure, or simply shrug off her critiques of your people and their crafts? "Be it joy, contemplation, or as you put it, reverent obedience. The artist who thinks their work exists absent the reaction of an audience is wilfully blind."
"Oh? And do you suppose the gods were thinking of us, when they filled the galaxy with their work?" Sidhe sneers, but you catch the genuine interest underneath the surface layer of contempt. Or you think you do, anyway, how would you even tell with an alien? "Or would you deny the beauty of a sunset, or the splendour of the stars at night?"
"They are beautiful, to be sure, but not everything that is beautiful is a form of art," you reply, and to your own surprise you find yourself enjoying this, flexing these old muscles and engaging with another being on a level above mere steel or lightning, "by extension, not all art is beautiful. Something repulsive that makes us think about the nature of the world or our own bodies can, I think, be quite artistic."
"I have had this conversation before, and it was no more pleasant or bearable then," Sidhe says with a disgusted sigh, detaching from the roof and dropping to the ground. It is impossible to forget, when watching her move like with such liquid grace, that she isn't human. "Let us depart, and speak no more of it."
"Of course," you incline your head gravely, "If you would rather retreat with some dignity, instead of proposing an alternate framework to judge the worthiness of art, I accept your concession."
Wow, those shining eyes are really well suited to expressions of rage and withering contempt, you're actually rather impressed. "And now you remind me of my peers, as well as my home. If you must know, Aeldari prefer our art to have some subtlety and grace to it. Our emotions run hotter than yours, our senses are sharper… the average imperial hymnal might as well be a malfunctioning drone screaming in our faces."
"Interesting," you murmur, frowning in thought. You'd never have thought of that by yourself, in the abstract you always assumed that everyone saw the world more or less as you did, but the possibilities add context and nuance that you had never quite expected. "I suppose, by that same measure, many pieces of Aeldari art would likely seem minimalist to the point of confusion or ambivalence."
"Ah, proof of your clumsy inferiority," Sidhe proclaims archly, for which you reward her with nothing but a flat look. "Oh, fine. In truth you are correct, at least when it comes to… what is the word, when one wishes to describe a widely accepted standard?"
"Tradition, perhaps," you offer, "or in a more religious sense, orthodoxy."
"By the standards of artistic orthodoxy, you are not wrong, much art produced by my people is minimalist to the point of being tame, most rhetoric obscure and subtle," Sidhe says with a faint sigh, "Though it was not always so. I left my home behind to wander the stars out of frustration with such staid, limited vision, in hopes of seeing the galaxy as it truly is. Thus far, I have spent more time staring at drab imperial architecture or answering the questions of stunt-minded fools than anything else."
Huh. You study Sidhe for a bit, trying to discern the truth behind her words, the clues in her slender build and the way she carries herself. After a few moments you give it up as impossible, for you have not met nearly enough Aeldari to have a proper point of reference, but a story such as that one is… not entirely unfamiliar.
"If I might hazard a guess… you are not very old by Aeldari standards, are you?"
"That seems entirely irrelevant," Sidhe replies sharply, glaring at you with those large, liquid eyes. Yeah, you think you have the right of it. She's young by her species' standards, right at the age where she rebels against conformity with the demands of society and runs away to see the world and indulge in some wild adventures. Which means she's filled with just as much pride and ambition as any hotheaded noble teenager, more than one of whom was entrusted to your protection once upon a time.
"As you say, my lady," you bow, hiding a smile, and Sidhe's glare intensifies. She seems like she is about to retort, but before she can speak the air shivers with the distant echoes of loud drum beats, the pounding answered by raised voices from the Carrion beyond the hold.
"...it seems your degenerate cousins have finished preparing their muster," Sidhe says instead, turning deliberately away from you and making for the doorway, "Let us rejoin the others, and get this whole sordid business over with."
Smiling, you follow her down the path, pleased at both the discussion and what you've learned about your fellow escapee in the process. The Aeldari was easily the most mysterious and distant of the four, and it is good to have at least some basis for future predictions. You always felt safer when you could…
Crane...
You stop, blinking rapidly, one hand rising to your temple. The whisper didn't come from outside your head, but within, a voice like nails against the inside of your skull echoing in the confines of your mind.
Crane is your enemy… our enemy… he sends his minions to control the murderers, the servitors…
"Mon-keigh?" Sidhe says, but the disdainful voice might as well be a hundred leagues away, the world shimmering and distorting around you as though some great pressure is resting on your eyes.
They are on the Gun Deck. You must hurry… hurry!
A final phrase, a snarled exhortation… and then the voice is gone, the world snapping back to normal in its absence. Sidhe is staring at you with evident curiosity from further along the corridor, and you think you can taste blood in your mouth.
"Mon-keigh? You look unwell…"
"It was nothing," you say in reflex, shaking your head, even as your mind races to put the pieces together "Or, rather, it was momentary. A lingering effect of the stasis sleep, perhaps."
You're lying. You know exactly what that was - someone tried to reach out to you with telepathy, to you specifically. It was faint and short-lived, the sign of a weak user or perhaps some manner of interference or confusion, but it was distinct. The only question then is one of motive, and by extension identity. Any psykers among the prisoners would have been kept in the stasis tubes like you, any among the crew would surely contact the Carrion instead of you… who then? The Inquisition, some gambit by Crane and his people to send you to a certain place? The voice called itself Crane's enemy, but short of a daemon you don't…
Oh. Well.
Shit.
Article: Vincenzo has been contacted telepathically by what he thinks might be a daemon, or at the very least some manner of renegade hostile to the Inquisition, with what it claims is a warning about Interrogator Crane's current goal. How do you want to react to this information?
[ ] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
- [ ] Get the others. You will need to tell them and perhaps the Carrion of your source and reasoning, but to go alone would be folly.
- [ ] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
[ ] Confide in Ciro. Tell the angel what you have heard, and let him make the decision. You can trust him.
[ ] Do Nothing. Whispers from a daemon? Nobody has ever, in the history of the galaxy, ended up in a better place because they listened when a daemon whispered in their mind. Ignore it, and act as you would have if it never happened.
[ ] Write in
Last edited:
Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
[X] Confide in Ciro. Tell the angel what you have heard, and let him make the decision. You can trust him.
He's our angel with a boltgun.
He's our angel with a boltgun.
Last edited by a moderator:
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
[X] Do Nothing. Whispers from a daemon? Nobody has ever, in the history of the galaxy, ended up in a better place because they listened when a daemon whispered in their mind. Ignore it, and act as you would have if it never happened.
Willful ignorance and mortifying self-denial have always been the time-honored approach of imperial citizens, why should we stop now?
Willful ignorance and mortifying self-denial have always been the time-honored approach of imperial citizens, why should we stop now?
- Location
- va
[x] Confide in Ciro. Tell the angel what you have heard, and let him make the decision. You can trust him.
Mossr
Master of the Void-less Ream
- Location
- The World Between Worlds
[X] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
- [X] Get the others. You will need to tell them and perhaps the Carrion of your source and reasoning, but to go alone would be folly.
Let us have strength in numbers
- [X] Get the others. You will need to tell them and perhaps the Carrion of your source and reasoning, but to go alone would be folly.
Let us have strength in numbers
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Hmmm. Listening to a demon should be a bad idea, but what do we have to lose by going to the gundecks?
Alternatively, what does the (theoretical?) demon have to gain? Does Crane's murder-servitors somehow threaten it? Is it just tossing out a fishing line to see if Vince is a potential follower/servant?
Moving on, I did enjoy the conversation a lot. So, often in 40k fic people are either completely taken in by or are critical of/hostile to the meta. This however, just felt like an actual, real discussion about art. Also, a human "winning" a discussion with an Eldar without resorting to bad tropes like the Scary Sue or something wss nice.
Alternatively, what does the (theoretical?) demon have to gain? Does Crane's murder-servitors somehow threaten it? Is it just tossing out a fishing line to see if Vince is a potential follower/servant?
Moving on, I did enjoy the conversation a lot. So, often in 40k fic people are either completely taken in by or are critical of/hostile to the meta. This however, just felt like an actual, real discussion about art. Also, a human "winning" a discussion with an Eldar without resorting to bad tropes like the Scary Sue or something wss nice.
yah it was great writing and made me like the eldar too cause she was willing to concede a point and all and have a intelligent discussion with us it was nice, kind of leaning toward just having us and eldar go, to quickly deal with it and cause small number can sneak in more quickly and get out quickly
[] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
-[] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
[] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
-[] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
Last edited:
Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
If it is a daemon and if it has Big Plans for Vincenzo then the smart money play is to begin by offering helpful advice and establishing itself as trustworthy vs leading with "HEY KID LET'S HUFF PROMETHIUM AND EAT SOME BABIES YOU WANT A SHIT GREMLIN THAT LIVES IN YOUR BUTT OR A MONOBOOB I CAN HOOK YOU UP I'M JUST SAYING"
Sarpedon
Knight Errant
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Confide in Ciro. Tell the angel what you have heard, and let him make the decision. You can trust him.
OMG @Wade Garrett I can't believe you actually posted Angel with a Shotgun.
OMG @Wade Garrett I can't believe you actually posted Angel with a Shotgun.
Last edited by a moderator:
- Location
- London, England
IC, Vincenzo has no idea and is actually working off a fair amount of misinformation spread by the Ecclesiarchy, who probably gave sermons like "that voice which tells you this is fucked up and the imperium sucks, that's a daemon, you must righteously ignore it and get back on with your work-shift citizen"
OoC, Sidhe apparently heard nothing, which suggests some kind of telepathy rather than speech, and there's nothing immediately nearby that could be the speaker. Unless Sidhe is secretly a daemon in disguise or something. Plot twist!
(There's no real difference between someone distant-but-physical using telepathy to contact you and a daemon in the warp talking to someone in the material universe, that's part of how telepathy as a discipline works)
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Do Nothing. Whispers from a daemon? Nobody has ever, in the history of the galaxy, ended up in a better place because they listened when a daemon whispered in their mind. Ignore it, and act as you would have if it never happened.
Yeah no, no listening to possible Daemon.
Yeah no, no listening to possible Daemon.
Ahhh thanks! In that case well the something was telling us to hurry(look up exhortation it mean that it really wanted us to do something) and stop whatever crane was planning, so whatever it is, does not want crane to succeed, so therefore I think we should listen to whatever it is cause our goals align for now
[X] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
Last edited:
- Location
- Germany
[x] Confide in Ciro. Tell the angel what you have heard, and let him make the decision. You can trust him.
[X] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
[X] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
[X] Head for the Gun Decks. This is a diversion from the bridge, and may well be some manner of trap or danger, but can you really leave it to chance?
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
Quick, gang, let's split up and search for clues!
-[X] Go almost alone. Sidhe won't let you wander off alone, and between your gifts and her stealth, it should be fairly simple to confirm the truth or falsity of the warning.
Quick, gang, let's split up and search for clues!