I think I've made my feelings on pyromancy vis-a-vis orks clear.
Commercial break!
~~~
The Care and Keeping of Baby Psykers
~~~
What do you do with an Alpha psyker?
The problem with psychic powers wasn't what you couldn't do. It was that you could do anything, and there were no rules to stop you,
really stop you, even when there should have. Rules like "Don't cast while drunk" or "Naked Pyromancy is forbidden" or even "Summoning daemons usually ends badly, seriously, trust us on this, have you ever tried outwitting a daemon, it's like playing tennis with your feet." Mankind was taking its first steps into a new evolutionary realm, like the first land-walking animal exulting in fresh air and legs, unaware of the first bird of prey waiting to make the first sashimi.
The unbound potential of the human mind didn't have inbuilt brakes. You just had to soft-pedal the gas before you hit the brick wall, and hope the airbags weren't broken. If you were lucky enough to have airbags to break your fall, instead of your lungs.
~~~
Mittens yawned. The small human child, her eyes glassy, also yawned. Master, the foolish human, was incapable of caring for his young, and it fell on Mittens to rear the juvenile.
Of course, Mittens was well suited for the task. It was in his name. "Mittens," protector of hands. Hands, the weakness particular to humans and their soft, clawless biology. Mittens, the protector where humans were weak, which was everywhere, because they were humans.
Having puzzled out the puzzle of humans, Mittens settled in for a nap. He'd earned it.
The human child babbled.
"Cat cat," said the child in the human tongue, pawing with its soft paws at Mitten's luxurious coat.
"Cat cat cat." In the nonsensical flapping and wetness of the human communication, such meaningless noise could not be understood. Of course, in the astral plane where souls walked, what the child really meant was: "You are majestic, and your fur is soft like clouds, and you are warm like the pool of sunlight at noonday. I salute thee, Mittens, pinnacle of your species."
"Thank you, human child," said Mittens. "You are soft and weak. Sleep on my back, and you will grow up strong and mighty." This was a time-tested method. When Mittens was but a kitten, he too had slept on Master's back, and now Mittens was strong and mighty, and only slept on Master's back every second night, and sometimes very cold days.
The small child agreed, and clambered on, nuzzling into his flank. Mittens curled around the child, because humans had no fur, and their leak-based heat management system was terrible at keeping them warm.
Mittens dreamed of hunting, prowling through the shadows of the mountain, snatching strange whispering things and chewing them up until they dissolved in his mouth. Bleh.
He awoke when the human child squeezed his fur, making noises of distress. Ah, of course. Humans needed to eat thrice a day, or else they would cry. He stalked over to the cold box where Master had hidden the food, pulling on its handle with his tail to gain access. Once, he could simply seize whatever delicious cold things were within, but Master had since layered apotropaic runes into its insulation.
He pulled out a shiny box from inside the big cold box, holding it in his mouth. The shiny boxes always had food inside them, because humans liked shiny things, and it was a mystery every time. He padded over to the door, where a human was standing ready to serve the human child, as was right and proper of an inferiorly gifted human in the presence of a superior psyker.
"Human psyker," said Mittens, "Prepare these foodstuffs posthaste, lest my claw find your backside."
"
I don't speak tiger," said the human, taking the box of foodstuffs. "
You want these MREs heated, don't you?"
Mittens saw the path of action in his soul, and at the end of the path was dinner. He took a rest by the table, where food was eaten. Humans were very picky about where they ate food, and Master's mate had often disciplined Master when he deviated from human herd norms by eating on the floor, or the soft bench.
The human servant picked up the boxes, putting them on the table and pressing their sharp corners down. When he lifted the lid, the steam of meat and herbs wafted through the air.
Mittens had not yet determined why humans put green things on their meats. Perhaps it was medicinal, to counter a weak and pathetic immune system. Satisfied with this answer, he scooped up the box, and swallowed the meats. The empty shiny box fell out his throat, clattering on the table.
Lacking such genius methods for divesting flesh of their shells, the human child was being fed by the human servant with the metal claw and scoop. This was because humans were so fragile they could not handle food that was too hot, or too cold, or too soft, or too liquid.
"Cat eat," said the human child, pushing away a spoon of steamed vegetables.
"Child," said Mittens, "though it is not the delicious flesh of your prey, vegetation is required for your human diet. I, a mighty hunter, need only consume flesh and blood to maintain my strength."
"Ophelia cat," said the human child, and roared pitifully.
"You are incorrect," said Mittens. "Weep, for you will never be a phase tiger. If you are to ever to reach my level, you must roar like so." Mittens roared a mighty roar.
The human child roared back.
Mittens huffed. "No, like so." He demonstrated once more.
The human child roared again, as pitiful as before. A minor quake shook the hives; how fragile these human buildings, like their makers. The human servant, terrified by this unexpected development, panicked and hollered like the inefficient creature he was.
Suddenly, Master approached, swimming through the sea before emerging into true reality.
"Ophelia!" he shouted.
"What are you doing?"
The human child ceased its roaring, and began leaking from its eyes to intimidate Master. A cunning ruse, but Mittens was clever. It was not deadly nerve-toxin being secreted from her eyes, but mere salted water!
Master seized the child into a submission hold, grooming her fur.
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay. I didn't mean to scare you." His soul awoke briefly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Mittens was not afraid of salted water! He licked at the child's face, proving his courage. Bleh, how unclean these humans were. "Master, you must groom your children more often! How will your human fellows look upon you, when your children are diseased and tick-ridden?"
Master didn't seem to understand, his squishy human ears still unable to perceive the august majesty of Mittens' thoughts. Lost was the time when Mittens' had not exceeded Master's meager intellect in all matters. "
You want me to lick you?"
"Master, your soft and wet human tongue is more likely to wet my coat with effluvial grime than clean it of parasites."
~~~
"…Behind in the tutorials."
"She can't read them. I've seen her completely ignore holoslates for a sticky note. You have to handwrite anything before she can read it."
"Why?"
"It's personal. Handwriting, it's unique. I tried typing with one of those stenographer braces, little metal keyboard stamping ink on scroll, and she could sort of see it. But holo-messages, nothing."
"She's only got two eyes in reality and a thousand in the warp. Maybe we can try runes?"
"That sounds like a bad idea. You shouldn't have everything you say weighted in psychic resonance, it cuts off too many roads."
"She's an Alpha, every word she says is going to be heavy as stone."
Mittens blinked an eye open. Ah, it was Master's mate, Singing Lady, who smelled like flowers and gave good ear scratches. Master was wise in his choice of mate.
"Singing Lady," said Mittens, yawning widely, "sit by me and groom my fur where I cannot reach, and I will be pleased."
"You want scritches?" said Singing Lady. Unlike Master, she was intelligent and powerful in voice. Ah, how beautiful her purr was to Mittens' ears.
"If you would, madame," said Mittens. As Master's breeding partner, she was accorded great respect.
"How polite." Singing Lady reached over, digging her soft human claws into Mittens' nape. Mm, yes. That's good.
"Hey now, Tammy. Don't spoil him," said Master.
"He needs grooming. It's healthy for them. Who's a fluffy tiger
?"
"My coat is indeed luxurious and fine to sight and touch alike."
The Singing Lady was pleased. "
See? He agrees with me."
"Sure he does. Mittens, who's
your favourite
?"
Mittens snuffed. "We are brothers-in-arms, Master, and will face the world together."
"Yeah, that's right."
"However, there is enough room on my coat for two scritches," said Mittens, and rolled over. "Quickly, madame. I feel a burr stuck in my pelt."
"You charmer." The Singing Lady scratched his chest, where the thickest of fur was present.
"You truly are excellent in the art of 'scritches.'" Mittens waved his tail in approval. "Master was correct to choose you as his mate."
Suddenly, the ministrations ceased! What was this treachery! "
Wait, what?" said the Singing Lady.
"Why have you stopped?" inquired Mittens.
"
Gerald, what have you been telling your cat about us?" said the Singing Lady, in the human tone of disapproval and social ostracism.
"I haven't told him anything, why?"
"Gerald."
"Is Master acting a fool? You must discipline him posthaste, and then return to scratches."
"No, Mittens, we're not together."
This thought baffled Mittens. "But you are."
"No, we're not."
"But you have progeny."
"Who? Ophelia? She isn't ours. I mean, we look after her, but I didn't give birth to her or anything."
Mittens stared at her, and then at Gerald, who looked taken aback.
"Uh, Mittens?"
"Master, you are foolish beyond measure. Is her fur not fine? Her claws sharp? Are her haunches not large and powerful with corded strength? Her soul is bright, and will nurse many fine litters. Her scritches are sublime! And yet you have not courted her?" Mittens reached forward, seizing the Singing Lady's robes and tugging her over. Forgive him this disrespect, madame, but intransigent children need to be educated. "In this world, you cannot rely on the ignorance of your rivals to ignore what you will not acknowledge."
"Whoa, hey!"
"Mittens, let her go!"
"Mittens, stop! Stop, or else I will never groom you again."
Mittens faltered, but duty often demanded great prices of great tigers. "Oh, where did I go wrong with you, Master?" wept Mittens. "You are as a cub driven mad by the fungus, unable to see what is in front of you before it is too late." He pushed the Singing Lady onto Master, and pinned them down. Better to learn now, whilst youth and vigour could protect the fruit of their union, than be cut down by age and weakness.
"Mittens, I do not need you to matchmake for me." Master wheezed.
"Holy shit. You have got to lay off the steaks."
"Oh, I'm so sorry my haunches are too fat for you!"
"What?"
"Even now, you do not understand," said Mittens sadly.
~~~
The Singing Lady had not returned for many nights. Master put on a brave face, but Mittens was wise to the ways of humans, and the turmoil of his soul was as tempestuous and unsteady as the flames of his heart.
"Emperor forfend, Mittens," said Master as he fed Mittens fish.
"Thanks a lot. Shit's real fucking awkward now."
"Though the thorn may cut and rip, in the end you will be glad for its departure," said Mittens. "Master, I will not always be here for you. You must learn to solve these things for yourself."
"What's with that attitude? Exactly who's the pet here?" Master sniffed, his weak human nose often clogged by virulent plasms.
"Maybe we should be seeing about getting you a lady tiger. Visit the zoo."
"Foolish, Master," said Mittens. "My mate yet prowls the tundra, with a coat of snow-white fur and haunches like carved stone, so powerful is her leap. Her whiskers are lengthy, and her fangs mountain-carving. So ordained the Lord of Striped Forest, Great Soul of all tigers, when I visited his realm of dreams."
"You want to play in the snow?" said Master, limited once more in his interpretation by his puny human brain.
"I guess you are still a big baby."
"I despair of you, Master."
~~~
Mittens was sleeping, the child curled up in his flank, when he was awoken by the step of a predator.
"Whoa, there. Good kitty." A hand gently rubbed his head.
"Just checking up on her."
Mittens growled. Then, when he opened his eyes, he stopped.
It was the King of Humans, the supreme predator who ruled the pack by virtue of his strength. Even though his soul slept, he was Fearsome among the Peoples, because only a human would dare to grasp a chip broken from the fang of the Beast, and care not the repercussions.
But the humans were blind to their Great Soul, and the stories of the world. How foolish.
"Good kitty." The King of Humans lifted his Crown, and placed it on the head of Master's child.
"You keep her safe, now."
"What fell powers you wield, King of Humans," said Mittens.
"Good to know." The King of Humans looked over the human child, scratching Mittens' ears.
"One day, I may end you, Ophelia. But until then, have a good night's sleep."
~~~
The Tale of the Wolf
Told by [fragment lost]
…and at the bottom of the world was a great cold well.
its walls were smooth as still water…
…a terrible howl that turned rivers back upstream,
coursing waters flung skyward amidst hot breath…
…a chain of spider's silk named Open Shut.
Forged by the mountain men in the ninth year to hold the moon
to the world's embrace, until [untranslatable]…
…[fragment lost]…
…the fetter he gnawed, to no avail. A shard flew from his tooth,
and grew dark and ice-cold to the warmth of living things…
…[untranslatable] wept from his stolen eye,
tears jewel-like and heavy with his hate…
…boiled in a crucible…
…and the mountain-men built the [untranslatable] Eye, Pathbreaker,
and all it beheld would be unweaved…
…[fragment lost]…
…he will come when the sky burns,
numb to the blood of foes, empty of hope,
knowing no pleasure, no sickness, master of himself,
beware the rampage of [untranslatable] Beast of the Apocalypse…
…[fragment lost]…
…[fragment lost]…
…[fragment lost]…
~~~
AN: What a rich inner life Mittens leads.
BTW, already picked the reward for Sleeping Over.
Gotta ask, though, do you write for a living or is this mainly a hobby?
Hobby, although I wouldn't mind getting oodles of cash money.
It's a secret.
