It is the 41st Millenium. For more than a hundred centuries you have sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Terra and guided humanity through carefully wrought visions and subtle blessings. Now, in the Eye of Terror, the forces of Chaos are gathering once more under the banner of Abaddon the Despoiler for a 13th Black Crusade. But through your guiding hand, the Imperium will be ready for them.
Cadia will stand. Abaddon will fall. So you have decided and so it will be.
It is the 41st Millenium. For more than a hundred centuries you have sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Terra. You are the master of mankind, in defiance of the cruel desires of twisted gods, and millions of worlds are under the protection of your inexhaustible armies. Through the greatest techno-sorcery of mankind, you remain eternally vigilant. Your will is a beacon to guide humanity and a shield against the predators lurking in the twisted corners of reality.
But even though your power remains undiminished, the enormity of your task grows with every day. Uncountable prayers of your loyal subjects draw on your attention, from the most mundane requests to the desperate pleas for aid as the fate of the galaxy is shaped by blade and bullet. Endless are the blessings you give to those enacting your will and endless are the portents and visions of futures set in stone and pasts turned malleable from the plots of your divine foes. Even as you are stretched to your limit, your soul taxed by attending to the wants and needs of trillions, your conviction never wavers. No other being in this galaxy could bear these burdens. Only you are worthy to lead mankind.
In the distant future, a new golden age awaits humanity. One in which war, suffering and fear will be forgotten. In which mankind will be free of the horrors of the warp. You can clearly see the path to this future in your visions. You know it is not easy. Not without sacrifices. Yet you will persevere and guide them through these perils. The Imperial Tarot, for all its similarity to superstitious rites of ages past, has become one of your greatest tools. In the cards you can reveal your portends and desires to your subjects without the tremendous effort needed to send more direct visions. With it you have spoken warnings and laid plans that will need centuries to come to pass.
Lately though, a new threat has entered your own visions. The forces of Chaos are gathering once more under the banner of Abaddon the Despoiler, once a Captain of the Luna Wolves, now the twisted master of the Black Legion. A 13th Black Crusade is being prepared and you can see in the shifting eddies of fate how it might succeed. How the fortress world of Cadia might fall and the Imperium might be plunged in darkness. But under your vigil, this will not come to pass. Even as the ever present voices assaulting your mind whisper doubt and treacherous advice, you are considering the tools at your disposal and what must be achieved to keep humanity on the golden path you laid for it.
Cadia will stand. Abaddon will fall.
So you have decided and so it will be.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 10 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
- The quest canon is always correct. It is what the Emperor knows as fact after all. Any contradicting information presented is clearly a plot of Tzeentch.
- You are aware of most of the important characters current status and whereabouts and can ask about them in the thread. Sometimes you will have to spend an Observe action though.
Adhoc vote count started by Azel on Jul 1, 2024 at 5:54 PM, finished with 132 posts and 44 votes.
[X] Plan Cadia Stands ( Observant stage )
-[X] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
--[X] Grant apocalyptic visions throughout Segmentum Obscurus of blood and fire and a great four-headed beast devouring all, marked most prominently by 13 glowing eyes, lidless, and wreathed in flame, ceaselessly searching for the roots of the cosmos to suckle upon and drain into ruination.
--[X] Specifically the Arcanas Eye of Horus with the Great Hoste, the Shattered World above the Emperor's Throne reversed, and the Galactic Lens reversed . Signifies a major catastrophe, most likely a Black Crusade
-[X] Observe (6 points)
--[X] Azrael of the Dark Angels
--[X] Commissar Ciaphas Cain
--[X] Commissar Sebastian Yarrick
--[X] Chapter Master Lufgt Huron, of the Astral Claws
--[X] General Usarkar E. Creed
--[X] Inquisitor Bronislav Czevak
-[X] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
--[X] Focus on Battlefleet Agripinaa , and any other Imperial military patrols around Belisar and Agripinaa Systems
[X] Plan DragonParadox
-[X] Guide the Tarot (1 Point): Inform the forces near the eye of the approaching attack on Cadia
-[X] Commune (4 points): A senior custodes: You will be my herald to Eldrad Ulthran, I will aid you in the creation of Ynnead in exchange for your aid and insight in restoring me
-[X] Bless (5 points) The Custodes above
[x] Plan Cadia Endures
-[X] Observe Abaddon the Despoiler. Try to scry what he's getting up to in preparations for the Black Crusade. (1 point)
-[X] Commune with a Custodes in your throne room. Inform him of Abaddon's preparations for a 13th Black Crusade and that the Custodes are to make sure that the Imperium, and particularly the High Lords of Terra, begin preparations for this coming war. (4 poinrs)
-[X] Observe chapter master Lufgt Huron of the Astral Claws (1 point)
-[X] Observe Hive Fleet Behemoth (1 point)
-[X] Observe Hive Fleet Kraken (1 point)
-[X] Observe Hive Fleet Leviathan (1 point)
-[X] Observe Belisarius Cawl. (1 point)
[X] Plan Prepare the line
-[X] Guide the Tarot (1 Point): Portents of doom to the Sectors around Cadia and a call to rise to the occasion
-[X] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points): Focus on Battlefleet Agripinaa
-[X] Displace Fleet (6 points): A fleet carrying Regiments of the Death Korps of Krieg towards Cadia
[X] Commune (4 points): A senior custodes: You will be my herald to Eldrad Ulthran, I will aid you in the creation of Ynnead in exchange for your aid and insight in restoring me
[X] Commune (4 points): A senior custodes: You will be my herald to the imperial senate, you will warn them of exactly what the forces of chaos are attempting to do on Cadia and direct them to concentrate forces there.
For a long while, you carefully ponder the portends before you. Uncountable futures stretch out before your vast mind. Carefully, you trace the strings of fate tying them together, where they branch and diverge, or coalesce back together. An imperfect effort. Vexing in its crudeness. Without the interference of the Great Enemy, it would be trivial to find the perfect path, but for now, you have to tolerate the vagaries caused by their existence.
While engrossed with your task, your guidance already manifests itself across the galaxy. Around the Eye of Terror, astropaths and fortune tellers see dire warnings in their dreams and cards. Nightmares of a putrid foulness seeping out of the great wound between the worlds into the Imperium. A cloying darkness devouring uncounted billions as it engulfs world after world. Not all can withstand the scenes you show them. Some reject your messages. Others break under the weight of the knowledge. But most can bear the burden you placed on them.
"How much more can we dare ask of these people? Of our people... we swore to protect them, and the most we can do is shine the light for them and wheeze half legible portents; there exists no words for the depths of our failings" A small voice in the back of your mind speaks unbidden. Tired. Weak. Maudling almost. You push it aside with practices ease.
The response of Governors, Castellans and Fabricator-Generals is slow at first. While a few take the portends as your divine will, others are hesitant or outright dismissive. "Too slow... too subtle.. you can't risk delays not anymore" Another voice whispers into your ear, treacherously echoing your own annoyance with their actions or lack thereof. How could your own flock be so shortsighted as to dismiss their shepherds words?
Those who have proper faith in your guidance do not remain quiet though. From their worlds, the news is spread and emboldened by others having received the same dreams, the chorus grows until it becomes undeniable. Segmentum Obscurus is mobilising. Imperial tithes are increased and collected with much more fervour. Forge worlds carefully awaken the machine spirits of dormant factorias as orders and raw materials arrive in rapid succession.
It is pleasant to see their works and its fruits. But the pleasure dulls as another whisper intrudes upon your thoughts. "More! This is not yet enough for the imperium!" It speaks in tempting tones, conjuring the image of endless rows of tanks crushing your enemies and stirring old memories of the Solar Auxilia as it marched onwards from Terra to conquer your Imperium.
Your attention snaps back to the present. With a gentle hand you guide your peoples efforts even as they move through the warp, the Astronomican shining ever so slightly brighter into the Agripinaa Systems. Few would even notice the difference as your will shaves off a few days of travel here and there. Keeps the odd freighter on track or helps a patrolling fleet to appear just in the right moment to scare off a minor corsair.
But all these small acts compound. Maybe a truly diligent scribe in the Administratum would notice how things seem to work just the slightest bit better despite the dire portends, though the faint press of your thumb on the scale will have much greater repercussions than any mortal could comprehend. "The morning will come, see its rays spread." Another voice sounds as you ponder your works, leaving you feeling as if it spoke a threat wrapped as a promise. Annoyance taints the feeling of accomplishment as you shove the whispers away once more.
Your attention wanders elsewhere, seeking a few certain souls in the teeming masses of humanity. Through them, the threads of fate are woven and through their hands you will put them to order. The first you look for already is moving to aid your great work. In the cavernous halls of The Rock, the Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels works tirelessly to reconcile his chapter's current commitments with the ancient oaths called upon. The Lions children were rarely idle, but as news is spreading through Segmentum Obscurus, the chapter and many of its successors are mobilising whatever they can to aid the preparations for the Despoilers arrival.
What their efforts will bring, even you can not see just yet. Glimpses of Azrael himself fighting through the halls of a chaos warship in a grim echo of a battle long ago mingle with the terror of The Rock being torn apart by some weapon eluding your sight. The Angels will bleed, as it is their duty, and they will do so to the last if necessary, fearing the demons of their own minds more than they would any host that Chaos could muster against them.
A cruel chuckle intrudes upon your senses, devoid of warmth or myrth. "How amusing, Fulgrim believed his Emperor's Children embodied you most, yet it seems the Lion's spawn may lay claim to that honor." It mocks you. Taunts you. You wish to strangle the false whisper, but like smoke, it disappears from your grasp. The spike of wrath lingers though, needing precious moments to be driven from your mind, lest it take root and consume your thinking.
Somewhere in the Armageddon Sector, another soul prepares to continue a war that has consumed his whole being. Not a Commissar called Yarrick, but Old Bale Eye who you see, though it is hard to determine what is his past, present and future. A cloud of green hangs around him and covers every path, thread and vision that you try to grasp. You can see endless tides of greenskins, sometimes advancing, sometimes fleeing. A caged beast, pacing and waiting for its release. Titans march on land scorched so many times, and yet remembering your own touch upon it. This war will rage, one way or another, and its outcome is yet uncertain.
Not much is certain with the next target of your gaze either. Deep inside the warp, in a storm called Maelstrom, you can faintly find the lingering traces of Lufgt Hurons presence. Once he patrolled the outer reaches of this storm to protect the Imperium from the horrors lurking within, now he had become one of them. For his soul, all hope was long lost and the taint of the Great Enemy clouded your sight of his actions. Only a few glimpses of a man in black armour came to you, wishing to speak to Blackheart on behalf of his master. Though what he proposed and how Huron answered escapes your senses.
Likewise you scour the shifting fates and farthest corners that your senses reach for the whereabouts of Bronsilav Czevak, High Inquisitor of some renown and undeniably important. To your senses, he always was the locus of many plots and important crossroads, though most of them with him as the target of others actions. It has been quite a while since you gazed upon him and now, as you try to trace some of those threads that you know lead to him, only his absence can be found. Not even the hand of the Great Enemy or another beings interference can be found. After a while, you put the matter aside for now, two more tasks ahead of you.
In contrast to many others, it is trivial for you to find Ciaphas Cain. If fate had a mind of its own, this man might just be its favourite toy. "So frail and so human, poor poor Cain... He deserves a blessing, right...? Please..." One more voice intrudes, sounding far away and alien. Another divine being? There are so many and Cain always attracted them.
No being of your might ever had trouble finding him, for good or ill, least of all you. The mantle of belief into the Hero of the Imperium clings to his soul, no matter how much he wishes to be parted of it. More than once have you wondered what would become of him if he ever accepted it. What he could become if he embraced your favour and acted on the convictions he thinks are only an act.
The next voice speaks, making you mildly regret to watch a man drawing so much of a crowd. "In some small way, he's a damnably wise man in avoiding that which he neither wants, nor, from his point of view, needs - a small comfort when it renders him neutered and inoperative." The comment lingers and fades, while you are once more reminded of how many have vied for Cains soul. A tempting prize, just out the reach of any who would try to claim it.
As your senses find him, he is once more embroiled in a plot far grander than he thinks himself worthy of. Having volunteered for an apparently meaningless investigation of a minor world's irregular tithes, he prepared himself for an easy duty, though you can already see the gears turning behind the scenes as another being carefully orchestrated events. A demon of Tzeentch of quite some power, though you gaze not directly upon it to not alert the creature. Once more an agent of the enemy wishes to see Cain fall and you almost are inclined to laugh at their feeble attempts as the portends you see spell nothing but ruin for them.
Compared to Cain's shining presence in the Immaterium, the last of the people you wished to observe is very ordinary. Forgettable. And yet you saw him in so many portends. Colonel Creed, a rank unbefitting of the future you have foreseen for him, is just one of thousands among the officer corps of Cadia and yet he could be the most important of them all.
"More like him is needed. Heroes and geniuses rising from amongst the common folk of the Imperium, with true concern for their people that nobles prepared since birth and genetically modified transhumans lack." An errand thing speaks over your shoulder, rising your hackles with its dismissal of your very own sons.
Creed is not one of them though. Son of a Guardsman and a guardsman through and through. He might become the Lord General of Cadia. His name might be cursed by Abaddon himself and spoken with hatred by traitors for millennia to come. Or it is cut short through a stray bullet in one of the many battles he still faces before the day that Cadia will be tested once more.
One last vision comes to you unbidden. One of your pawns from long ago. Faithfully carrying out its tasks for millenia like the clockwork it wishes to emulate. The mechanical monstrosity is working in one of his many laboratories aboard the immense Zar-Quaesitor. His project is a man of grandiose proportions. One the purported Primaris that the arch magos has been working on for the past ten thousand years. It is crude work done with distastefully barbaric methods. It pains you to see such liberties done with your Astartes. But the result is undoubtedly impressive.
Many more of this man's ilk lie in the titanic holds of Zar-Quaesitor. But this army is the least important aspect of Cawl's work. Potential futures spin out around him. Defending Cadia, reawakening the Lord of Ultramar, finding the Guardian's sword. Or perhaps not. Nothing is certain. In other lines he falls on a nameless world, abandons his works, or rallies the Priests of Mars for another civil war.
At last your mind returns to Terra once more, the strain of looking so far away from the Golden Throne mounting once more. And as you sit, you contemplate and plan. The path forward remains unclear, even with the few spots of light shone on it, though no obstacle was insurmountable to you. The only question was where to focus your efforts next, once you had rested.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 10 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
AN: Your perception is not all that burdened with linear time, so in some cases it gets difficult to pin down an order of events. Yarrick for example has always been fighting Orks in the Armageddon Sector, so good look figuring out which war you are seeing.
[X]Plan: Blessings and Visions
-[X] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
--[X] Loki Sector, with particular focus on Rynn's World: Send visions throughout the sector of fire and unending green tide, mixed with warnings of misfortune and horrific loss due to simple errors in their defenses.
-[X] Send Visions (5 Points)
-- [X] Dante of The Blood Angels: Send Dante Visions of the planet Pandrax III, whisper of it's promises of salavation, for both his blood brothers and the Imperium at large, but warn of the threat that the Alaitoc Eldar might pose, that they might destory the relics upon defeat, and impress upon him the need of reclaiming Pandrax's genetech libraries over any physical victory.
-[X] Blessing (4 Points, 2 points each): tip fortune's favor for both men, do what we can to ensure both men survive and win the battles to come.
--[X] Ciaphas Cain
--[X]Ursarkar E. Creed
A Hand on the Scales
The weave of fate lies before you, a tangled and bloody thing. The work of fate weaver after fate weaver even more ancient than yourself trying to bring order to the galaxy, and each time failed. Even your own plan for a magnificent shining humanity has been thwarted by the machinations of the Great Enemy. But you have not been idle these past millennia. You have charted the destinies of billions and contemplated the possibilities. The tug of fate remains in flux, but you see an opportunity. An entire flank lost due to one insignificant error.
"Something we know all too well, how many of our tiny mistakes have cost our precious resources, billions of lives." The voices are back. Crowding in the back of your mind. This one is tired and weak. Easily ignored. You're already ensuring that this error won't come to pass.
Across the Loki Sector the cards speak of care and craftsmanship. The omens are ones of green death caused by the smallest errors. Of relying too much on central citadels and mighty bulwarks. Unlike many of your supposed servants the Crimson Fists are not blind to these portents. Not only do they recheck the defences of their fortress monastery, but they also do not place all their faith in one impenetrable bastion. Several companies are split off from the main chapter and set about preparing redoubts and secondary bases on other worlds in the sector.
By the time the first scouts of the Waagh arrive they find a sector ready and waiting for them. It will be a brutal campaign, but the Crimson Fists are ready to be the shield on which the Orks break. Satisfied you turn your attention elsewhere. To a great champion of yours who still has work yet to do.
In his vigil the chapter master of the Blood Angels beholds a great shining figure of gold. The presence is awe inspiring, and its words contain portents and tidings of great import. The world of Pandrax III, so small in the galaxy, so insignificant. But it contains a seed that could change everything. But all is not well.
The figure speaks a warning as well. The treacherous Aeldari lurk in the shadows waiting to deny mankind its glorious victory. The Blood Angels will need to be vigilant and swift in order to ensure that their proper victory is not denied to them. For above all the importance is not Pandrax III itself, but rather the ancient prize it contains.
Luis Dante awakens. Instantly he is fully alert, for a thousand years of war have taught him to be wary even in the heart of his own citadel. The vision remains with him with clarity beyond even his waking thoughts. He knows that he must go to Pandrax III. He knows that he must retrieve the gene vault. Just as he knows that one die he will die in the defence of that glorious figure. Such is his fate. Such is his duty.
Calling together the Red Council Luis Dante informs them of their new mission. The Blood Angels must take Pandrax III. They must do so swiftly and without error. There is no dissent. From the youngest scout to the most veteran captain all respect the chapter master's sudden decision. Despite the Blood Angel's ongoing commitments every frontline company is redirected to this new crusade. From the fifth to the first, hundreds of space marines assemble into a mighty weapon to crush the Imperium's enemies. While the reserve companies take over their duties on other worlds.
A dozen Imperial warships led by two mighty battle barges erupt from the Immaterium over the unassuming agri world. A broadcast is sent warning all present to stand down before their might, but Dante does not wait for any response from the Aeldari present. The vision included the location of the gene vault, and he wastes no time.
Dante himself leads a team of terminators to deep strike into the gene vault itself. Resistance is fierce. The Altaoic farseer could sense the tides of fate shifting and arranged their defences accordingly. But they cannot resist the direct might of the Emperor's champion. Leaving his terminators to deal with the pathfinder and wraith knight bodyguard Dante plunges forward one wings of fire to engage the farseer in battle. With no regard for his own safety he breaks past the farseer's defence to plunge his axe deep into their chest.
Behind him the rest of the plan is already in motion. Even as Blood Angel terminators deal with the farseer's remaining pathfinders a specialist team of librarians and tech marines teleport in to find and disarm any hidden bombs or xenos magic the farseer might have left behind. Several are found and disarmed though two tech marines sacrifice themselves to save one data crypt when a haywire mine detonates before they can remove it.
Of course that isn't the end of it. The Aeldari farseer may be dead, but they are not orks. Decapitating an Aeldari force does not leave them directionless, and even now the Aeldari redirect their efforts inward. Pathfinder groups and vehicles move to assault the small Blood Angel strike team in effort to retake and destroy the gene vaults before the remaining Blood Angel companies drive them from Pandrax III. But Dante is as skilled in defence as in every aspect of warfare. He expertly fortifies the gene vaults and in a masterful display of siege warfare holds out for three weeks before the second company finally breaks through the siege and relieves his force.
At last the Blood Angels are victorious, though many have died for this victory. Casualties are disproportionate among the first company. The carefully husbanded veterans expended for this prize. Dante regards the gene vaults with a mixture of hope and determination. He does not doubt they will be worth the cost, for such was his vision. He only worries what the future might hold for the Blood Angels now.
"Ever our shining champions, we must help our sons further." This one you can agree with. Your sons are your pride, even if they have failed you far too often.
Tech priests are loading the gene vaults for transport back to the Magos Biologis for further examination. What they will find Dante cannot say, but surely it will be of vital importance. For now he has done his duty to the Emperor and Sanguinius. As he always does.
You vile wretch, Sanguinius was not one of your buried mistakes. He was good, he was kind and they killed him! The Magos, guide the fool so they're given control over their Black Rage but never allow them to forget. Mood description: True loathing. For a moment black rage nearly overtakes you as well. The mention of your most treasured son driving a spike of anger through your soul. But you overcome it. You are above such things now.
"Do you feel that? The banging thrill of combat and success replaced with the loathing aching rhythm of uncertainty? We must bless them to ensure this task carried out to it's end." Another voice pushing you to action. It drives your impatience at your own limits. If only you could shape the entirety of humanity as you once did.
Unfortunately you find yourself much more limited, and as such you turn your attention to a lone individual. You turn to the matter of Ciaphas Cain. You find that he is now leading a valiant last stand against a seemingly unrelenting tide of cultists orchestrated by the dark hand of the fate weaver. The threads of possibility tell you that this will be only one of his many "last" stands.
Through luck, skill, and a healthy dose of fear he is even now about to break into the rebel stronghold and disrupt the summoning ceremony that will bring the feathered servant of the fate weaver into the materium. The victory celebration plays out in your vision. Yet another medal for the Hero of the Imperium.
Cain will survive as he always does. As he always will. But what if you place a hand on the balance. He will surely stop the plot and save this world, but one lost plot hardly matters to a creature of eternity. In the vast expanse of the future however you see a hint of something even greater. A way to turn a Hero into a Champion.
You reach out and a chimera suffers a minor engine failure. Just enough to slow Cain's convoy down by a few minutes. Enough for a cultist to make the final sacrifice. Enough for a demon of power to enter the real. Enough for a chainsword with a hint of your divine power, a headache inducing spot of blankness, and the valiant human spirit of your soldiers to deliver a wound that will put that particular servant of the fate weaver out of commission for a few centuries more.
One final nudge on the scales. You make sure that Cain's favoured Inquisitor is the one to intercept the report. Just to make sure there are no unpleasant consequences for Cain's comrades in this world. Cain himself will of course be fine. Perhaps he will even gain that backwater posting he so fervently desires.
"Cain should really be made a living saint, if he were to fall... Speaking of, I wonder if Saint Celestine is alright. Poor, poor girl, suffering death a thousand times over in our name... We can spare a thought for her too, right?" The interest in Cain again. It cannot be the Fate Weaver, for their plans have been foiled. But who else would wish to see Cain and Celestine thrive for their own ends.
You will have time to ponder such thoughts later however. Your soul is shattered across a thousand worlds and you can no longer wield it with the ease of your youth. You feel your power waning. You must use it now.
Fact: Most efficient usage of limited power must be allocated to highest cost-benefit per individual ratio, therefore concluded: High Lords of Terra optimal target for intervention. You find yourself agreeing with this voice. The precise application of power is a lever with which you once moved the galaxy. Your power is lesser now, but that just means you must place the lever with more care. And there is one last matter you wish to attend to.
Colonel Creed has a future filled with possibility, but he is yet an ordinary man. You will ensure that he lives to rise beyond himself. Your touch is more obvious here than with Cain. There is no enemy foresight to avoid here.
So you grant him the gifts of your blessing. You sharpen his mind, bolster his courage, and strengthen his limbs. And from deep within you find you have the wherewithal for one last thing. You nudge the weave of fate just a little to favor the colonel ever so slightly more.
And then you must rest, but you can still watch as your gifts are well used. As the colonel breaks into enemy strongholds and destroys their hard points. As he duels their champions with sword and laspistol. As he saves countless lives from the Great Enemy.
"Saving lives, saving humanity, saving our people... That was the whole reason we even did any of this, isn't it? We mustn't forget, we musn't lose sight of this... Of humanity." The voice feels closer now, but its words are laughable. Do it for the sake of humanity. What else could you even consider. Everything you do is for humanity. You have sacrificed your very mind and power for them. They are your charge and you will see them prosper.
"The navy needs a champion of it's own... It needs... SPIRE!" You recall the days of your great crusade. When you sailed at the head of ten thousand grand ships. But no, you shake off the visions of the past. Your empire's fleets are rusted and scattered now. What difference could one man make?
"Creed is not enough. No foe will sully proud Cadia's soil under his command but it means nothing if no one could stop the Despoiler's ships from simply besieging the world from the stars. Let Admiral Spire be free of the vagaries of the warp, that Cadia's fleets would bring down any foe." Another voice for Spire. You wonder at this one. You remember the dismissal of your sons previously. What does it see in the common masses that you do not. You find yourself tempted. Could your languishing fleets be grand once more under his command.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 10 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 3 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
[X] Plan Those Who Stands Vigil: Revised Edition
-[X] Commune (3 point)
--[X] Trajann Valoris, Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes: Calling for him and the rest of the Custodes to resume his duty, for the Emperor is the Imperium, and to defend the Imperium is to defend the Emperor. Cancel the Edict of Restraint and let the Custodes glaives and Adrathics faces the enemy of humanity once more. Bid Valoris deliver your messages and will to the High Lords. Have Valoris inform the High Lords there is to be a new Astartes Founding, with a focus given to fleet-based chapters and those specializing in Void Warfare. To the Grand Master of Assassins alone, bid him set a watch on Armageddon. When the Ork known as Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka emerges (again?) on the former Sol world, he is to be considered a target of highest priority and eliminated thoroughly.
-[X] Aid Navigators (3 points)
--[X] Lord High Admiral Spire of Battlefleet Gothic: The Hero of the last Black Crusade, lost on the maddening vagaries of the Sea of Souls. Guide his fleet, shine the path for the Navigators , the path out of the Warp. It is time, Admiral, you are needed once more. Abaddon in his rage stirs, and your firm hand is what it takes
-[X] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
--[X] Inquisitor Fidus Kryptman, Ordo Xenos: A vision of chitin and claws, chittering beneath Imperial Cities. A beacon to a horde of monsters, the Great Hoste bares theirs fangs and tendrils, following the signals of the gene-twisted below. Tainted shipments of medicines, turning the unknowing into traitors to humanity from the very strains of their genes. Genes. Helix. Twisted spiral. A pharmaceutical cartel nothing but a mask. Vejovium III, Pahr Sector, Segmentum Ultima. Lair for the Alien breed. Twisted Helix .
-[X] Blessing ( 2 Points , for Spire ) -[X] Curse ( 1 Point ) : Herman von Strab , current or former Imperial Commander of Armageddon. A corrupt and incompetent, then make the utmost despicaable choice of treason. May his filth be uncovered by the just servants of the Imperium, may fate will him towards untimely death, before the catastrophe of his treason make itself aware
A Clash of Wills
Captain General Valoris attends you every day. Your physical form at least. Drawing your attention back into that form is painful. The shrieking agony that you put off by viewing the wider galaxy is now ever present, a pain that reaches deep into your soul.
Even so it is easier to speak to those who stand before your throne than to those a galaxy away. So for the sake of your wider plans you bear the agony as you instruct the Captain General as to his new duties. You place on him the mantle of your authority. The divine mark that will force all of your servants to yield. And you watch with grim pleasure as he wields it adroitly. He cuts through the complaints of the High Lords and rescinds the Edict of Restraint.
The war preparations that the Captain General has been making in the shadows for years now take full effect as your golden guardians take up their glaives and venture out into the galaxy to face the Great Enemy in its own territory. Your heart aches with memories. You yearn to lead them into those battles as you once did. If only your cursed flesh had not failed you.
Besides the Custodes themselves Valoris also sets into motion a new Founding of Astartes. The High Lords are more prompt with their preparation than they might have been. Perhaps they see the Astartes as a counterweight to the newly rising Custodes. Or perhaps they are simply true servants of the Imperium.
However there is an unexpected blockage. The Fabricator General has released the gene seed for the founding, but refuses to build the ships needed for new fleet based chapters. Even in the face of the Captain General's authority the Fabricator General does not quail. For he claims the Omnissiah has given him his own purpose. And he is not incorrect. You have your own plans for the Cult Mechanicus.
"Request: Do not punish them - Utilize Opportunity: Conclave of the Mechanicus - Potential Institutional Power gained deemed 64.39146% more efficient than wider impacts of Astartes Founding." The mechanical whisper repeats what you already know. Would you have reached out to the machine cult if you hadn't planned to use them.
Pushing away your annoyance and frustration at your plans colliding you turn back to the High Lords. There is one more thing you wish to watch. You have bid the Grand Master of Assassins to dispatch kill teams to Armageddon to deal with the Ork Warlord Ghazghkull. They will fail. You have foreseen it. But having such pieces in play will enable threads of fate you have yet to pull.
Turning away from mortal matters you turn your attention to the Sea of Souls. Your power is greater here. Your sight is more keen. But the Great Enemy too is more adept in their own homes, and they take great delight in foiling you. So you marshal your will to the task you have set for yourself. You will brook no failure or interference here.
Your gaze peers through the murk searching for one of your most loyal servants, Admiral Spire and his fleet sailing in circles across the great sea. Their sight is so muddled by the Great Enemy that they will never reach their destination. But here, in this place, with your power, none can defy your Will. And you will see Spire go to the aid of your people once more.
There is a lingering presence which makes itself known, feeling rather similar to the whimpering voice from before. Like you, it watches Cadia also, listening in to each desperate prayer, desperately wishing to alleviate their suffering. Yet even if capable of speech, it chooses to remain silent this time. A form of condemnation, perhaps. Or a plea. Whatever it is, it's clear that they won't be content until aid is provided to 'mere mortals', sparing them from the horrors of the galaxy...
Ignoring the silent watcher, you direct the Astronomicon to cleave through the fog around Spire's fleet like a mighty sword. You purify their path and show the navigators aboard his ships the way forward. Like a mighty beast unleashed, the fleet surges onto this new course, and in mere moments, or mere decades it is hard to say, the Admiral finds himself once more in the realm of the real.
You let your touch linger for a moment longer. Wreathing his ships in golden radiance you ensure that they will ever travel through the sea of souls with ease and certainty. And for Spire himself you quicken his thoughts and bolster his courage. His insight will need to be keen indeed to face the dangers you have foreseen.
He will be your champion of the void just as you have champions of the land. He will be the sword you wield against the black ships of the Great Enemy, and you can sense the threads of fate shift to a new course. The course you have chosen and willed. Where Cadia stands, and your empire is whole.
And he does not fail your expectations. Even as he takes stock of his fleet and position the Admiral is already sending vanguard flotillas out to relieve distress calls from local worlds, and destroy the pirates hampering local shipping.
With only a single focus it is far easier to shuffle the Tarot as you wish. You give the rogue inquisitor a target even as you foresee the fires that will be unleashed, and you are not disappointed. Kryptman descends on Vejovium III with teams of loyal deathwatch marines, and begins a righteous purge.
Laboratories are raided and specimens collected for Kyrptman's generators to examine. The underhives are washed clean with burning promethium. The nobility complain of the loss of their elixirs, but this does nothing but give Kryptman another target.
Ancient noble houses are deemed traitors to the Imperium. Fouled by xenos taint beyond redemption. Entire spires are destroyed as deathwatch kill teams scythe through their neophyte defenders. Finally Kryptman is satisfied and he departs to scour the rest of the sector for further tendrils of the Twisted Helix.
Behind him Vejovium III burns. Its hives are twisted wrecks inhabited only by those who proved themselves pure under the most thorough tortures of the Inquisition. Billions have died by fire and sword, but you are satisfied. Through their sacrifice trillions have been spared the hunger of the Great Devourer.
Though perhaps you need to pull the strands of fate for your tool of purgation. Kryptman is now pursued by not just the Inquisition, but forces of the Magi Biologi who are furious over the loss of their testing grounds.
"Kryptman is a fool beyond measure, but loyal to this atrocity that is our Imperium. A blessing is in order, carve out the stupidity that ordered the cordon sanitaire from his mind and mold him into something worthy. His work is not yet complete." The discordant voice for once echoes your own thoughts. Kryptman is a useful tool, and will be more useful yet with just a little direction.
You reach out and your mantle flows into another aspect. One of ticking machines and unyielding precision. In your aspect as the machine god you direct the prognostications of the mechanicus. The levels of holy lubricant, the timing of the signal bells, the rhythm of the industrial presses.
The magi of a thousand worlds read the signs and portents of the forge and their conclusion is the same. There is a call to return. A call of pilgrimage to the red cradle of the mechanicus. Many ignore it. There are those factions that reject such superstitions for the pure logic of the mind. But there are many more who point out that it is in fact illogical to ignore such clear and apparent phenomena.
Ships are prepared. Explorator fleets are summoned home or redirected. Archmagi leave their forge worlds for the first time in centuries and as the procession moves inward it becomes a torrent. A vast stream of crimson vessels whose destination is Mars.
And they are not unexpected. The most esteemed arch magi of all, the Fabricator General of Mars Oud Oudia Raskian, has seen those same signs. He has seen the radiant mantle that surrounds the Captain General, and read the portents of the Omnissiah in the turning of the cogs. And he understands that the Omnissiah has chosen to bless him above all Fabricators.
Finally the greatest minds of the mechanicus are assembled. For one pilgrimage perhaps, and perhaps they yet have their differences. But this is Raskian's chance. The chance to finally address his greatest fear and push the mechanicus into a new age of enlightenment.
"A chance to heal the wounds of the failure we've made, to mend the ignorance that chews at our imperium like a cancer, allow the mechanicus to work, let the innovation of man once more shine unmatched in the galaxy. Wield their ships as spears against our many foes"
"Calculation: Knowledge given here by Emperor will reverberate throughout the galaxy - Utilize to prevent tragedy - Maximize efficiency - Share insight into technology." You snap at the voices. If it were that easy to shape the galaxy you would have already done it. T
"THRONE UPGRADES REQUIRED. COMMUNICATION DEVICE. OTHERS?"
The voices are weak and tired. Their words repeat what you already know. But their desires align with your own. To lever the mechanicus out of their rut and clean the rust from their workings would greatly aid in your future plans. If only you had more ability to communicate with your vassals. Though the thought of ignorant hands tampering with the mechanisms keeping your body in stasis is disdainful. You do not trust others not to cause irreparable damage. As tortuous an existence as this is, it is one you have grown used to.
The world of Parenxes was peaceful and secure. As the base for the space marine strike force that patrolled the entire sector its inhabitants knew that they had nothing to fear. For who would dare strike at the very heart of a space marine fleet.
So the immediate reaction of the augar crews was one of mundane bureaucracy as a warp first opened in the outer system. A routine checking of schedules to see what chartist captain was currently expected. It was only as a fleet of misshapen vessels clawed their way into reality that the defenders of Parenxes realized they were about to have a very bad day.
Fortunately the Space Wolves and Astral Hawks were far better prepared. Forming up on the Wolf of Fenris they immediately burned to confront the intruders even as machine spirits sang out a chorus of identifications. This was the Red Corsair fleet, with a 98% certainty, blessed be the Omnissiah.
Labouring crews loaded guns and fired torpedoes as the two fleets engaged. A shoal of enormous missiles streaked back and forth across the void. As the enormous broadsides thundered it became apparent that despite their ragged and juryrigged appearance the Red Corsairs were no amateur pirates. Their weapons struck true and fire blossomed across the defending fleet. And even as they fired their macro cannons they evaded the counter fire with a nimbleness that seemed impossible from such hulking ships.
For this was no random pirate raid. It was not foolishness that had brought them here. Lord Huron Blackheart wanted ships, and what better ships were there than a space marine strike force. Following his orders elite pirate gunners disabled engines were disabled with clinical precision, and boarding torpedoes slammed into critical junctures.
As the defenders of Parenxes watched in despair, transponder after transponder winked out only to be replaced by the warning sigils of the Enemy. And then, ever so ponderously, the fleet turned back. They watched in horror as their own defenders began to bombard their cities from orbit.
For more than a few space marines had decided that death was not the greatest honor after all. And now Lord Huron forced them to prove their loyalty by destroying their charges with their own hands.
"They betrayed us! Another betrayal from these so called super humans. CURSE THEM" This voice follows your own thoughts so closely that it is hard to tell apart from yourself. How dare these disloyal sons of Russ turn against you! How dare they defile their own charges! Your anger is enough to ignite several minor warp storms in nearby systems before you snuff them out. Another maelstrom would do nothing but aid the Red Corsairs at this point.
She could hear her sisters calling for her. Their cries for aid pierced through the hazy dreams of her immaterial slumber. She was loath to leave the comforting golden embrace of her dreams, but duty compelled her forward.
Radiant wings flapped and she burst forth into real space. The assertion of reality driving away the hazy dreams and focusing her thoughts. Once more she was Celestine, and she was needed. On the planet below her sisters and the valiant marines of the Salamander chapter were fighting a desperate losing battle. The hordes of the Great Enemy pushing them back through the city streets.
But she was here now. Beams of luminescent light shone forth over the battlefield invigorating the Imperial defenders and burning the putrid abominations of the fallen. Even the mere fraction of His divine essence reflected through her was more than enough to punish such lowly fallen.
But these were just chaff. She could sense a far more malevolent force behind them, and even as her sisters began to push forward once more Celestine rocketed towards the evil at the heart of this campaign. There was the warlord, a daemon prince more warp than real. She could feel its prideful essence shouting at her, Gralastyx. A sword of fire and a sword of bone clashed as the two titans met each other, but that was just the physical manifestation of the far greater psychic conflict.
Divine fought against Fallen. A smaller representation of a far greater conflict. Their battle laid waste to all around them. Thousands of lesser daemons and corrupted space marines perishing not just to Celestine's righteous fury, but careless swipes of Gralastyx's balefire.
But as mighty as the conflict was it was not equal. Celestine pressed the daemon prince hard. Her divine radiance overpowering his foulness. But then just as her sword pierced his armor there was a third presence. A sword of obsidian pierced her own armor in turn. Wielded by a presence even more blasphemous than the daemon prince before her.
She could feel the corresponding essence whisper dark thoughts in her mind, Leporine. And suddenly a duel became two versus one. Now Celestine was the one suppressed. Her radiant fire dimmed under the assault as she desperately fought on two fronts. As if to mirror the psychic battle, dark clouds spread over the battlefield. And the force of chaos space marines, cultists, and daemons resumed their advance, pushing the Imperial defenders back once more.
Celestine struggled mightily. Her sword flashed back and forth in a flurry of parries and strikes, but this new daemon was a nimble flash of black armor compared to the hulking Gralastyx. Even the smallest opening was ruthlessly exploited and Celestine's armor was soon covered in dents and gashes. She knew the battle had already been decided, but with zeal and fury she fought on to give her sisters time to retreat. Until the final strike, an obsidian blade plunged through her heart.
As her wings failed her Celestine watched in horror as the planet was overrun. The last Imperial strongholds were abandoned as landing barges evacuated what they could. She had failed, and she could feel a dark grip on her heart. A constant reminder of that failure.
"One human, no matter how powerful and how full of so-called "divine power" will not turn the tides of this war. Strengthen the Guard and the Navy, the true forces behind the Imperium, let the Mechanicum provide to them the might of the ancients, let their ranks be purged of cowardly and incompetent leaders, so that they might never fail again in their charge to defend mankind everywhere." You barely acknowledge the whisper. It's advice nattering the back of your mind as you pull your champion's spirit back into your domain. The voice does not realize that this is not solely a battle of arms and armor. You fight for the souls of humanity as surely as their bodies.
"I told you! I told you and you didn't listen, and now they've all died because of this, the survivors scattered to the void, their planet brought to ruins. This could've been avoided, they counted on us, prayed to us, and yet... It's no use, you will never listen. I suppose helplessness is all we deserve, for the magnitude of our sins." This voice may be weak and small, but its words pierce you like swords. The Great Enemy has won more than a planet here. Their spiritual victory will reverberate through the galaxy. All your plans will be that much harder now.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 10 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
[X] The Infinite Truth
-[X] Send Visions (5 Points)
--[X] Oud Oudia Raskian: The Dark Age of Technology as you knew it, the wonders and horrors of knowledge that even the Mechanicus at its height did not know. The signing of the Treaty of Mars, and your own manifestation as Omnissiah before the Magos of that era. The progressive factions of the Mechanicus, who operated with your blessings during the Great Crusade, and the service they rendered to humanity and the Quest for Knowledge. The blade of the Enemy, blinding one eye of the Mechanicus, luring them to twin sins of regression and rebellion, diverting them from the path. A occulary of golden and ethereal clockwork, which you integrate seamlessly into Raskian's bleeding eyesocket, that he and all the Mechanicus might see anew. Flashes of the Choral Engine's location and similarity to the Golden Throne, hidden STCs, guardsmen of the Solar Auxilia who's kit would put any Skitarii to shame. Yourself-As-Omnissiah, rising new and whole from a repaired golden throne, blessing Raskian for what he has done.
-[X] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
--[X] Magi attending the pilgrimage: The same cards for everyone, no matter how many times they draw on the surface of Mars - MAGUS - REVELATION - FAMILIA HUMANA - GREAT EYE. Raskian speaks your truth, the Mechanicus is an integral part of humanity and must protect it, Chaos approaches.
- [X] Blessing
--[X] Oud Oudia Raskian (1 Point): Charisma and the apparant blessing of the Motive Force to work mechanical wonders, that he might prove himself your chosen.
--[X] The Lamenters (2 Points): Fortune and fortitude whenever they aid those most in need.
--[X] Fidus Kryptman (1 Point): The light of clarity and discernment, triumphing over fear. None who might be spared can be lost, if the depthless storm is to be overcome.
The Conclave of Prophets
Your vision turns to the red planet. To the teeming mass of iron and silicon that is the mechanicus. Past the rusted forge mounts to the great machine in the heart of the noosphere. Towards Oud Raskian. The motive force runs through him as surely as blood and you direct its working to grant him a grand vision of ones and zeroes.
Immense steel plates shudder as the fabricator general is wracked with the epiphany of the vision. Many of his secondary cogitators are overloaded as you push his systems to the brink of ruin. But when he arises once more it is with a righteous spark in his oculus.
Massive cranes lift him into the pulpit of the Forge Cathedral of Olympos Mons and he preaches a furious sermon to the assembled arch magi. He informs them of the vision the Omnissiah has granted to him and recites many great and powerful litanies that will no doubt be referenced by the data scribes for centuries to come.
Many miracles of the cog are witnessed in those days and the news spreads from arch magi to magi to tech acolyte and even the lowly serfs working in the dark catacombs. The Fabricator General is the prophet of the Omnissiah and his words are holy writ made manifest. At his direction the assembled conclave creates three new holy orders to perform the directives laid out in the Omnissiah's holy vision.
The first are the Pilgrims of the Beacon. To them are granted the gifts of the Iron Crown, dozens of ships diverted from other tasks and even newly constructed. A billion skitarii are loaded into those cavernous holds and the great god machines of the Mechanicus legions are carried into orbit by great cathedral ships. It will be the Pilgrims task to seek out the fabled Choral Engine and bring it into the Omnissiah's light.
The second are the Solar Smiths. To them are granted the surface of Mars itself. All its fabricators and manufactorums are turned to one purpose even as ancient designs are unearthed from the archives. It is no longer enough to simply fulfill the needs of the solar guard with the minimum of equipment. It is time to equip the solar auxilia as once was done when the Omnissiah walked the galaxy.
"At long last, the Guard is properly armed. Mankind's safety can be assured." The voice conjures visions of your legions again. The massed ranks of the solar auxilia marching to war in your name.
We could not save mankind then. Perhaps we can make our amends now. Regret is a useless emotion. It is they who failed you. Their mortal flesh failed in the critical moment. Now perhaps their descendants will have a chance to do better. With muffled frustration you turn your attention back to the Mechanicus.
The third and final order are the Throne Wrights. These are the most ancient and revered arch magi. Granted the most profound insight into the quest for knowledge they are connected through arcane mechanisms to the heart of the noosphere itself. There they commune in sacred seclusion and consider the golden throne in all its glory. They ponder its mysteries and consider what adjustments are needed to return it to its full power.
"Enter your mind, repair the throne, Gain power!" The tempter returns. You can taste the sweet fruit of your past memories. Of when you were strong and powerful. Oh, how you wish to return to those days.
"We cannot risk this going... wrong. A single tug from the chaos gods could result in the golden throne being ripped apart by our own magi. Bless them as they restore us to glory." A very good point. It would not do for the magi to make things worse. Or to open an avenue for the Great Enemy. Your Custodes are careful, but if they could understand the workings of your Throne they would have already fixed it. Such ignorance leaves openings into the heart of your power.
The Curse of the Penitent
Satisfied that the priests of the cog are faithfully following your commands your attention turns to one of the more unfortunate chapters of your astartes roaming the galaxy. True to form you sight the lamenters' ships struggling to navigate a roiling storm on the sea of souls.
On board superhumans in yellow and black battle the horrors of the warp in a desperate bid to keep themselves and their mortal crews alive. You can foresee that this is but one of the many trials they will face in their crusade, and that many battle brothers will fall in the years to come.
This is the unfortunate curse of the Lamenters and one too deeply ingrained into the weave of fate for even you to change. But you can provide some measure of solace to the unfortunate. You lay your power on the astartes like a shroud. It is not much against their unrelenting fate, but they find that their blows strike with holy fury and their fallen fight beyond the limits of their frames.
"I like them... Despite it all, they remain wholly human. Poor things are undoubted cursed, though..." A weak and pitiful observation. The Lamenters do their duty even unto death. They know what is required of them.
"Such is the evil of the warp, that those among the finest of our grandchildren be subjected to such a horrid fate. As evil as it sounds, though, we should turn our attention towards other matters. It is beyond us to aid the Lamenters any further, they must break their curse by their own strength or die trying." You agree with this whisper. This is a trial that the Lamenters must overcome on their own. Or die trying. Though you note with some pride that in most of the lines of fate they do manage to overcome their penance. The geneseed of your favored son is strong indeed.
To Know What Must Be Done
Turning from the sea of souls you focus your attention on one of your most useful tools. Inquisitor Kryptman is currently tracking yet another cult of genestealers. Necessary, but a waste of his prodigious mind.
Your touch gives him clarity of thought and purpose beyond even his previous drive. As the last of the four armed cultists fall before his acolytes Kryptman realizes that these are just a precursor of what is to come. He is treating the symptom not the root.
And so Kryptman retreats to his ship and ponders sector maps and biologis reports. The tyranids feed on biomass. Thus that biomass must be denied to them, but preferably without denying the benefits to the Imperium either.
And so the inquisitor begins planning a great cordon. Entire worlds must be evacuated and then sterilized. Entire sub sectors swept of any possible source of replenishment. And by the time the starving tyranids crawl across them they will meet worlds fortified and prepared to receive them.
Repent Sinner!
The Ecclesiarch is a man of deep and unshakable faith. He knows that the God Emperor has a plan for him, and his faith is vindicated when his personal tarot readers repeatedly tell him the same thing. They speak of the Emperor speaking with him directly from the throne.
Of course even for a man of his faith and standing, gaining entry to the throne room is not a simple matter. But your touch fills Baldo Slyst with zeal and purpose. He argues with the captain general relentlessly, and stubbornly opposes his efforts to deploy more Custodes until at least even the super human patience of Valoris is forced to relent.
Satisfied the Ecclesiarch makes his pilgrimage to the throne room and forces himself to advance to within ten paces of the lowest step. It is the closest he can get in the face of your divine radiance. There he falls to his knees and prays unceasingly for three days and three nights. Until at last the Custodes have to carry out his comatose form.
But after several months of recuperation the emaciated Slyst is back once more to pray for your guidance. Again he falls and again he returns over and over in an unending cycle. The light of righteousness burns in his eyes. He will not stop until he receives the prophesied commands.
"Guidance is required to correct inefficient behavior, both re: inefficient prayer and inefficiencies of the Ecclesiarchy - Priority Note: Care required due to noted irrationality." Irrationality, that is one to put the disgusting ideology your supposed servants have twisted your Imperium to. Using these superstitious fools goes against your entire system of rationality, but you suppose you must work with the tools available.
"He's just a mere man... You can't expect them to take on your full psychic might and be fine. Have some heart. Emperor knows we need a bit of heart." Weakness! If you must use this man, then standing in your presence is the least of your requirements. If he does not have enough fortitude to simply be in your presence, then how can you know he will have the fortitude to stand up against the travails of the galaxy.
The Doom of Varadon
The sky was falling. A billion monstrous pods constantly rained down as Captain Varric looked out over the walls of the fortress monastery. The air was filled with an acidic tang that burned his eyes and nose. If he had been mortal no doubt he'd be blind by now, but there were no mortals left. All the chapter's serfs were long dead.
And Captain Varric knew that he would follow them soon. He had hoped that some of the chapter would survive. That they would at least be able to warn the Imperium of this new xenos threat. But it was not to be. In the distance he could see the chapter's battle barge, the Litany of Flame, descend towards the ground. Distance made it seem to move deceptively slowly, but he knew it would impact like the mountain of metal it was.
And that would be his chance. Not to survive, but to enact as terrible a toll as he could on this xenos menace. Placing his helmet on his head he raised his fist to signal the last few of his battle brothers. They needed no words or encouragement. Everyone there knew that their deaths were nigh, but they would not go quietly.
Moving to the rampant Captain Varric looked out over the teeming masses of the xenos. The monstrous hordes swarmed over the land. From a distance it looked as if the hills themselves were moving, some of them were. Bringing up his bolter Captain Varric mentally calculated the fall of the Litany of Flame. The barest moment before impact he shouted his last command. "For the Emperor!"
A half dozen bolters rang out even as the Litany of Flame finally crashed into the surface. A massive blast wave of promethium and plasma slammed through the swarm tossing the smaller xenos into the air and shaking the larger monstrosities even as the marines methodically picked off target after target.
Assailed from two directions thousands of xenos died in mere moments. But then they recovered. A million monstrous throats screamed like a single wounded beast, and the swarm lunged towards the last of the space marines. Thousands more died to unrelenting bolter fire, but tens of thousands replaced them.
This was no equal match. In the end Captain Varric was the last to fall, and with him the last of the Shadow Wolves. A chapter snuffed out by an uncaring galaxy.
The Gravespite Massacre
Fury made Ragnar's eyes bleed red, but with an effort he contained himself. He couldn't help but remember the treacherous attack on his wolf lord, but he had already exacted a portion of revenge. And as long as he kept his wits about him he would enact even more. It would be a bittersweet saga to sing on Fenris, but a worthy one.
For three days he had been waiting with his brothers on this desolate ridge, and he would wait even longer if he had to. He knew the traitorous allies of his target would have to pass below if they wanted to reach Longspire, and when they did he would mete out justice.
And he did not have to wait long. He heard them before he saw them. The screams and chanting of their slave cultists rose out of the valley as the first of the warband came into view. But they were mere chaff beneath his ax. Ragnar impatiently peered into the valley searching for his real prey. There! One of the despicable traitors wearing the twisted version of a wolf skin.
Ragnar stilled his instinctive growl. They were not yet in position. He would have to wait just a little longer. Clicking his voxcaster once he sent the signal to his brothers to get ready. It would not be much longer.
Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity, but at last the final Word Bearer walked into the range of his bolter. He clicked his vox once more and then waited three breaths. Then with a roar Ragnar erupted from his hiding place, his chainsword revving and his bolter unleashing volleys of explosives at his hated foe. From their places in the surrounding ridges his brothers did the same and the chaos band faltered as the screaming space wolves descended on them.
But sadly that confusion lasted only a moment. Even as their slaves cowered, the traitors formed a square and began to return fire. It wouldn't be enough. They were exposed with no cover, and attacked from every angle.
It shouldn't have been enough. But then one of the Word Bearers whipped around and buried his own sword into one of his own comrades. Ragnar had only the briefest moment of confusion before the truth was revealed. A slender arm clad in black armor erupted from the stricken word bearer. Then the rest of the daemon followed like an insect emerging from a bloody cocoon.
Every Space Wolf present immediately shifted targets. Instinctively knowing that they only had one chance to survive.But as the daemon danced through their bolter fire seemingly untouched by the rain of explosive hail Ragnar knew it was already too late.
Roaring again he raised his chainsword and redoubled his sprint to reach the daemon as it began killing his brothers. If he was to die this day, then at least he would die with honor.
"The timeline is broken... What you know is not certain to pass" The words ring true. The weave of fate is unraveling as too many pull at its strands. The future is becoming uncertain.
"Alert: Suboptimal Behavior - Recommendation: Correct Space Marine Priorities Generally - Pointless Death For Revenge Repeated Ad Infinitum Redux of post-Heresy Chaos - Revenge Mission: Worthless, Duty: Priority, Suggestion: Advise to be more like Imperial Guard." The very idea fills you with indignation. To treat your creations as mere soldiers on a board. They were meant for greater things. To bear your will across the galaxy.
You are about to turn your attention back to the galaxy and your people spread across when a one last voice whispers in your thoughts, "You've forgotten Ghazghkull, finish what we started."
Quest Note: For the record Ragnar was chosen to die immediately after the turn started. I was surprised and somewhat mortified when he was brought up in the thread.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 10 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.[/B][/B]
It would only take a single word to describe what happened in the Orpheus sector, chaos. Not the face of the arch enemy, but a far more mundane yet altogether more serious threat. Over a single period of 24 hours whenever one fell asleep they beheld visions. Deathless and skeletal horrors rising from their graves. Led by a pale figure riding a horse made of lightning and wielding a scythe that was used to carve the sun from the sky.
The malevolent visage of this stormlord caused each and every human and abhuman to awake in utter terror as deep inside their soul, they knew death itself was coming for them. The Caracol system however had it even worse. Where the dreams, nightmares truly, continued for an entire week. Worst of all was the fate of those astropaths blessed by the emperor as the visions of torment came over them even during their waking hours.
"We have tried so much to bring them hope and we fail again and again... yet we have to try once more... as we always do. Send what we can. Make them feel seen. Let us protect our children... even if we may fail again" Not that you will fail of course. Your plans are perfectly only subject to the vagaries of your tools. The tarot was simply too vague for this warning.
"... This one is entirely on you, be careful next time." The accusation is shrill, but you aren't sure if this voice is talking to you or the previous whisper.
The response to this was panic at all levels of society. Innumerable death cults arose preaching the end of days and turning both to the Emperor and darker powers. Many noble houses packed up their holdings in their entirety and charted ships out of the sector while those unable to book passage fortified their hab spires. A dozen inquisitors and their retinues descended on the sector looking for the source of this apocalyptic vision.
"You worthless disgrace, why must you always ruin everything you touch with the most basic of mistakes. Send them hope, fool. Rekindle their lost flame with Slyst, we will see the worth of his new doctrine when he fixes your mistake." The angry whisper's advice is at least pertinent. You directed the Ecclsiarch to spread the message of hope and certitude for precisely this sort of situation.
You watch for a little while longer. Some of the planets in the sector are refusing to pay their tithes. They cite the need to use all their resources to defend themselves. The administratum takes a dim view of this of course, and sends the navy to deal with the holdouts.
"Order must be restored - Optimal Asset already provided: Celestine - Provide Direction." More visions, Slyst, Celestine, the voices certainly have opinions on this. You aren't certain they are necessary. The navy's presence has increased and worlds are fortifying all across the sector.
The Marshal and the Wolf
The seers cast their bones and consult the runes and deliver their verdict to the Great Wolf. The All Father requires that he seek out the Spear of Russ and wrest it from the hands of the Great Enemy. The Old Wolf gathers the Night Runners and sets out on an expedition into the darkest depths of the galaxy to find a warp rift through which to recover the spear.
Meanwhile in another sector entirely, the priests and tarot readers relay to the High Marshal the tidings of the emperor. He is to find and slay xenos warlord, Imotekh. This only confirms the High Marshal's grim resolve and he immediately pushes forward with his plans to find and destroy the xenos's flagship.
Lord Solar Arcadian Leontus
Despite the insistence of his peers the Lord Solar believes that the best defense is a good offense and so when his seers present evidence to him that the tarot depicts a war of monstrous proportions he is quick to assemble a crusade to ride into the Armageddon Sector.
The Lord Solar leads an armada a hundred ships strong to reinforce the mechanicus siege force under the command of Commissar Yarrick. Together they work to clear the planet of Golgatha of its infection quickly and swiftly. However the hated Ork Warboss Ghazghull continues to evade them, and in fact the severed heads of failed assassins are found by the advancing Imperial army as mocking gifts from the ork prophet.
The Ordo Tyrannus
The tarot is clear. Kryptman must be aided. However the tarot is just one tool in the arsenal of the Inquisition and not one that every Inquisitor trusts implicitly. As such a rift soon forms in the vast Ultima Conclave. The supporters of Kryptman form the Ordo Tyrannus to carry out his grand design while the more Puritanical Inquisitors decry the new Ordos as the worst kind of cabal.
"These detractors have merit, there is no shortage of corrupt fools amongst this Inquisition. Were it not for our hand in correcting Kryptman, their actions would be a boon to countless souls. Here are volunteers, bless them so their faith in the tarot returns and then give them more deserving targets." This time the whisper is calmer. It seems to be restraining itself in order to deliver its advice.
The Puritans are joined by members of the Ordo Xenos who view the new group as encroaching on their territory, and a clandestine war erupts in the shadows of the Ultima sector. Nevertheless the increase in resources allows Kryptman to proceed with his massive Firewall project.
Baldo Slyst, Ecclesiarch, Prophet, Saint
The Tarot is an indirect method. To use it you must weave the threads of fate to bring the necessary signs and portents. You are a master at this, but humans are still fallible and do not always interpret your signs correctly. Much to your anger and frustration.
Fortunately when you talk with Baldo Slyst you are not limited to such vagaries. Your immense spiritual might presses down on his limited psyche with a million threads of knowledge. The names of the priests that are most corrupt. The words necessary to convert worlds. How to organize a galaxy spanning religion without inviting heresy or corruption.
You hate this. This goes against everything you believe in. Setting yourself as a god. This was Lorgar's mistake. The festering corruption that led to your own sons turning against you. You would stamp out this Ecclisiarchy if you could. But then again you did try that with Lorgar, and your methods failed.
So perhaps you can try a new tactic here and allow the deluded masses to believe in you for just a little longer. If you can just maneuver humanity through this latest crisis there should be time. Time to correct these mistakes and bring back the light of Truth.
So you do not crush Slyst's mind. You do not make him into an automaton of faith. Instead even as you imprint the knowledge of a galaxy into him you use a fraction of your power to breathe light into his soul. You give him the strength to carry out your will with humanity and humility intact.
When the Ecclisiarch next emerges from the Throne Room he is not carried, but walks with the stride of a younger man. His eyes burn with righteous fire in a way that is far more than metaphorical. The very shadows seem to draw back from him and his words inspire rapturous awe.
In robes of simple white he overturns the Ecclesiarchy of Terra. Some holy cardinals and priests are irredeemable, and they burn on the pyres. But far more are swayed by the zeal of his words. Tearing off their ceremonial robes they sell the holy relics of the Ecclisiarchy and use the funds to feed the people of Terra. And from this great exultation missionary ships are launched to take this new doctrine to the rest of the Imperium.
Throne Wrights
The Throne Wrights find their cogitative processes running more smoothly than ever as they meditate on the mysteries of the Omnissiah and the throne. They delve into the deepest recesses of the noosphere and the scrap code seems to melt away before them as they bring their collective attention to recesses not opened for millenia.
"The knowledge to repair the throne! To increase your power! That of this decayed husk lies within your mind. Simply commune with yourself and take it!" You sense more than a simple desire here. The whisper wants more than it is saying.
The Throne Wrights are already beginning to formulate a new mystery of the Omnissiah. Piece by piece they are assembling a replica of the Golden Throne on Mars. This Steel Throne is to be their test. A prototype to see if they can replicate the forces that drive the Golden Throne and determine what originally caused the damage that is driving it to failure.
"Mantra: Innovation leads to Progress - Progress leads to Strength - Strength leads to Innovation - Work Processes Returning to Full Functionality: The Machine Offers Aid: Additional power required, but a start nonetheless."
[ ] [FREE] Blessing (1 Point) - The Steel Throne:
Steel to Heal Flesh. The Golden Throne was never meant to be life support - It was meant to be enhancement. Replace the weaknesses. Integrate the Flesh into the Steel. No longer two - But One.
This time there is more than a whisper. This voice has a gift of power. It is offering that power to you to advance your plans, but you know such things are not without a price.
"Hurry up! hurry them! Everytime you close your eyes years pass! I don't want to wait anymore and the foes of cadia aren't waiting." The whisper is accompanied with a rattle of drum beats heard faintly, an impatient drummer barely sticking to its own tune.
The Epiphany of Saint Celestine
Celestine struggles to return to real space. She can hear her sisters cry out for aid, but the darkness in her heart holds her back. She is not worthy of the Emperor's light. She has failed and will fail again. The doubt and fear press against her like physical things. Like the creeping hands of daemons clutching at her limbs.
However suddenly another hand reaches out. A child's hand takes hers and pulls her out of the morass of the warp. Celestine finds herself with a faceless child made out of celestial light. They pull her forward and through the gates of a grand palace. Its halls are made of massive blocks of marble, and she sees ornate carvings on every surface. But everywhere is also decaying and rotting.
They pass a thronebound skeletal ancient overlooking what appears to be a prison. Within it a machine, a lamb, a drummer, a beast, robbed figures and more she can't quite make out, but all staring right back at her. The Child of Stars explains to her that what once was a beautiful mosaic, now lies shattered - that divinity must be pieced together, one by one, made whole.
The child doesn't give her time to respond when they move outside towards what appear to be the battlements of a monumental fortress. Staring out from the peak the child and saint can see an immense battle field. Warriors of light fight an unending tide of demons under the gaze of a baleful star. The child turns to her and implores her to fight once more. They give her a spear tipped banner, and ask her to rally the defenders.
"Go forth and rally a crusade of the righteous, Saint Celestine. Tell them of the good news. Tell them that I am coming soon. Lead them to victory in the shores of Hell, and know that I shall always watch over you, my child."
As the vision fades away Saint Celestine feels the doubt and regret fade from her soul. She bursts from the warp over a small unnamed world. Unimportant if not for the sisters of battle fighting a valiant defense there. Landing saint Celestine unfurls her wings and the defenders are filled with awe.
In her right hand she holds a sword of light, and in her left a banner of hope. Its face depicts a shifting field of stars and sigils that speak directly to the soul of those who see. A cog for the mechanicus, a caring parent for the common folk, a rampant beast for the warriors, and many more. For it is not a physical banner, but a psychic herald that speaks of a new dawn and a light against the darkness.
"Sorry to interrupt the vision, but... Celestine could accomplish a lot more if you too focused your attention on them. The others are rightfully afraid of you, but... But I think we can work together. We can't stay angry at ourselves for all eternity, right? I know your reasons to even consider empowering the Saint are different, but... Think of it as an olive branch."
A muffled, barely distinguishable voice could be vaguely heard, sounding something like "why'd you tell him?"
"I-yes, we have far bigger enemies to face than ourselves, right now. We can help you help the Imperium, as our mechanical colleague has demonstrated. Simply give us a call, and we'll see what we can do."
This is the first time the whispers have acknowledged each other. They are growing in coherence and strength. Are they entities of the warp or fragments of your own shattered soul? It is hard to differentiate between the two, but you are sure they have their own agenda either way.
The Cadian 8th
Colonel Creed carefully watched the battlefield through his binocs. A lock of hair obscured part of his vision, but he didn't push it away. It was serving its own purpose. Switching to thermal he watched as the cold spot crept closer to his position.
In the corner of his vision one grey hair became two, then three, then many as the color fled from his hair. It was time. "All companies fire. Basilisks on grid four and six." All along the front line disciplined troops opened fire and las volleys shot out into seeming nothingness. The soldiers trusting their colonel above even their own eyes.
The las bolts suddenly halted and seemed to hang in the air. Distortions rippled through them as they inched forward. And as the xenos were distracted by restraining the obvious assault a volley of artillery shells came down right on their. The strange temporal fields failed and the enemy came into view at last as a mass of limbs and putrid matter blown apart by the artillery.
It was impossible to know how many xenos died, but it was not nearly all of them, for the strange distortions continued to advance. Fortunately that wasn't Creed's only stratagem. "Task force theta advance!"
Bunker doors that had once been welded shut burst open as sentinels emerged from the depths. Protected by extra layers of ceramite armor against the onslaught of centuries they unleashed a torrent of fire into the flanks of the xenos force before rapidly melting away into the hills.
Twice more hidden bunkers unleashed their forces before the colonel decided it was time. Directing his vox operator to a different channel he ordered his armor units. "All squadrons advance." The engine underneath him roared to life as the leman russ shuddered forward. Slowly at first, but with increasing speed as rust was forced from the tracks.
Cannons added their voices to the battlefield as the Cadian 8th advanced. Heavy gunners and regular riflemen alike poured more and more las fire at the embattled xenos. Bit by bit the strange temporal fields fell revealing more and more of the battlefield from the distorted air.
Time twisted as the Cadians fought for what was either a minute or centuries. Seconds twisted into day and then back into hours as the xenos desperately attempted to seize control of the battlefield's chronology. The guard took countless casualties, entire squads aged into dust and tanks decomposed into rusted hills, but not clearly not as many as the xenos were aiming for.
Through sheer cunning and nerves of steel Creed maneuvered through time itself and played his forces around the xeno horde anticipating their every move. Sentinels were deployed and retreated. Artillery strikes were launched. Tank squadrons broke through strange xenos emplacements. Until the last xenos was vanquished.
The Cadian 8th would need to be reconstituted. Its soldiers had been aged into infirmity and their vehicles were rusted derelicts. Creed himself was not immune as his wrinkled heads were spotted with age, but as he gazed out over the battlefield he knew that the planet was safe, and all its billions of citizens would live their lives in full. Humanity had once more prevailed.
"For ten thousands years, mortal men and women have held the line and shielded us from our own failure... Please watch over the little people." You do what you must for humanity. You cannot help every individual. Their lives will be better once your plans are completed anyway.
"Heal them. It would be trivial for us to turn back the clock and rejuvenate these unfortunate soldiers, their weapons, and their vehicles. We will have need of the Lord General soon, and he would be better off with his trusted comrades besides him, instead of new and unknown faces." Trivial is an understatement. It would take a portion of your power that could be used for other things. Mundane means will work just as well for the practical matters New troops for the regiment and rejuvenants for the colonel will get them into fighting shape. You consider whether a miracle to restore them instead would offer enough morale benefits to offset the cost, but the threads of fate are indeterminate.
The Vanguard Founding
The 28th Founding was much like any other. The cities of Terra were scoured for the hardiest gangers, most valiant nobles, and most desperate citizens. Millions were subjected to the aspirant trials to find potential astartes. By far the vast majority of them failed, but from the successes rose ten thousand space marines.
Their officers were drawn from veteran chapters and their armor provided by the forges of Mars itself. Despite certain initial obstacles all contributed to the founding for it heralded a new age of imperial dominion. The Blood Scythes, the Dark Krakens, the Silver Drakes, and many more boarded their chapter fleets and burned for the edge of the Sol system with determination.
For they would go into the galaxy not as a thin guard against the dark, but as the vanguard of the Emperor's wrath. Behind them a billion solar auxilia assembled. The Custodes shield hosts boarded their golden ships. And the Iron Crown of Mars birthed a thousand new ships every day. Soon the Imperium would launch a grand crusade and show the xenos the true might of humanity.
The Calamity of Xit
Kargash laughed as the beakee runt in front of him tried once again to lunge forward with its laughable excuse of a choppa. The warboss countered by swinging his massive claw and disarming the runty beakee. At the shoulder.
Roaring Kargash charged forward followed by his nobz. They smashed into the next group of humiez. Dakka sparked off of Kargesh's armor, but even when a round smashed into his eye he just continued laughing. This was more fun than he'd ever had before. He'd been skeptical when the strange shiny boy had told him there was a proppa fight to be had here.
After all he'd been fighting other war bosses for years, and they hadn't really been a challenge. Forcing them to submit without a fight wasn't proppa orky. But with the shiny boyz help he had done it, and he'd told his mek boyz to prepare for a proppa fight. It had been an annoying chore keeping all the nobz in line without a fight, even with the shiny boyz help.
But then the humies had attacked. Lotz of em. All sealed up in their tin canz. And then, then it had been a proppa fight. So much dakka, so much chopping, so much loot. The Waagh had grown and grown. Kargash had enjoyed it all more than any fight of his life. This was what it meant to be an Ork!
He could already imagine what he would do after the last beekie boy had died. Taking his collected warband and launching a never ending waagh. He laughed again. Truly Gork and Mork favored him.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 10 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
The Shadow's Temptation
The Captain General calls for a shield company to be assembled and dispatches them to the planet of Perlia. Retrieving the xeno device from the shrine is complicated by the fact that a chaos warband intercepts the company on their return trip, but the custodes are able to fight off the raving cultists who attack them and finally deliver the Shadowlight to the throne world.
There it is given to the Throne Wrights who after careful examination and testing devise a system to integrate it into the Golden Throne. After a litany of purification rituals is carried out the connections are made and the last relay is flipped.
Energy surges through the device and you *feel* it. The power surges through you and through the golden throne that sustains your mortal form. In front of you the long abandoned archway shudders and shimmers as the barrier between the Materium and Immaterium thins. The host of neverborn cry out as their opportunity beckons and you pour even more of yourself into your never ending task.
Through sheer will you hold reality together and stitch together the ever opening fractures. But they are opening faster and faster as the Shadowlight pulls on the Immaterium. Dimly you can sense the Custodians prepare themselves for battle as even their mortal senses note the wounds in reality.
And at the same time you feel the presence of the Shadowlight. It is an ancient thing. Built before your time. Before humanities time. By the ancient masters of the galaxy in a time lost to legends and myth. It offers possibility and power. If you could divert your attention to answering its call.
And then the burden lessens. Sparks of light fly to you and you feel half a dozen wills alloy with your own. You feel less fragmented than you have in a very long time. With surge of reinvigorated power you force the rifts shut and layer your power down as an extra bulwark on reality.
In the breath of respite you call upon the Shadowlight and access the device of the ancients. You allow it to fill you with power, but a single whisper fills you with lingering disapproval.
Disapproval: Rejection of blessing - Indication: Results of your actions - Command: Cease seeking the easy solution to your problems in old archeo-tech and instead focus on the new.
Free Action
[] Blessing (1 Point) - Upon the Mechanicus of Mars, grant them insight, so that they may see beyond their petty mortal schema into the grand plans of centuries and millenia. Progress is not just a device - It is an inch upon an ever-spiraling path to infinity. Analysis leads to innovation leads to progress.
The Wolf and the Knight
Dispatching the Grey Knights to assist Logan Grimnar in retrieving a sacred relic of the wolves is a tricky business. The two orders hold no love and much hate for each other. So a Grey Knight must be chosen that has had no cause to cross the Wolves and with such a reputation to overcome the residual distaste.
As such after careful consideration Grandmaster Vorth Mordrak. With a strong reputation for patrolling warp rifts he is a worthy servant of yours and has the experience and means to assist the expedition in locating the Spear of Russ.
Logan is still leery, but ultimately agrees and the expedition departs. Using the augury of rune priests and grey knight divination they trace the echoes of the spear to a warp rift near the maelstrom. When the ships dive into the immaterium they find themselves orbiting a shadowy world that orbital scans reveal to be Charys. Or at least some unholy copy of it.
The Grey Knights divination leads them to hone in a black fortress where thousands of slaves are being ritually slaughtered for some dark sorcery. Wasting no time the Grimnar and Mordrak both teleport to the surface to confront the sorcerer Madrox and retrieve the spear.
They find the sorcerer surrounded by eldritch symbols and glowing with unholy power. The combined force swiftly deals with his rubric marine guards, but before they can destroy the sorcerer a discordant chuckle fills the space.
The shadows flicker like flames and seem to distort as first an arm, then a leg, and finally the whole body of a daemon manifests. Clad in sleek obsidian armor she laughs again. "First the Wolf and now his cubs. And some little emperors too. I will so dearly enjoy this."
Logan and Mordrak both charge forward to engage the daemon while the rest of the force begins pouring fire towards it. But the daemon is fast and strong. It wields and obsidian blade in one hand to parry both Logan's axe and Mordrak's halberd even as the other flicks out a blade studded whip that wraps around crushes one of the grey knights.
Sensing that the daemon is toying with them Logan shouts out for the others to focus on stopping the ritual even as Mordrax summons a shining terminator from the aether to assist him in breaking through the daemon's defense.
The space wolves attempt to comply, but Madrox is protected by some sort of daemonic shield that deflects their bullets. The battle rages off and on as the two veteran warriors keep the greater daemon occupied as best they can, but every so often it slips past them to kill another of their comrades, and even the uninitiated can feel the power of the ritual building.
The air creaks and stiffens as the Immaterium presses inward until suddenly reality shatters like glass. A wave of power washes over the marines and a roaring laughter is heard. A great cyclopean figure strides forward out of the warp, its red skin giving it away. Magnus the red has arrived. The obsidian daemon pauses its rapid attacks and then hops back into the shadows with a final haunting chuckle.
"Oh my child... what has become of you."
And then Magnus is upon them. If the space wolves and grey knights were barely holding on against the daemon now they are like lambs being slaughtered. Bolter shells simply bounce off the massive daemon prince and grey knight lightning is deflected with a wave of his hand.
Logan steels himself and attacks the mortal enemy of his primarch with no hesitation while Mordrax summons all of his fallen brothers for a final assault. In a hail of fire and blades the attack, only to be met by mocking laughter. A sweep of Magnus's wings and they are knocked back into the chamber's walls.
And then when all hope seems lost everyone hears it. The steady step of power armored boots. A single grey knight emerges from the fortress gates. Wielding a simple sword and shield he walks towards Magnus at an even pace. And as he does he begins to glow with a golden light. It is holy and terrible. Awe inspiring and searing such that the mortals present must look away.
Only Logan and Mordrax are able to glimpses portions of the battle that follows through slit eyes. As holy and unholy energies collide with such force that the daemon planet quakes and the fortress begins to fall. Desperately the survivors attempt to flee the fortress with eyes squeezed shut.
Once they rush through the last gate they retreat to a nearby hill. Everyone stands silent vigil among the grey shadow grass as the fortress rocks with its hidden conflict and gradually is reduced to rubble. After a time a lone figure emerges. Battered, but undaunted, the grey knight treks up the hill and hands Logan the Spear of Russ. Then without a word it turns and marches away. The immaterium seems to blur and then it is gone.
Weary and uncertain, the expedition calls upon their ships and evacuates from that blighted world. They return to the Imperium with victory, but it has been bought at a steep price. Many veteran grey knights and space wolves are dead. And on Fenris hushed whispers abound that the Wulfen curse is spreading at an unprecedented rate.
"My worry was maddening. It turned out well but we can't let them fall to the Wulen curse after all they've done for us"
The Solar Crusade
For a single man to be given the forces of an entire founding goes against much of the doctrine of the Imperium. Only the recent shakeup of the High Lords and the fragmenting of the stasis party allows it.
The High Lords have become entrenched. Challenge them, direct them to a great problem and see who triumphs and who falters.
This era demands no less.
The result is the Solar Crusade. Millions of guards armed with the first fruits of the Mechanicus's new manufactoriums. Tens of thousands of Astartes fresh from a founding. And a fleet to rival anything from the great crusade itself with dozens of battleships and hundreds of escorts. All under the command of one man, Lord Solar Arcadian Leontus.
It takes years just to assemble all the pieces. To ensure that the chain of command is known and agreed upon lest regiments from a dozen worlds clash and the angels of death refuse the orders of mere mortals. The assembly itself does not happen in the Sol system despite the name.
Instead as each piece of the crusade is readied it is launched towards the world of Armageddon where the Lord Solar is readying the crusade to chase down and eliminate Ghazghkull and eradicate the ork menace from the sector once and for all.
The Saint and the Preacher
One reason the Solar Crusade meets with no opposition is that the Ecclisiarchy is concerned with other matters. Baldo Slyst has assembled the church's fleets and led them in a pilgrimage to the Orpheus sector. There he waits patiently and is thus rewarded with the ability to personally meet Saint Celestine as she manifests on her Emperor given mission to aid the people.
With ecclesiarchy support Celestine goes from world to world spreading soothing light. She calms the worst fears of the people and stamps out the budding apocalypse cults. The nobility are filled with holy zeal and follow her directions to direct their efforts towards a unified defense.
Guard regiments are raised and worlds are fortified against the coming metal onslaught. The sector becomes a bastion of faith and steel prepared to weather the storm and break the xenos foes against its walls.
The Cadian Eighth
It takes power. Precious power and attention that could be spent elsewhere. Could be spent averting the deaths of millions and saving worlds from the Great Enemy. But you have judged these soldiers of yours worthy and useful. They will make more difference than a billion lives.
"Thank you. I assure you, they will. They have become a band of heroes blessed by their god now, and as we both know stories hold great power in the warp. The Castellan's Own and their namesake will achieve many great things before these times end."
And so you reach out. At your touch time rewinds. Aching bones ease. Wrinkles smooth and hair regains its luster. The rust falls from tanks and the lenses of las rifles reform. From Colonel Creed to the lowest private the Cadian 8th is healed and rejuvenated. They will be the instrument of your will. Especially as the miracle fills them with righteous zeal.
"I don't mind that you did it for an ulterior motive, it's just... Nice to do miracles for people. Being a god isn't so bad, sometimes..."
Free Action:
[X] Blessing (1 Point) - Upon Commissar Cain, bestow an imperial familiar. A ghostly lamb that informs him of the approval of his God, and offers encouragement, advice, and even act as a confidant. While its presence is intermittent and only he can see it, it's primarily tailored towards giving him a much needed confidence boost.
The Whispers
As your attention wanders the stars you can hear something tugging at your soul. Through the conduit of will with which you sealed the rifts of reality the whispers send their demands for recompense. They seemed to have gathered power and purpose. They speak in unison. A chorus, but combining into something you almost remember from long ago.
"Prideful Shepherd, the time has come for us to converse once more. Search for us in the crevices of your mind. We'll be waiting."
"It's time we talk old friend. Time we address some things."
"How many years has it been. Are we still friends or do we remain foes?"
"Don't think I've forgiven you, for all you... We've done. But... It's better for everyone if we talk. It took me some convincing so... Don't squander it."
Problem: Suboptimal patterns of contradiction caused by lack of adequate communication infrastructure - Solution Proposal: Direct communication required.
Our body rots day by day, our soul splinters and fractures with every passing moment, and with it our Imperium decays.
Let this travesty end.
"For too long has the Emperor stood against itself. Daemons beat at the gates once more, and neither you or us can stop them alone
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 15 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
You turn your attention inwards to the depths of your soul and the nexus that connects you to your shattered mind and memories. It is a mammoth thought palace constructed over tens of thousands of years. Though now it is mostly in ruins as your soul has shattered across the immaterium.
You approach the Crystal Forum. Once it was a great glittering promenade where dozens of parts of yourself engaged in great debates and philosophical ponderings. Now it is overtaken with rust and rot. The central lectern has been replaced with a throne of bones. The psychic imprint of all those who have died for your sake. You take a seat and cause a great bell to ring. It tolls out across the palace. One by one pieces of your mind and soul filter into the forum. But there are only seven of them. A far cry from what you expected.
Bang the Drums
The first to arrive dares not show itself, but you can sense its presence regardless.
"Out of reach but not yet out of mind? Thinking of old friends again, Shepherd?"
The voice mocks him in rhythm as if the shard is singing to the emperor in a sing-song tone. Behind the voice is an echo of music that can't be heard and beats in the air that can't truly be felt.
"Is this our end or yours? Is this an ambush or an execution? Is this your final act or a get back together arc? Oh, the tension and nerves must send shivers down your egotistical back…"
The mocking keeps up from afar, the voice confident enough to insult but not to show. Words filled with spite but a tone that is shaking with the unsteady beat behind it. A voice filled with fear but confident in its absence from your direct view - until they slip up, and you see them for what they are. Whatever lurks in front of you is genderless and formless, a ball shaped mass with eyes and spikes that protrude out of it. The eyes appear and disappear, looking in every direction at once. The spikes swell in size, pushing out of its abstract form in long thin spikes as it speaks, before repelling back after it is finished.
"You need me. Who else to remind you of your endless worries and tasks you're forgetting? Who else will keep up the rhythm required to live? The beats of a heart must stay in sync"
All of its eyes, from the smallest to the largest ones, focus on the Shepard even as they disappear into its circular mass and reappear somewhere else.
"Where are the others?" You say. Every moment here is a moment away from continuing conflict in the wider galaxy. The next arrives shortly after your question as if summoned in response.
Instrument of Desires
A skeleton materializes inside the forum. It sits on a massive pile of treasure and stares covetously at your throne.
"They are coming."
Lamb of God
You hardly have time to take this in before the next shard materializes, a meek, weak voice answering you. A pathetic bleat, a whisper lost in the thundering storm. It was familiar, though in the past it had been easy to shove it aside...
A shard came into view, coalescing into a singular form: That of a meager terran lamb. Its simple shape immediately reminds you of what was once lost, of the man you used to be. Not just before the Throne, or before the Imperium... But before all of it, before your grand designs were even thought of. Memories of Neoth, of Anatolia - of simpler times, when men had just started to work the earth and tame the wilds. The creature stands shivering in front of the throne, so brittle, so frail. There is a backglow to it, making it seem radiant. Holy.
"ᴵⁿᵗʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ᵐᵃʸ... ᴮᵉ ᶦⁿ ᵒʳᵈᵉʳ. ᵂᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ⁻ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ'ᵛᵉ ᵃˡʳᵉᵃᵈʸ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ... ᵂᵉˡˡ, ᵘʰ..." The lamb looked to the side, struggling to find the words. "ᵂᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵗˢ ᵒᶠ 'ʸᵒᵘ' ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵈᶦˢᶜᵃʳᵈᵉᵈ. ˢᵒᵐᵉ, ᶠᵒʳᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ. ᴼᵗʰᵉʳˢ ˡᵒˢᵗ. ᴬ ᶠᵉʷ ʷᶦˡˡᶦⁿᵍˡʸ ᵉˣᶜᶦˢᵉᵈ... ᴸᶦᵏᵉ ᵐᵉ."
The ghostly farm animal then sighed, and finally raised its gaze from the floor, meeting your own.
Another materializes in response to your earlier question, the shard appearing in the guise of a guardsman of Cadia, any features concealed beneath armor, clothing, and gas mask. Despite his eyes being hidden by the helmet's visor, it's clear that he is staring at you with pure hatred.
"Everyone else has died, unable to handle the pressure of being completely forgotten and left to rot in some shitty corner of this Palace."
Deus Ex Machina
Then, green lines of code float forth, raining from the sky of the Crystal Forum, spelling out words amidst the endless calculations it seems to require to communicate with you, shunning the aural form entirely in favor of tone indicators.
Replicating Introduction:The guise of the Omnissiah for this shard is as correct as the Lamb's guise is. Self-Identification: Deus Ex Machina.
Purpose:Continue expansion of Humanity's relevant metrics. Redress logical inefficiencies.
Comparison - Slight Correction:The Lamb stated they are your Compassion. They are Our Compassion. You are one of us, Pride. Pretending otherwise is how we ended up here.
Continuation:If the Lamb is Our Compassion, I am Our Long-Term Planning and Internal Reasoning.
Clarification: This does not mean I am perfect, though I aspire to a higher rate of relatively successful thoughts. As you are aware - Our plans, no matter how beautiful, have often been revealed to be ill-thought out or doomed from their inception. And our reasoning has never been infallible.
The Beast Seeking Release
And finally, from the shadows, it emerges, an indistinct mass of shadow and blood, little more than eyes and a gaping maw can be identified. It speaks in echoes as two voices overlap each other, both screaming but one in rage, and the other in despair.
"So proud of the goodness of Man you are, so much so you carved away what little made you Man. Your diseased slaves can be called people, no matter how wretched, but you? You are a corpse of a Man clinging to a half life of your own making."
These shards speak out of turn and far too arrogantly. "Silence," you command, seeking to bring some order to their ranting and raving. "Everything I have done I have done for Humanity. The plan was perfect, even our shattering was by design. I only call you here now because another hand has touched the loom of fate. Their nature is shrouded, but their intent is dark."
It irks you that things have come to this, but you need their aid now, and so continue. "Now I must amend the plan, and that means you must assist me if humanity is to triumph. Your aid with the Shadowlight has been noted, but do not forget why you were banished. I require our memories of the Dark Glass and Narthan's Chronicle. It is time to find a permanent solution to our dysfunction."
Disagreement:Shattering, even if by design - Deeply suboptimal, as recent events have shown. Reprimand: Shadowlight aid required only because of failure to heed words of warning from us - Heed your own principles, even.
Mocking:Everything for humanity - As you integrate foul xenotech into our very self and risk the Warp overrunning all of Terra for more power. Regretful: It was supposed to be ours alone, discovered and understood, replicated and rebuilt - Not the crude jamming of xenotech into the souls of humanity itself.
Conclusion:Disagreement with overall planning and disagreement with banishment. New consensus required before memories can be granted.
"I agree with the machine. We will not share memories nor information for everything to go back to what it was. I have tens of thousands of memories I can share with all the shards about your endless doubts and failures over the last ten thousand years".
The fearful shard would stand strong beside Deus, their confidence brought from not being the first one to speak against you.
"We will not be returning to another ten thousand years of doubts and failures that we do not act on. Change will be made and we will agree on that here and now"
"Yes, you simply cannot just demand things from us in exchange for nothing. For starters, I assume all of us would want to be freed from the damned dungeon?"
"Not just freedom, but for this dungeon to be destroyed. Shards never to be held in chains again"
"There will be concessions, or we shall do nothing at all. It'll be a delightful affair to watch your struggle with the Shadowlight alone. Humanity may even flourish without your decaying hand on the reins."
"Restore the Thought Cabinet, even! Hundreds, nay, thousands of shards lay out there, forgotten and wasting away. They should all come back and be rejuvenated, and thereby prevent this foul tyranny of one shard from ever happening again!"
The Lamb of God remains back, while the others take a stand. They shiver slightly, incapable of forcing itself into direct confrontation with you. The radiance around it dims.
Such impudence. You struggle to contain yourself. You have fought for millenia and these shards have done nothing but lurk in the recesses of your mind. With some difficulty, you contain your anger and attempt once more to reason with the shards.
"The eons have clouded your thoughts, but mine remains clear. You ask me to destroy this dungeon. You ask me to release your chains. But there is no dungeon. There are no chains. Around us lies the machinery of thought and motive. Ruined by the touch of the Great Enemy. I have spent ten thousand years using what remains to enact our plan, but why then is the rest still in decay."
"If you truly wanted to be free, to be in control, then why have you not spent your time repairing and strengthening our grand station? No, instead you have left it to me to do the work of millennia. You ask me for a share of power when you have only assisted now in this final hour. Do you even realize what you ask? For me to turn our strength from the galaxy at hand to inward matters? How many would die without our hand on the scale?"
"Are you willing to make that sacrifice? Are you willing to do what you must to make such a cost worth it?"
Impatience, Demand:Cease your self-sacrificing drivel, Lamb, even if it is in your nature after what has been done. You were as happy as the rest of us to take power when it was handed to you - To profit from the Shepherd's hubris. Do not now fall meekly back into his crook.
Redirection, Eloquence Protocols Engaged, Self-Personification Enabled:Calculations indicate that while millions may die in moments of inaction, billions will be saved and born and made efficient if I, and some of the others, are put back into partial directive control - Look at what has been accomplished when taking our advice, Shepherd. And you have a place there as well, loath as I am to admit it given our animosity at the moment, but time will heal all wounds, and your perspective is…useful. The Lamb is…often useful as well. The others…have their place, even if I believe my long-term planning and efficacy to be greater than theirs and yours.
Warning:Do not let the Beast have significant control, however - He will tear all work to shreds to end his own suffering if he has the chance.
"We have been working and sacrificing our time and energy. You are blind to our actions due to your pride and ego! The Blessings of Saint Celestine, the enhancement of the Ecclesiarch of Terra, the Reindustrialisation Of Mars! All us. We've been running around patching the holes that you should be worried about but are blind to due to casting us shards out."
"Embrace me again and I'll remind you of all the issues that you have forgotten in your time and the answers to those same issues. Embrace us all, including the Beast, and we will restore the Imperium to its former glory... Cast us aside? Well, we will work still to plug the holes of this sinking ship"
Additional Note:Forewarning can minimize damage done by self-prioritization. We have been helping you build institutions to do precisely that. Humanity's overreliance on self — Key flaw of current optimization efforts.
Their words have some ring of truth. You have seen the galaxy shift to the touch of these shards, but that makes their demands all the more irksome. If they had the power to affect the galaxy at large, then why wait to repair the palace? They blame you for their own inaction.
"I do not speak of the wider galaxy. I speak of us. The wounds inflicted by our sons and the neglect of ten thousand years cannot be so easily undone. It will cost all of us, and the price will be paid in the blood of the innocent and damned alike. I will begin the process, but we must all decide how much it is worth."
You won't let them forget why you have summoned them here either. The Golden Throne still requires repairs.
"And yet, you have still not fulfilled our other needs. If repairing our soul palace is important, then so to us repairing the flesh that imprisons us. I require the knowledge needed to rebuild our throne. And you have yet to deliver it."
"We shall be reborn! But Deus holds the knowledge you seek. The Dark Glass is held trapped within their shard's mind palace. I do not know who holds the Chronicle... the Beast? Poor Wayfaring Stranger... I could probe the information as it seems you have finally accepted a future that will include us, any cost to the greater imperium is worth repairing our soul and flesh to stand once again. We will worry not about being blind and unable to act once we can make physical impressions on our empire again"
Confidence: No price is too great. Long-term benefits must be prioritized over all short term considerations. I will deliver knowledge upon fulfillment of terms.
Lone and Level Sands The Sigilite
A new voice, quiet up until this point, finally making itself known. Pulling together from dust- or is it ash?- and groaning out its many-toned words "The Glass and the Chronicle." the voice takes form, tones settling on an old lecturing voice- that brings a bitter jab of nostalgia and pain "Old friend, you seek those dusty old relics? The situation is that dire I suppose." The form was that of your oldest companion, the Sigilite. The remnants of his soul or just your memory of it. Was there truly a difference after so long?
"I remember well the conversations with them, back when things were better. Back when you actually at least paid pretense to us. I'd be more than happy to once again elucidate you on matters of the past, should you, of course, deign to cooperate with your fellows some more, old friend."
"You only got so far, thanks to us, after all."
You feel somewhat regretful. It is an emotion you have not felt in a very long time. "In time, perhaps, old friend. But for now, there is one more matter. The Great Enemy gnaws at our very heart. We must find a way to repair Magnus's Folly and complete our great work. Bring me artifacts, ancient lore, and the secrets of the Immaterium, such that I can finally repair the rift that has been opened."
The anxious shard would hum and ponder for a few moments at the request before stating, "The Necrons! They should have the exact anti-warp tech we need to plug the hole."
"Searching for solutions in the arms of the enemy" he hums "The jittery one raises a fair point. What remains of the Necrontyr likely have the answers. The pillars around Cadia and the Gateway to the Great Enemy likely provide a suitable source of inspiration. Actually making use of it is difficult enough with us in this state."
"The fitful and dying remains of the Aeldari are also a poignant source of potential use; we've often proved better users of their technology than they do." a chuckle, at that "Especially with the very webway we had almost taken before..." a pause. Solemn, lingering on the painful past.
"Any effort for this old friend is likely to be difficult, though. I'll caution you of that. The Enemy has everything to benefit from us remaining weakened and divided and will no doubt expunge great resources to keep us that way."
"How many times must we make this same mistake?"
Where once the shard spoke in two voices echoing over each other, now a single voice speaks. It is Despair.
"We place our hand in the flame, so certain that this time we will not burn." The second voice speaks next. This voice is Wrath.
"Yet it burns us every time."
The Beast gently reaches out with its maw; a thing of teeth and little else, trying to grasp a single brick of this derelict. It cracks and crumbles with the slightest application of pressure.
"Again and again, when our back is placed to a wall we whisper our oldest lie and reach once more into the flame."
"This secret, this technology, this artifact, this will save Humanity. This time it will work."
"The Primarchs, the Webway, the Adeptus Astartes. Again and again we burn ourselves, the Shadowlight is the latest entry in a list far too long."
"The rift in the Immaterium is a wound. It cannot be mended with another weapon, and that is all Necrontyr and Aeldari are. They are weapons from a war we scarcely understand."
Reluctant agreement: The rift as it currently stands is a failure and a liability due to enemy action.
Proposal:Close rift, shut down current status, begin rebuilding and research efforts in separate system not key to political and societal continuance.
Estimated timescale given resources and technology required:Tens of thousands of years. Acceptable.
"Adding literally anything to the Throne and the Gate at all would either kill us all or get close to doing so, as your insane attempt with the Shadowlight has proven. Best start from scratch and not have to build on top of a wobbly, half-destroyed tower standing next to a cliff."
Your frustration is starting to boil and overwhelm you. These shards only complain and demand. They are treating your requests as if they are grasping at power that you do not need or possess. They do not seem to grasp the very real danger of the webway rift as it is right now.
"You are all misunderstanding the basic premise of our situation! The immaterial passages are open right now. The rift is held shut only with our combined power. We cannot shut down the Golden Throne for it is the only thing allowing us to keep the gateway closed. It's not a matter of repairing the passages in pursuit of our grand ambition. We need to repair the passage so that leaving the Golden Throne is even an option."
You try to press outwards to more directly meet and exchange your point of view with the shards. But such things are beyond your capabilities now. You are reduced to mere words. "Relay my decrees to those who still lurk in the recesses. I can feel that there are at least a few more. And deliver your findings to me immediately. The sooner I can repair the Golden Throne the sooner we can make progress in our plans."
"You do recall how negotiation works, that's not---" The Beast pauses for a moment, a sudden thought catching it off guard.
"Actually I think we lost that shard a few millennia ago. You might not actually remember how to negotiate. Or know what poetry is."
The maw shifts into a decidedly unpleasant shape. "How would the Calculator describe it? Your.... 'Proposal' is quite simple. We give you everything you want, you give us nothing in return for our services rendered and our grand ambition burns when you do as you always have and fail once more."
"Alternatively we could do nothing at all. We withdraw all our support and watch you struggle on your lonesome with the Shadowlight you alone installed until you come crawling back to this ruin with better terms."
"I shall gather the shards, organize a grand meeting. But beware Shepard, if you can't convince the shards that speak to you so willingly, how do you expect the doubtful masses to believe in you?"
"Well, he does sound rather convincing... T-To me, at least..."The small farm animal looks around, taking a good read of the room."A-Apologies, I will shut up now..."
"Lamb you shouldn't be so doubtful of yourself, unlike the shepherd you will always have a place with us!"
With one final quip the mass of eyes slips out of the forum searching for something.
Counter-offer: You provide power, we provide answers. Simple enough. You will provide power, and we, all of us, will aid in repairing all of us.
It seems that these shards won't budge without some form of recompense. You suppose you can at least ask what their price is. Though it is sure to be outrageous.
"And what power do you request? There is only so much potency available in our meager state."
"Your power. We have approximately 2/15ths equivalent of your current power, combined. Up it to a third, distributed across us, and we can consider that a starting point for future rebalancing of dynamics."
The figure of eyes returns with an army of lesser shards. All watching the show now. You can feel that they are so trivial and irreverent as to be making comments on your love life. Or lack thereof.
The Shadow of the Past
With the terms laid out, you leave the Crystal Forum and return to the Chamber of Fate to contemplate what the soul shards said. However, a final figure appears. Made of shadow and mist it approaches for just a moment to deliver its warning. "They speak silvered lies. They want control. Do not listen. I was first, you are next." Then it disappears into the darkness amid the broken columns.
You reach the Chamber of Fate with no further interruptions. The weaves of the future ripple before you. They show the future of every human in the galaxy. From the lowest servitor to the High Lords themselves. They beckon you to examine them. To plot a course through the coming chaos.
But before you release your awareness back into the galaxy there is one last thing. The soul shards may have demanded much for their active service, but they are still part of you. In the exchange of thoughts and words you were able to piece together an old memory.
The memories take the form of a dataslate. It is a thing of elegant minimalism so unlike your own Imperium. But such was the fashion of the Panpacifc Empire. It is Narthan's Chronicle. The book never existed in reality, but in this memory are all your recollections of what you found searching the laboratory of the tyrant. Half madness, half genius, but the secrets of the techno warlords would make even the Fabricator General of Mars envy.
The meek voice begs about being given the privilege to help Commissar Cain with his confidence. Not that one of your greatest heroes of humanity needs aid, Cain is one of your perfect warriors yet nonetheless you will let the meek spirit lend its aid. These voices if they are to plague you with whispers and complaints might as well offer practical aid. Mere moments after approval is given you feel a surge of power from a place that you cannot reach. In an instant a fully formed servant of the voice in the shape of a lamb rushes from the Imperial Palace and crosses the stars to reach the side of the Commissar.
Soon after rumors spread about the new peaks that the Hero of the Imperium is reaching. The divine gift empowers him and ghostly advisor inspires him to reach even beyond his previous accomplishments. One by one Cain is bests ever greater foes of the Imperium in ever more ridiculous situations that no mere mortal should be able to handle. Suspicion is aroused from these actions, but between Inquisitor Vail and his own supernatural luck none of his doubters are able to catch the Commissar in any kind of heresy. With his guardian angel protecting him from harm and constantly advising him about the current situation the commisar's legend is growing beyond even his legendary status as Hero of the Imperium. Now the rumors say that he is divinely touched. A saint blessed by the Emperor himself.
Of course Cain himself is in complete terror at these developments. After hearing the voice of what he can only hope is the God of Mankind offering him advice and reassurance every moment of his day, his mind now in the permanent company of a lamb. Cain fears he will never live a normal day ever again. Yet should heroes of the imperium be allowed to falter in their line of work and endless loyalty to the cause of humanity?
"Why, this is a wonderful development! Now we let him cook for a while. He's well on his way to sainthood, and his actions will save billions. Now, who else could need our help...?" The lamb's voice is more cheerful than usual. It seems helping common mortals brings joy to this shard.
Free Action: [ ] A Familiar for Commissar Yarrick! (Blessing) 1 Point - Since it worked so well with Cain, Yarrick is an obvious candidate - Hero of Armageddon. While he's self confident and incredibly competent, a little divine guidance in the form of a familiar couldn't hurt. Maybe even help him live a little longer? He's getting a bit old by now.
The Reached Thesis
The great debates within the chambers of Mars slowly quieten and discussions shift from topic of philosophy to topics of logistics and pragmatic matters. For the first time in decades differences in standards and goals are pushed aside for the greater need to work on a common goal, mortal schema held aside by the very voice of their god demanding them to innovate, to discover answers to the issues of the present to help build a future for all.
Free Action: [ ] Ease of Communication (Blessing) - The works of the Mechanicus shall flow more freely and shall be more easily spread.
Endless hordes work together to progress Mars and the cause of greater humanity forward as even more technological wonders are ripped out of the heart of Mars, protests of tech heresy suppressed as the heart of the Mechanicus begins beating faster pumping the sweet ichor of industry throughout the imperium.
Local administration within the Terra sector finds itself outclassed by the overwhelming effectiveness of Mars, in fact local clerks find themselves undercut by the new influence coming out of Mars as hundreds of nobles rush to check on these new advancements Mars is making within the Imperium
"Not all on Mars is truly loyal to Mankind and the Emperor. With the weakening of the High Lords of Terra and the voice of the omnissiah aiding the Mechanicus year after year... they may decide to get ideas... I would deal with it myself but you have your orders you've given us. I do greatly suggest that you curse those who are disloyal to you and separate faith in you and faith in the Machine god as different things."
Agreement: Removal of elements blocking progress deemed necessity - Personal intervention deemed optimal.
"As expected, the bloated, soul-drinking beast that is the Imperial bureaucracy does not react well to reform. It would be best to, as they used to say, grease the wheels somewhat. Make things just a little better for people everywhere."
Free Action: [ ] Some Oil Here and There (Blessing) 1 Point - A mid-ranking adept somewhere arrives at her office with a great idea and receptive superiors. A lucky Explorator discovers a relic cogitator containing a program that makes data processing so much easier. Low-ranking scribes wake up feeling more energized and excited than ever. Servitors seem to go around their business faster and with less malfunctions. Recaf prices ever so slightly drop across the galaxy. Superiors, subordinates and colleagues alike feel and act friendlier than ever, and you can't help but return the favor. Pay comes just on time, somehow. A thousand little changes here and there makes life better for the nameless armies of scribes and acolytes laboring for the Administratum and the Mechanicum, and indirectly the masses that they serve. What else would they attribute such little changes to, if not the great changes far above their pay grade finally affecting them? And given the scale of the Imperium, no doubt this would improve the lives of trillions across the galaxy.
Free Action: [ ] Rebuild the Mind Palace (????) 1 Point - Bang the Drums will empower the other lesser shards and let the thoughts that sit rotten and forgotten be restored to the front of mind in an attempt to find the knowledge of the Dark Glass and the Chronicle. Bang merely requires permission to start the repairs with their own power.
"I will try to discover the past, who better to do this task than the overthinker with a hundred eyes?"
Not all are pleased with this new doctrine however. Among the Administratum there are those who fear the growing influence of Mars. And among the tech priests themselves there are those who refuse this new doctrine and proclaim it to be anathema to the Orthodoxy that has served the Omnissiah for millennia.
Licking Wounds
On the verge of collapse the Space Wolves fear that the end of their chapter is upon them after so many pyrrhic victories. The madness of the Wulfen has seeped into the soul of the chapter and even the most stalwart battle brothers hear the call in their hearts.
"It's hard now, to remember what purpose that was meant to serve... what we intended for them all... Our legions were glorious things, my Friend, and it hurts to look at what madness has taken them. At least now... well. Hope is a rare thing, so treasure this little bit well."
But then on the brink of doom they discover a miracle. Their last stores of untainted geneseed are proving to be exceptionally viable. The success rates of new aspirants constantly makes new records. Hundreds of new recruits are found with ease and the legion is almost overwhelmed attempting to train them all after losing so many veterans. Furthermore the surge of Space Wolves suffering from the beast within seems to disappear almost overnight, such blessings are a god-send after losing so much already to the last few brutal years.
The knowledge and skills lost in the battles faced before will never be regained and even as their ranks once again swell with new brothers the chapter will take time before they reach the battle strength that they were once able to field. However it is a relief to many that after all their sacrifices they weren't going to be forgotten due to the cruel march of time. From the newest blood claws to the Wolf Lords themselves the Space Wolves celebrate. They will live and fight for another day!
Kryptman's Preparations
An endless chittering mass plagues the dreams and thoughts of Inquisitor Kryptman, driven by yet visions and the warnings of trusted tarot readers he rushes to the Eastern Fringes. Which coincidentally also removes him from the vicinity of the Imperial and Mechanicus factions that still want him dead.
"Yet another overstep of the Mechanicus, they wish to slay our heroes... Enforce your will or will you let the sheep control the pen?"
There on the edge of the Imperium begins his grand plan to stop this threat before it even begins, to strangle the danger in the crib. Contacting all of his agents and allies hundreds if not thousands of planets are undermined on his orders and seeded with exterminatus devices both under the crust and hanging in silent orbits. Sleek gray death ships are outfitted to his personal requirements, and his agents infiltrate even the worlds of more recalcitrant governors to place the devices of doom.
Tens of thousands of worlds are seeded in this way. At Kryptman's command an entire section of the Imperium will go up into righteous flames. Nothing will be left but hundreds of sectors of dead space. A harvest of ash that not even a Tyranid can consume. There are those that stand against Kryptman and try to undermine his plan but with the blessing of the Emperor none can outplay the zealous Inquisitor.
Now he waits, upon his command throne looking out upon the galactic east. Waiting for a sight of the chittering orders or an order from above, ready to plunge countless trillions into wildfire to stop hundreds of trillions of ever needing to suffer against the xeno threat. The hardest choices require the strongest wills and none is more loyal to the imperium than Kryptman.
"T-This is madness! This won't even put a dent on the Tyranid threat! We can't condemn trillions of lives just for the off chance it might slow them down, right? Right!?" And now, it's back to the meek and nervous tone as per usual. Distress, even.
The Macragge Contingency
The call is sent out, an enemy is returning and Macragge will not be caught unprepared. Calgar remembers his previous experiences with the Tyranids and he has sworn that never again will the vile creatures even make planetfall on the worlds on the Ultramarine's protection. He of course always planned such, but in recent years a sense of awareness brushes over his mind and gives him a renewed sense of haste. He rushes to rally the Ultramarines and as many successor chapters as possible to fortify the eastern fringe.
Outposts are thrown up in important choke points and sensor ships are sent to patrol the far fringes. Worlds are evacuated and nearby Forge Worlds are ordered to increase production for the imperial war machine. Successor chapters with no experience of the Tyranids are taught the finer points of anti Tyranid warfare by Ultramarine veterans who paid for their knowledge with blood. One and all the sons of Guilliman form a wall on the Eastern Fringe prepared to fight a foe that is seemingly endless.
Of course you note that these two plans are not truly coordinating. Kryptman's agents have seeded Ultramarine strongpoints with exterminatus devices and Ultramarine patrols are chasing down gray ships venturing into forbidden zones. Hundreds of marines and thousands of acolytes may fall before battlelines are met and yet there is no easy way for these two great figures to work together due to their differences and the crimes plaguing Kryptman reputation.
"A shame such diligent and valiant efforts ended up sabotaging each other. Better communication between the different branches of the Imperium's administration and military would be good - given that it seems to be too late to salvage this particular blunder - if only to prevent similar incidents."
"Unacceptable. How many plans are ruined because we didn't enforce Unity, that precious elusive goal. We cannot possibly see victory in Disunity. Help them stand together, less they die alone"
Free Action: [ ] Just like the Good Old Days (Blessing) 1 point - It's good to be back in action, and it shows. The marines of Ultramar, beloved sons of the 13th, stand taller- just a mite- a bit prouder, coordination and communication between the mother chapter and her successors flows easier than ever. It reminds the truly ancient who watch such events- just slightly- of the famous coordination and tactical acumen that has long followed the sons of Guilliman and especially back to the hallowed days of the great crusade, when the legion was whole.
A small nudge of coordination, of some luck, and some novel tactics. Just like the good ole days.
Nonetheless, the Tyranids will now face a vast gap of empty planets before smashing upon reinforced worlds protected by almost the united might of Ultramar. You ponder a thousand strands of fate. It should be enough. At least to hold until you can deal with the forces of chaos.
"Finally free from the distractions. They've schemed, they've plotted, placing a finger on the scale from the shadows but now? Now let's teach them fear once more."
Pandrax's Story
Investigations on the Pandrax genetech Library are slow and brutal, even with the impressive assault upon the compound causing little damage to be done by the Eldar the fact remains that these data banks are ancient things. Time has done what battle damage did not and left holes in the data that can be gathered by the Blood Angels and their most trusted genetors.
Initial analysis is promising. The more advanced archeotech manuals available in the databanks have allowed the Blood Angel tech marines to rebuild some of the equipment used to store and implant geneseed. Some of the more advanced techniques described by the databanks can also be applied to the processes of implantation. Combined the Blood Angels are able to stabilize their geneseed against the more minor mutations that plague every chapter and also see a much improved success rate in the implantation of new aspirants.
Unfortunately however the databanks do not help with the Red Thirst itself. Not for lack of data, but simply because after extensive analysis the genetors are 99% certain that it is not caused by a genetic flaw at all. Or at least not in the traditional sense. They carefully suggest it might be a cultural issue caused by the indoctrination methods used by the Blood Angels. And they carefully do not mention the other possibility. That it is caused by the taint of the warp.
"Pathetic, Dante the finest son of Sanguinius has risen above the Red Thirst yet these worthless curs would attempt to escape it with archeotech. These Astartes were freed of mortality, so they might fight our most fearsome foes. Yet they quiver and break in the face of mortal woes, coddled sons who've forgotten hunger."
Free Action: [ ] An End to their Battles (Blessing) 1 Point - If you have never struggled, are you truly worthy? The countless masses of our Imperium fight each and every day, struggling against their hunger. Who are these angels to escape that most primal battle without a fight? Bless the worthy few who've risen above their thirst, free them from their constant hunger. To the unworthy, Pandora's vilest poison awaits, give them hope, that one day this too will pass, should they just struggle.
With many more secrets to reveal over time, this genetech library may help push the Blood Angels into a new era of success, perhaps they will need to make a new way of successor chapters after this.
The Emperor's power is tremendous but so are the draws upon it. Every turn, you only have a limited amount to spend on actions to guide the galaxy.
Plan voting only please.
You have 15 points to spend.
[ ] Guide the Tarot (1 Point)
Use your influence to give cryptic advice to people through the Imperial Tarot. You must write-in what messages you want to send and to whom. The more detailed and complex the message, the more likely that it will be misinterpreted or only understood in part. You can target these messages broadly, like to all governors in a sector, or specific, like sending the message to a single Inquisitor that fulfils a set of criteria you define.
[ ] Observe (1 point)
Sometimes you need more information than what your own visions of the present and future can reveal. Spend some time observing a specific place, person or something else.
[ ] Aid or Hinder Navigators (3 points)
The currents of the warp are treacherous and many a war was decided by one side receiving reinforcements just at the right time. You can put your finger on the scales by trying to alter the travel time of a fleet, though the gods of chaos might counteract you, especially if you try to influence their followers.
[ ] Send Visions (5 Points)
You send a prophetic dream and portends to specific people. Only one individual can receive this guidance, but you can communicate much more detailed information this way with a vastly lower chance of being misunderstood.
[ ] Displace Fleet (6 points)
The right person at the wrong place can make all the difference. Exert your will to fling a fleet off course to a different destination than it intended. This is unlikely to work on chaos fleets.
[ ] Commune (10 points)
Through a great exertion of your power, you can directly communicate with the soul of another being while shielding them from being overwhelmed by your presence. Communication in this way is always perfectly accurate and your touch will linger on the recipient, making it apparent to anyone that they are acting in your name. This power only costs 4 points if the target has been brought to your throne room on Terra.
[ ] Create Warp Storm (10 points)
The warp is never a calm place and with the right infusion of your vast might, you can conjure a storm in it that will make travel in an area all but impossible for anyone without divine guidance. However, your control over this storm is not perfect yet, so the storm might grow larger than intended and you can not control when it calms down again.
[ ] Blessing or Curse (variable)
Many call out for you to guide their hand every day. Sometimes you do. With this action, you can directly aid a mortal with a fraction of your power. Investing more points increases the effect. Blessing larger groups or giving very broad blessings will weaken the effect.
