Oh, same for sure. In the case of the latter scenario, the absolute first thing to do with our winnings would be paying off the loan in full. It would probably still be safer to just stick with having Melua bet whatever she's willing though, that's fair.
Alright, I'm going to call the vote here. You're going to fight a lethal duel in the pits, wearing something that Grist chose for you, and in the future you're agreeing to make introductions between Grist's Sect and your own.
In return Grist is going to properly arm you and your team (including a relic weapon), provide you with the information he has on the Pilgrims and the Beast House, and loan you a hunting spirit for tracking down people via their souls. Good to know.
Edit: Given that the tally has gone and broken it down by line for some reason, that's the "Knowledge if Power, Contacts are Currency and Smashing Face is our Jam" plan.
Scheduled vote count started by Maugan Ra on May 26, 2022 at 2:48 PM, finished with 34 posts and 20 votes.
--[X] Knowledge of Vulpa and what forces he has at his disposal (1 point)
The Centuriate Aquilan - Minor Sect of the Astra Militarum
Possessed of the largest collective pool of manpower in the known universe, it is perhaps no surprise that the Astra Militarum, the Imperium's Infinite Star-Conquering Armies, houses within its ranks an exceptional number of Adept and Adept-candidate individuals. Indeed, many such individuals walking the Path of Command seek ascension into the Ductoriate Solaris Sect, formerly known as the Masters of War, among whom rank the greatest of the Lords and Ladies General and Commander. Their All-Encompassing Hand of Order Art seeks to extend one's authority to the farthest horizon; at its zenith, a Solar Lord's Command can extend to cover an almost inconceivable vastness of armed might.
However, there are those who do not seek the dizzying heights of power. Instead, they seek to perfect their Command over the individual, the fire team, and the small unit. These individuals are fueled by personal relationships and knowledge of one's comrades rather than abstract bonds of obedience. While the members of the Centuriate Aquilan are formally acknowledged within their fellowship as Hundredfold Eagle Soldiers, they are better known to their subordinates as the Master Sergeants, the unquestioned champions of the non-commissioned arts.
Master Sergeants are regarded as semi-heretical by the Solar Lords, whose practice of Command cannot envision an individual content to remain at a station below their virtue. Nevertheless, while inexperienced Lords of War may seek to remonstrate with or otherwise elevate a Hundredfold Eagle Soldier above their chosen rank, the wisest of the Ductoriate know that a single master of the Sheltering Wings of the Emperor Art is worth ten thousand lesser soldiers — and, indeed, will fight like that number on the battlefield. An order issued by a practitioner of the Brass-Lunged Exhortation Art can be heard across a pitched battlefield, piercing cannon-fire and spatial distortion alike. These are not talents to be discarded lightly.
For the Master Sergeant, cultivation of another's virtue goes hand-in-hand with their own. Each junior taken under their wing is an extension of their own self in a way far more immediate and detailed than most other forms of Command. They know their subordinate's strengths, weaknesses, proclivities, and tendencies on a deep, instinctual level, and can leverage even the most trivial knowledge to secure victory at a crucial moment. It is said that one of the great Master Sergeants, trapped far behind enemy lines, deployed his agri-world conscripts to create a fully self-sufficient farming community, which successfully endured wave after wave of enemy assaults until they were finally relieved some four decades later.
Perhaps the greatest strength of a unit led by an Eagle Soldier is not that it conquers all before it, or even that it takes far fewer casualties — though it can do both — but rather that new recruits and reinforcements so readily adopt the traditions and spirit of the unit, folded seamlessly into their Master Sergeant's Command. Names and faces will inevitably change over time in a Centuriate-led squad, but the squad itself will endure centuries after the demise of their Adept leader, so powerful are the bonds created.
However, not all Master Sergeants can be said to be truly virtuous in the traditional sense. Intimate knowledge of those one commands is not just a valuable tool; it can also be a weapon wielded against the vulnerable. While an Eagle Soldier possessed of correct thoughts and performing correct actions can create an island of stability and competence in the midst of raw chaos, a Master Sergeant whose aspect is demonic can create a tyranny more profound and personal than any stellar dictatorship. Troopers of the Astra Militarum fear to disappoint a good Master Sergeant, but those who serve an unjust or arbitrary Eagle Soldier live in nothing less than absolute terror.
As the Lords Commander stand brightly at the zenith of power, serving as beacons of light guiding the way for the Star-Conquering Armies, the Hundredfold Eagle Soldiers toil in relative obscurity far beneath them, binding the soldiers of the Emperor together with camaraderie and loyalty — the true sinews of war.
Sorry for the double-post, but I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea that wouldn't stop bouncing around my brain until I typed it out. I thought I'd add a little flavor to the 'umblest part of the Imperium's war machine, particularly in the realm of the career NCO. Hopefully it, and the supporting flavor about the officer corps, is appropriate and/or useful.
Sorry for the double-post, but I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea that wouldn't stop bouncing around my brain until I typed it out. I thought I'd add a little flavor to the 'umblest part of the Imperium's war machine, particularly in the realm of the career NCO. Hopefully it, and the supporting flavor about the officer corps, is appropriate and/or useful.
That is pretty cool, and I do like the implied dynamic and the examination of tensions between many senior officers and the Master Sergeants, plus the ways in which it can go wrong.
I'll award 150xp and put this under the Apocrypha tab, which is where the stuff that hasn't appeared directly in the quest already goes. It'll get moved to sidestory if a Master Sergeant shows up or Miraxa is otherwise established to have encountered one.
As a general note for the audience, the vast, overwhelming majority of the Imperial Guard are mortal soldiers, including their officers and NCOs. Regiments from worlds with a strong martial tradition might be mustered with Adepts in positions of command, in according with their homeworld's ethos - some will focus on empowering their soldiers, others will be sensory-types who play strategy, and still others will ride out and kill things with their own two hands. Regiments that have been active for a long time, especially across multiple warzones, will often end up picking up or creating hybrid Arts out of the arts practiced by their fellow soldiers, but the Guard as a whole relies upon massed firepower and numbers to bring down individually potent foes. Miraxa as she is now might be able to handle a squad of soldiers with lasguns, but a support team with a heavy bolter would fuck her up, and there are always tanks.
Actual recognised Adeptus paths, with central training and an Imperium-wide tradition, only really crop up in positions of high command and in units like the Stormtroopers.
That is pretty cool, and I do like the implied dynamic and the examination of tensions between many senior officers and the Master Sergeants, plus the ways in which it can go wrong.
I'll award 150xp and put this under the Apocrypha tab, which is where the stuff that hasn't appeared directly in the quest already goes. It'll get moved to sidestory if a Master Sergeant shows up or Miraxa is otherwise established to have encountered one.
As a general note for the audience, the vast, overwhelming majority of the Imperial Guard are mortal soldiers, including their officers and NCOs. Regiments from worlds with a strong martial tradition might be mustered with Adepts in positions of command, in according with their homeworld's ethos - some will focus on empowering their soldiers, others will be sensory-types who play strategy, and still others will ride out and kill things with their own two hands. Regiments that have been active for a long time, especially across multiple warzones, will often end up picking up or creating hybrid Arts out of the arts practiced by their fellow soldiers, but the Guard as a whole relies upon massed firepower and numbers to bring down individually potent foes. Miraxa as she is now might be able to handle a squad of soldiers with lasguns, but a support team with a heavy bolter would fuck her up, and there are always tanks.
Actual recognised Adeptus paths, with central training and an Imperium-wide tradition, only really crop up in positions of high command and in units like the Stormtroopers.
Thanks for the clarification! In that case, I think the "vast number of Adept and Adept-candidate individuals" should probably refer to the absolute number of those so enlightened, given the sheer scale of the Imperial Guard when compared to the Space Marines or most other organized bodies; as a percentage, though, it'd be vanishingly small. I can edit to clarify that if you want.
I'm glad people like it. I really enjoy the upward path of enlightenment idea and I wanted to explore the concept of someone stopping on the 'normal' path and then progressing sideways rather than taking the traditional route. That seemed to fit in with the whole idea of the career NCO. Also, my introduction to 40K was through the Ciaphas Cain novels, and while I don't think I could do Cain's Total Autonomy, Sudden Departure Style true justice, I still like the Imperial Guard an awful lot.
I'd like to put the 150 XP into Aegis of Untouchable Glory (damn, just shy of the next level).
Thanks for the clarification! In that case, I think the "vast number of Adept and Adept-candidate individuals" should probably refer to the absolute number of those so enlightened, given the sheer scale of the Imperial Guard when compared to the Space Marines or most other organized bodies; as a percentage, though, it'd be vanishingly small. I can edit to clarify that if you want.
I'm glad people like it. I really enjoy the upward path of enlightenment idea and I wanted to explore the concept of someone stopping on the 'normal' path and then progressing sideways rather than taking the traditional route. That seemed to fit in with the whole idea of the career NCO. Also, my introduction to 40K was through the Ciaphas Cain novels, and while I don't think I could do Cain's Total Autonomy, Sudden Departure Style true justice, I still like the Imperial Guard an awful lot.
I'd like to put the 150 XP into Aegis of Untouchable Glory (damn, just shy of the next level).
And I don't think it necessarily needs an edit - you've already presented the Master Sergeants as, essentially, individuals creating and following their own path rather than being trained by a formal imperial authority, so it still works.
I think in Adept terms, the Militarum's main feature is probably variety. Sure they have vast numbers of them, but so too do the Ecclesiarchy and the Administratum, but the Guard recruit from a million worlds with a million different traditions and beliefs and practices. The very best Lord Generals manage to learn the strengths and weaknesses of all units under their command, deploying and supporting them as necessary in favourable situations.
It's fun to think about, even if Miraxa isn't likely to encounter a Guard formation in the quest for a fair while yet.
I am highly tempted to try writing up a hive underganger adept, as they're not chaos but they're also going to be rather ruthless all things considered
The Adeptus Arbites are often stereotyped as little more than extensions of Imperial Law. This is not untrue, as many an Arbite considers this something to aspire to. Like almost all things, disagreements do arise over how to accomplish this. Some, like the Bloodhounds of Integrity, prioritize corruption, believing that the nobles and leaders of the Imperium skimming off the top beyond a certain minimum acceptable amount is a direct affront to the Emperor's will in setting down the Imperial Rights and Rule, and many of them are of the opinion that that 'acceptable amount' is either zero or little more than a personal allowance, which naturally makes them popular with the Inquisition and few others. Others, like the Seekers of Security, work to ensure everything from records to infrastructure are not misfiled or otherwise tampered with. The horror stories of worlds misplaced because Administratum Adepts erred in filling out their forms is a great motivator for these Arbites, and they are often the ones to point out these errors. Daemonic Sects actively tampering with them is also largely countered by this faction of Arbites, as the Inquisition is usually dealing with larger threats than missing paperwork unless it's tied to some decades-long plot at which point it's largely after the fact, though much of the time they simply prevent various nobles from pushing misleading reports of their worlds and the like.
The Beacons of Justice, on the other hand, are the 'little people minders' as they are slightly derogatorily referred to by their counterparts. They are the ones who have the greatest numbers by virtue of managing the common mortal citizens of the Imperium, and yet they are eternally stretched thin by the teeming masses and the fact that many of the best and brightest of those who pursue justice are drawn to the other Arbites Sects or the Inquisition. They are the partners of the Ministorum in fighting the more insidious of the Daemonic Sects, though they bring the hammer of organized pursuit of rabble-rousers and dealers of the illicit to the fray rather than charisma and exhortations of faith, often lead detachments of the Militarum or more rarely the Astartes as the local guides to dens of corruption and heresy, and work to maintain a strong relationship with the Administratum without whom their work would be nearly impossible. They police the Hives of the Imperium, as they do the farms of the Agri-Worlds, the mines of the Resource Worlds, and the cities of the Civilized Worlds. If one encounters an Arbite outside the halls of power, odds are good that they belong to the Beacons of Justice.
It should be noted that the Beacons of Justice focus more on detecting and rooting out those who break Imperial Law rather than direct combat. This is accomplished in a number of ways. First, the aforementioned good relationship with the Administratum allows them a great deal of cross-referencing of properly catalogued individuals. Of course, in the deeper areas of an Imperial Hive, this becomes more difficult, and reconciling the general lawlessness of such an area with their duties and learning to prioritize the egregious violations over, say, not having responded to the Imperial census that may or may not have been down here at it's appointed time is one of the tests that separate the Arbites with potential to move to higher Realms from those who will be kept to the cleaner, more black and white areas in the upper reaches and who will ironically never rise above their mortal frames. Another example is that the Beacons are often quite happy to serve as information networks for the Inquisition and Astartes, who are perfectly willing to investigate most of their claims that something foul beyond their usual means is afoot, and their nature means the compromising them in any fashion can be just as strong an indicator of something being wrong as an official report, as their Cultivation methods abhor corruption of any kind almost universally despite their sheer numbers and the many Minor Sects that must necessarily exist in recognizing the difference between, say, policing an Agri-World and an Armory World. The Beacons having such large numbers relative to most Arbites Sects also means that they can also cast a wide net and assemble much of the wider picture, with rare examples of higher-ranked Beacons having influence similar to a planetary Governor if the Arbites should find themselves filling the vacuum of, say, a child being elevated to governorship due to the untimely death of the reigning ruler.
The Beacons of Justice, following their focus on discovering criminals and capturing them or leading more militant forces to them, lean on Arts to ease their struggle in discovering and breaking organizations of wrong-doers. As such, their sensory enhancement Arts, such as the Eyes of Justice, are nearly unmatched within their Realm. Making deductive leaps through the Seeker of Truth Art allows them to seem nearly precognitive, while the usual means of blocking precognitive Arts fail because this Art does not qualify as seeing the future any more than an advanced simulation of the Mechanicus' would. This is not to say that they have no recourse if criminal elements attempt to silence them, such as their Retribution Against The Lawbreaker Art, which empowers them relative to the magnitude of their enemy's breaking of Imperial Law, though there are diminishing returns, and even Mastery will not normally allow them to singlehandedly defeat an enemy two or more Realms above them with any reliability. Similarly, the Art of As Long As One Just Man Remains dramatically bolsters their strength when they are outnumbered, as they often are when their line of work brings armed conflict to the fore. Notably, this Art requires that they believe themselves to be upholding Imperial Law, much like the Retribution Art requires that the target have broken Imperial Law, which has obvious weaknesses. The Bloodhounds use a different Art, as their targets often excel in working in grey areas. Still, when facing common criminals and lower-level organizations, these Arts can make a Beacon seem like an unstoppable juggernaut to anyone below their Realm.
This leaves them in a somewhat odd place where Daemonic Sects proper are concerned, as they are ill-equipped to wage any kind of extended campaign of conflict against them, but attacking their logistical chains, recruiting grounds, and finding their headquarters are often as not something the Beacons will be doing, which often leads to at least some of any given planet's Beacons being much stealthier than the deliberately obvious stereotype. It should be also be noted that the Arbites in general wane in power in certain places. The sanctums of the Ministorum and the laboratories of the Mechanicus are, if not universally barred, then most certainly not within their normal jurisdiction. The Bloodhounds and Seekers are not exceptions in this regard unless they have strong evidence that it's necessary, but the Beacons largely cannot even get their foot in the door, so to speak. Thus, a Mechanicus Adept may well never seen an Arbite so long as they remain on such a world, as the Mechanicus and Ministorum make a point of policing their own.
On that note, as has been mentioned, the nature of the Arbites' Cultivation makes corrupting them difficult, but if they are convinced a path is correct when they are in fact in the wrong, it is possible to circumvent the issue, as the sheer labyrinthian nature of Imperial Law is such that even staying strictly within it's bounds can offer dozens of examples and counter-examples, and even the Arbites can become confused over what qualifies as proper justice. This leads to some friction with the Bloodhounds, who are the only ones able to reliably audit any of their fellow Arbites. Still, none of them want another Lawful Crusade ravaging dozens of Sectors as the Arbites within them go rogue in a manner not unlike the paranoid executions carried out in the current era.
The Arbites in general hold some contempt for those who can do naught but follow their texts, as what works in a book and what works in the field are often very different. This has caused them friction with the Ultramarines before, but being able to discern justice for oneself is another of the tests they use to decide who may advance to higher Realms. On the other hand, constantly taking everything completely case-by-case is grossly inefficient at the scale they operate at, so the tomes of Imperial Law serve as a useful guide, which puts them at odds with Astartes who continually ignore the Codex, such as the Space Wolves. Funnily enough, they have the best relationships with the more moderate Adepts, such as the Imperial Fists, and they do bargain somewhat with Mechanicus, though there is a low-level suspicion that's likely inevitable based on their complete inability to police the Adeptus branch. Similarly, not a few Arbites were inspired by Ministorum rhetoric, and some crossover exists within their ranks, as the duties of one who fills hearts with faith and one who roots out the faithless curs have overlap.
So long as there is yet one person in the Imperium who pursues justice, the Beacons will light the way to it, even if it seems like fighting a rising tide in the era of Goge Vandire. That is the pledge they take up. Thus, it is not surprising that they have taken a keen interest in the bloody reign the madman on Terra is carrying out, reaching out to their contacts in the Inquisition and the Astartes on what should be done. While they hold few great leaders or combatants, their information network and ability to influence things on a massive scale via coordination is immense, often serving as messengers between Inquisitorial cells and the like, as while they cannot go anywhere, few can speak aloud questions of their presence without drawing suspicion themselves. What's more, their mortal components often seek cybernetic implants to allow them to replicate the sensory Arts of their superiors, so they bear some ties to the Mechanicus, the sole legal purveyor of such, which they can also use to carry messages. It is rumored that the Moirae schism was at least in part facilitated by discrete messages the Beacons have carried as part of their campaign to bring the Mechanicus into the fray against Goge Vandire, believing Mars complicit in his rise and thus compromised. Time will tell if their scheming bears fruit.
AN: This is meant to be this 'verse common man of the Arbites' Sects. They aren't universally this way, as the write-up mentions, but they're certainly a large minority to a slim majority of all Arbites in the galaxy.
So, where the Inquisition targets those who go against Imperial Law on the macro-scale, the Beacons go after the small-timers. Basically, if the Inquisition deals with the plot threatening to destroy the planet one way or another, the Beacons are breaking up a half-dozen minor criminal rings who may not even be engaging in heresy of any kind, given the scripture doesn't say much about peddling drugs, even if those drugs are themselves illegal. Of course, they often find themselves stumbling across larger plots, and so they maintain good relations with the Inquistion in case they need to, say, kick an imminent Daemon Summoning upstairs.
I would compare their Arts to the Light of World of Warcraft. It helps to be genuinely good, but as the Scarlet Crusade proves, thinking that you're the good guy works just fine. Hence why they can mess around with their impartiality by helping the Moirae along in an effort to weaken Mars. Their thinking is that at best, Mars has allowed a madman to rise on their doorstep and ravage the Imperium, and at worst, the current High Lords have raised someone ill-suited to his post in hopes of putting a puppet they can control in it, only for it to spiral horribly out of control, which includes the Fabricator-General of Mars. Either way, they do not trust Mars to place the Imperium over it's own interests at present. Harsh? Perhaps, but this version of the Arbites has a long-standing habit of triage where injustices they cannot deal with are happening, at least at the leadership level. They would be doing similar schemes against any High Lords not actively working on the issue, which is probably contributing to Goge's paranoia. After all, someone really is out to get him.
2100+ words counting the AN. Any Exp can finish off Aegis of Untouchable Glory and start work on the next level.
While the members of the Centuriate Aquilan are formally acknowledged within their fellowship as Hundredfold Eagle Soldiers, they are better known to their subordinates as the Master Sergeants, the unquestioned champions of the non-commissioned arts.
I think in Adept terms, the Militarum's main feature is probably variety. Sure they have vast numbers of them, but so too do the Ecclesiarchy and the Administratum, but the Guard recruit from a million worlds with a million different traditions and beliefs and practices.
"You court death, you fools! Tremble before our Suicidal Shovel Arts! The Path of the Murder-Lemming is stronger than you can know!"
-A Krieger, probably
This is an interesting writeup, and I'm always pleased when my work gets people spending a couple of thousand words talking about the wider world, but there's a couple of points I'd bring up that make me feel I can't really canonise it as it exists.
The first is the size and nature of the Beacons of Justice. Put simply, they feel like they're too big - a Sect is a specific institution, a group with a shared history and hierarchy and traditions. The Omnissiah Igvita are very specifically the Magi of Ryza, for example, not all plasma-specialists across the Mechanicus. There are absolutely Sects which have outposts and branches on multiple worlds, and some of the more esoteric Adeptus Astra sects might not hold specific territories at all, but the idea that there could be one Sect that handles all of the Arbites' focus on the "little people" doesn't really work.
The second is the nature of the Adeptus Arbites themselves. I've made a bunch of changes to the setting in the name of incorporating the fusion, but it should always be remembered that the Arbites are quite famously concerned with law, not justice. The Emperor's Law is a thing they regard with devotion verging on worship (so the idea of a Sect that regards the law as a useful guidebook just doesn't work), and their remit is crimes against the Imperium, not local violations. An Arbitrator isn't going to give a shit about a regular murder, unless the victim was an imperial servant, or some corrupt official covering for smugglers unless they're smuggling forbidden xenotech or something.
[X] Plan Knowledge is Power, Contacts are Currency, and Smashing Face is Our Jam
-[X] Boons (6 points)
--[X] Knowledge of Vulpa and what forces he has at his disposal (1 point)
--[X] Knowledge of the Pilgrims, their numbers and activity as best as Grist can find out (1 point)
--[X] Service of a hunting spirit able to track souls (1 point)
--[X] Arms and armour for you and your team (1 point)
--[X] A proper relic weapon capable of channelling akasha (2 points)
-[X] Terms (6 points)
--[X] Accept a challenge in the fighting pits of Fate's Wheel (-1 point)
--[X] …and accept a lethal duel (-1 point)
--[X] …and allow Grist to choose your costume (-1 point)
--[X] Provide an introduction for Grist to the Mechanicus (-1 point)
--[X] Set up a meeting between a Frozen Hearth representative and the Omnissiah Igvita (-2 points)
As the Young Mistress of the Omnissiah Igvita, you have naturally been trained in diplomacy from an early age. There exist specialists in such matters, of course, but there are too many groups and beings who would consider treating with a trained ambassador rather than the heir to the sect to be some kind of slight or insult. Negotiating with Papa Grist is therefore something you are quite comfortable with, and while it feels strange to deal with someone who regards his Path and his work as entirely separate ideals, ultimately you reach a deal that you would regard as entirely satisfactory. Alas, not everyone agrees.
"I am going to kill him," Greta says flatly, her face red and her teeth tightly clenched as you adjust your new outfit.
"You will do no such thing," you reply, just as flatly, setting the tattered old remnants of your looted clothing to one side. The gear taken from the slavers in the underworld was, in truth, increasingly filthy and battle damaged, so you are not sad to see it go. "I negotiated this deal in good faith, and I will not see it broken now."
"But my lady, this is completely inappropriate," Greta protests, looking to her daughter and Lady Melua for assistance. The men have been banished from the small underground room where you are changing, a decision made to protect your modesty which you think has probably backfired given the luminescent blush on Meena's face whenever she looks in your direction. "You are an Adept, a good woman, not some…"
She trails off, unable to complete the sentence. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised. Certainly the outfit is far removed from anything that you would have worn on Ryza; a bronze girdle holding up an embroidered loincloth made from some strange gauzy fabric, wire bracers painted in gold leaf, and a collection of false gems and body paint applied by an old woman with a sour face. Were your body not a glorious temple to the perfection of the human form you might have been ashamed to wear something so revealing, and as it is you suspect it is Greta's first time seeing such clothing outside of dens of ill repute. Though given the evident character of Fate's Wheel and its proprietor, perhaps she should have expected something of the kind…
"This is to be an exhibition act, not a duel," you explain, adjusting the girdle and taking a few steps to make sure that the gauzy loincloth remains in place when you move, "which makes it a performance. As I denied him the use of my Sect's name to entice the audience, some other draw must be found. This suffices admirably."
Greta falls silent at that, clearly struggling to put her feelings into words. A true diplomat would have spent time identifying her homeworld and the likely cultural background it implies, thereby learning the best way to smooth over what appears to be a rather awkward clash of expectations, but you do not have that training nor the time to properly apply it. Also, you admit to taking some small and petty pleasure from the way that the other woman is so clearly speechless at your brazen confidence.
"I am familiar enough with the concept of sex appeal as tool or weapon," Du'landra Melua speaks up from her corner of the room, neatly confirming your earlier hypothesis. You wonder how many people she's managed to successfully stab because they were too busy looking at her breasts. You wonder if there is any way to actually ask that question without poisoning the relationship beyond hope of securing a useful answer. "Your manner, however, is not what I expected. One might almost think you are impossibly innocent, to be so shameless."
"Hardly," you scoff, shaking your head, "I am entirely familiar with the concept, and the emotional and physical context surrounding it. I simply discarded them."
The two older women look at each other with alarm at that, and even Meena is shocked out of her embarrassment for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"I employed temporary psycho-surgical blocks to isolate and muffle the relevant thought forms - arousal, shame, sexual appeal and the like," you explain, and how interesting, now they look even more concerned. "It is a common procedure, quite safe. My awareness of such matters is isolated, allowing me to consult it as necessary without it influencing my actions or decision making."
"How unusual," Lady Melua comments thoughtfully, though from the look on Greta's face you imagine the other woman would have preferred far stronger language, "An aid to your studies, then? I can certainly identify times where my interests in matters physical distracted me from more cerebral concerns, but to go so far as to perform psycho-surgery on oneself…"
You nod, choosing to take her words as a compliment, and pick up a knife from the low bench against the far wall. A combat weapon, you think, with a rubber grip and a nonreflective blade, part of the equipment that Grist provided for you and your team as part of the terms you negotiated.
"When my position is secure, and I have proven accomplishments to my name, I intend to reverse the process," you explain, wondering for a moment if you might have given them the wrong impression. You hope they are not imagining your younger self as some kind of hormonal wreck without any kind of self-control or discipline, the sort of person who required such psycho-surgery to function in society. Your gene father would have disposed of you if that were the case. "But those are thoughts for the future. Could one of you bring me the augments?"
Flipping the knife over in your hand, you reach behind your back and slice open the flesh along your spine. False flesh, vat-grown and denuded of all pain receptors and blood vessels, peeling away to reveal the connection ports and neural interfaces hidden within. Greta looks vaguely nauseous, though she cannot see what you are doing from her angle, while Meena hurries over with the box that Grist provided. Inside rest four beautiful chrome-silver mechadendrites, currently compacted down into their cylindrical storage form. You take the first and, with a prayer to the Omnissiah, plug it into your spine. The connection forms with a rush of static, lightning crawling up and down your bones, and you arch your back and moan in a way that turns Meena's face several degrees redder.
"Hidden implants?" Lady Melua asks, arching one auburn eyebrow in elegant surprise, "I was under the impression that the Mechanicus bared their 'true flesh' to the world, without hesitation or shame."
"It varies," you grunt, connecting the second mechadendrite and stifling your immediate reaction. It feels like dead limb syndrome in reverse, the sudden rush of vitality removing a crippling injury you did not even realise you had. "Our path leads us to seek the perfection of form. Those who can attain such things through the knowledge of Akasha would be shamed to rely on simple cybernetics, while those incapable of bodily refinement would be disdained for a reluctance to upgrade. Naturally, augmentations that work with and rely upon the application of akasha are the best of all, as are those which provide a capability otherwise denied even to one who practices the Imperial Arts."
The noblewoman nods thoughtfully and does not ask further questions, which is something of a relief. After all, your explanation fell a degree or two short of the truth. There is nothing shameful about the plugs and subdermal ports necessary to interface with mechadendrites, given how common they are amongst the Mechanicus, but still you elect to hide your beneath false flesh when not in use. A Young Mistress must earn her position not merely through accomplishment, but through excellence, in exceeding the expectations of those around her. Displaying augmentations you do not need or are not using invites only thoughts of waste, of profligacy, of the possibility that your accomplishments owe more to the resources provided to your bloodline than the quality of your skill or person.
As Fabricator-General of Ryza, your gene-father could have sculpted you into a perfect idol of steel and wire, equipped you with only the very finest products of his Forge, but what would that say? That you needed such advantages to keep up, that anyone could do what you did if they had the same resources at their command? Your position, your purpose, your very survival depends on being exceptional. You dare not compromise that impression, even for a moment.
"The staff are here," Sulz calls through the open door, his voice echoing strangely in the barren chambers beneath the arena, "They say the fight will be starting soon."
"Very well," you say, slotting the last two mechadendrites into place and flexing them in quick inspection. Good, the limbs are as flexible and responsive as you need them to be, the manipulator claws at the end of each clicking sharply with adequate force. "Let us fulfil our end of the bargain."
-/-
You kneel as the lift carries you up into the arena, allowing the gauzy fabric of your loincloth to pool around you and the false gems to glitter and shine in the stage lights. This is one of the smaller pits, a simple circular arena interspaced with shoulder-high obelisks of stone to use as cover and manoeuvre, and as you emerge you can hear Grist's voice booming out overhead.
"...for your pleasure, Miraxa of the Mechanicus!"
You rise to a chorus of polite applause and delighted whispers, feeling a hundred eyes on you all at once. Hm. You did not consider it before, but there is likely a political dimension to this, Grist demonstrating his credentials by arranging for a true Imperial Adept to fight for the visceral pleasure of those who imagine themselves your betters. Well, it cannot be helped.
You ignore the rest of the patter, ignoring the reaction of the audience as you flex and stretch in place, allowing them to admire your physique as you ready for the fight to come. There is another grate in the floor just a few paces away, another lift bringing your opponent to the surface, and already you can feel the stench of power upon the air. There is something primal about the sensation, an animal musk infused with the metallic tang of violence and war, and when at last the lift arrives and your enemy is revealed you are prepared enough not to be surprised.
The Ork is bound in heavy iron chains and stripped of all equipment save an axe of reclaimed scrap, yet at the sight of it half the audience goes quiet in fear and the others holler for your victory. The alien's skin is thick as leather and dark as pine, its eyes burn like coals and in sheer physical mass it is worth three of you at the least. You can see the akasha rising from its skin in great steaming clouds, converted to war's aspect by the basic nature of the Ork's physiology, and though you have not faced one in battle before you have learned enough from your schooling to recognise what it is you face. One of the alien's leadership caste, a 'noble' far more dangerous than any of the preening popinjays in the stands overhead.
(You notice, with an absent thought, that there is something missing from its spiritual aura. The akasha that the Ork exudes ought to be taken up by another and returned, a feedback loop whose absence adds an edge of starvation to the aspect of its soul. You are put in mind of a power cable, severed and flopping against the ground, sparking violently with lost discharge.)
Without doubt, this is a dangerous foe. Truly, you were fortunate to come here, and wise to agree to this term in negotiations with Grist. Allowing yourself a smile, you settle down into a low crouch, spreading your metal arms wide and gathering the sun's flame in the hands of flesh. The Ork needs no taunt or beckoning gesture, its eyes are already fixed upon you, and though you can hear Grist riling up the crowd somewhere in the distance the alien cares as much for such things as you.
The chains release, clattering to the ground in a limp pile, and the fight begins.
"WAAAGH!"
The Ork is upon you, axe swinging, air distorting from the force of its warcry. A simple assault, trusting in brute power and speed to overcome all obstacles, but you would expect nothing else and have planned appropriately. Two hands sink into the stone of the nearest pillar as an anchor, two more seize the arm to delay the swing, and with your last two you slam shards of sunfire into that heavy jaw and consume the beast's head in a solar flare that scorches the roof of the arena.
For a moment you allow yourself to feel the brief thrill of victory. Then the Ork kicks you in the chest and fractures three of your ribs.
You are airborne, tumbling gracelessly with the taste of blood on your tongue, and though the Incandescent Phoenix controls your landing your mind is still numb with shock. To endure the Coronal Blow, not once but twice and directly to the head, should be impossible. You have never met a foe that could manage such a thing, and in that moment you understand why of all the myriad alien races in the galaxy it is the Ork that has contested with man for longest. The noble is already advancing, half its face burned down to the bone and wisps of flame still clinging to stringy black hair, but despite the wound its one remaining eye burns with a murderous fury.
It tries for a horizontal blow this time, an extended lunge from the edge of its range, and having learned your lesson you opt to dodge instead of block. Metal arms propel you into the air, phoenix feathers keep you there, and before the Ork can reverse the blow you step inside its reach and unleash a barrage of blows. Metal claws and human hands slam against alien flesh over and over again, a jackhammer of violence interspaced with last-second evasions demanded by the swing of that awful axe, but it is like striking a mountain. The Ork barely even reacts to even the cleanest of hits, its skin remains unbruised and unmarred, and frankly you're not even sure it has internal organs to bruise and bleed. This isn't working.
Ducking out of the path of the axe you leap back into the air, seeking to gain some distance and buy the time to reevaluate, and that is your mistake. You underestimate the Ork, and with a triumphant gleam it reaches for you with its free hand before you can escape, seizing the trailing strip of gauzy fabric and swinging you like a flail. Something snaps and you are launched on a ballistic course across the arena, brought to a halt mere seconds later when you slam headfirst into one of the stone pillars.
Fortunately, Grist designed the arena with just such showmanship in mind, and the pillars turn out to be carved from something lightweight and brittle. Pumice, perhaps. You break the stone with your face and tumble into a graceless roll across the ground, skin abraded and blood pouring down your chin, but nothing feels broken and that is all that matters. You force down the pain and roll back to your feet, lifting your hands into a traditional guard, just in time to see the Ork snort in contempt and toss the ragged remnants of your loincloth to one side. Well. You suppose that explains why the crowd is hollering with such enthusiasm.
Physical strikes are ineffective. Ork physiology disregards otherwise crippling wounds and damage to extremities. Only gross trauma to the core mass will be sufficient.
You have never attempted this before, but what else are duels for, if not to push you to your very limits and then force you to exceed them? You grin, and with all six hands you grasp for the fire of the sun. The claws of your mechadendrites are not made to hold such things, permitting too much waste as light and heat spill out across the arena, but you persist. Every scrap of power, every fleeting wisp of sunshine, all of it and more you gather close until the jewels on your skin shine like stars and the metal floor of the arena begins to discolour and melt beneath your bare feet.
A human adept would keep their distance, would seek to dodge or hide and trust in their agility against your raw power, but the Ork knows only aggression. It nods to you, growling something you do not understand through a jaw that you left half paralysed and ashen, and takes its axe in a two handed grip. Then it charges, a bounding sprint that ends in a leap and every scrap of weight and force placed behind the ragged edge of a piece of metallic scrap.
"Six Fists of the Sun Goddess - Coronal Blow!"
You strike with the fury of a star, and from your half dozen hands comes a torrent of plasma that ignites the air and turns greenskinned flesh to ash. The beam cores the Ork clean through and tears a ragged hole in the arena roof to splash against the great dome of the artificial sky beyond, a river of blinding brilliance that sets alarms to shrieking and the weak to screaming all across the city.
You exhale, lowering your hands, and stand in a pillar of sunlight as the smoking remnants of an alien warrior clatter to the ground all around you. The crowd are cheering rapturously, and on belated whim you position your metal arms to cover your loins and chest in a vague attempt at modesty. Strangely, that only makes the cheering grow louder.
"And what a display that was, ladies and gentlemen!" Grist proclaims over the vox-hailer, his voice thick with delight and greed as he rakes in the earnings from your display. "Give a hand to her, everyone - Miraxa of the Mechanicus, Champion of the Arena!"
The lift takes you back down into the darkness under the arena with only a modicum of delay for public appreciation, and no sooner has it settled than Greta is hurrying forward to give you a robe, holding it open with her daughter so you can simply slide your arms in and regain some semblance of modesty once more.
"That was awesome!" Bors says, his skinny chest heaving as though it were he and not you that just exerted themselves for victory, "Lady, that was the craziest shit I ever saw!"
"Calm down, lad," Sulz grumbles, before nodding to you in respect, "Though it was a good show, I'll admit that. The hell did they get an Ork Nob from, anyway?"
"Providing such creatures for the arena is the core element of the Beast House's services," Lady Melua says, her eyes gleaming in what you think might be approval as she looks at you. "Thankfully, it seems this partnership will prove fruitful indeed, if such is the skill you bring to bear. Allow me now to do my part - I have a mansion here in the city, borrowed from a friend. Allow us to retire there for now, to rest and eat and plan our next move."
You nod solemnly, trying not to worry too much about the grey spots at the edge of your vision and the burning ache in your limbs, and together you walk down the tunnel and out into the false light of dawn.
Article:
Between the talk of plans and tactics, you will naturally end up speaking with Lady Melua about other things, one Adept to another. Choose a topic to discuss.
[ ] Inheritance. As a noblewoman, Du'landra understands the pressures and expectations you are under better than most.
[ ] Family. Du'landra cares for her brother enough to come to Xicarph alone to rescue him, a bond you find strange and oddly fascinating.
[ ] Technique. In payment for witnessing your skills in the arena, and to aid in planning for future cooperation, Du'landra agrees to trade pointers and demonstrate her Arts.
In addition to the above, during the enforced downtime you find an opportunity to speak with one of your other teammates about something entirely outside of your experience. Who do you speak to?
[ ] Bors, caught scavenging, defends his actions and the life that made them necessary. You have never known what it is to have nothing.
[ ] Greta, apparently feeling maternal, sees fit to induct you into her household rituals. You have never known what it is like to be welcomed into another's home.
[ ] Meena, in the process of teaching you sign language, ends up discussing faith and how the world treats those like her. You have never known what it is to be ignored.
[ ] Sulz, sharing a drink and some old war stories, gets a little maudlin about old comrades lost but not forgotten. You have never been permitted the luxury of grief.
[ ] Family. Du'landra cares for her brother enough to come to Xicarph alone to rescue him, a bond you find strange and oddly fascinating.
[ ] Meena, in the process of teaching you sign language, ends up discussing faith and how the world treats those like her. You have never known what it is to be ignored.
[X] Family. Du'landra cares for her brother enough to come to Xicarph alone to rescue him, a bond you find strange and oddly fascinating.
[X] Meena, in the process of teaching you sign language, ends up discussing faith and how the world treats those like her. You have never known what it is to be ignored.
[x] Sulz, sharing a drink and some old war stories, gets a little maudlin about old comrades lost but not forgotten. You have never been permitted the luxury of grief.
[X] Family. Du'landra cares for her brother enough to come to Xicarph alone to rescue him, a bond you find strange and oddly fascinating.
Understanding the motives of our ally seems like a good idea, and the culture clash might be interesting.
[X] Sulz, sharing a drink and some old war stories, gets a little maudlin about old comrades lost but not forgotten. You have never been permitted the luxury of grief.
All four options sound interesting, but this one jumped out to me for some reason.
[X] Family. Du'landra cares for her brother enough to come to Xicarph alone to rescue him, a bond you find strange and oddly fascinating.
I think this'll be a good way to expand Miraxa's worldview, and is also a good first step on her being better able to relate to non-Mechanicucs.
[X] Bors, caught scavenging, defends his actions and the life that made them necessary. You have never known what it is to have nothing.
I couldn't resist this option because of how much Miraxa focused on how she couldn't be seen having any extra advantages for keeping her spot as the Young Mistress due to being the daughter of the Fabricator General, and yet is blind to her own privilege. This options shows her that despite how 'fair' she thinks the competition is, it isn't, really (and being Mechanicus she honestly might not see anything wrong with advantaging proven gene-lines) but engendering an understanding that the vast majority of mortals are instead like Bors, born to nothing I think would be interesting. At the very least, adding perspective on truly how much more advantaged she's been being born into a Sect, rather than elsewhere in the Empire.
[X] Inheritance. As a noblewoman, Du'landra understands the pressures and expectations you are under better than most.
[X] Greta, apparently feeling maternal, sees fit to induct you into her household rituals. You have never known what it is like to be welcomed into another's home.
[X] Family. Du'landra cares for her brother enough to come to Xicarph alone to rescue him, a bond you find strange and oddly fascinating.
[X] Greta, apparently feeling maternal, sees fit to induct you into her household rituals. You have never known what it is like to be welcomed into another's home.
