In a realm of darkness two pillars of light crashed down, a ship screeched as alarms rang forth as the hull was breached and those that came arrived to find a pod of machinery beyond their keen waiting for them with an infant within. A child of the stars, a legend made real, the rumors swept the fleet as they believed that the time to conquer the station of their forefathers and their now slavers had come.
Upon a research station whose name has been long forgotten in orbit of a black hole, the people gathered to behold a creation of technology beyond their understanding. A great pod had fallen through the shields both void and ionic to crash through the fragile metal that was all that they could produce in this fallen time, the station lord came forth and saw the child within and declared that the time had come to end their reliance upon the wayward fleet. walkers of shadows, children of void, your actions unknown to all
Yet what all did not know is that the two were one, the one within the fleet saw what they saw and they saw what their twin upon the station saw. An insider in the other and so they knew what both knew of the other. They saw how the fleet thought of the station as slavers and fallen from the duty set forth ages ago and how the station thought of the fleet as untenable and a risk to all that they were. They saw both sides of the claims and knew that both were both wrong and correct in measure. The decision of side to support if any was their's to make.
One part of two awoke from their pod, surrounded by the remaining inheritors of humanity's apex. Upon hearing of the declaration from station master and fleet admiral both, each Twin realized that conflict was imminent with the other half unless radical measures were taken. The station lord's face loomed over the fogged glass of the incubator pod. The opportunity to make an impression with the apparent leader would scarcely come again.
Within a few seconds, knowledge was sorted into known factors and speculation.
My other half remains with the void fleet. The void fleet sees the station as enslavers, but with some past relation. Conclusion? The void fleet are likely exiles or rebels of some kind.
On approach the station appeared to have various degraded instruments observing the black hole. This was likely a research station. This station sees the fleet as a necessity, and likely relies upon it for trade or some other necessary good. Potential source of cooperation.
System fleet was referred to as "wayward", indicating that the station demands some form of authority over the void fleet, but lacks the means to enforce control. Potential insecurity?
Black hole station is degraded but remains advanced. This station is massive, but only has certain areas in working order, likely due to maintenance by population.
The technology of origin pod fascinates the populaiton. Potential appreciation for science remains among descendants of researchers? Cynicism also likely to be prevalent due to state of station and lost glories. Further speculation--the station lord descends and keeps some scientific title.
Majority of station is likely inacessible, with remainders of past research and archeotech lying in the depths.
A further few seconds saw a plan begin to form
Goal: Avoid conflict with other half-- Imperative
Goal: Gain control of this station, maximizing local cooperation.... imprinted knowledge from Creator on diplomacy will aid in this. Natural talent in deceit, subterfuge and more will also assist. Referencing the origin as a research station and addressing "Station Lord" by title of chief researcher will give an impactful impression. Other half will take control of void fleet at around same time as control of station is established.
Goal: Discover the shared histories of these two major factions, and find a path to reunification and reconciliation. Discover the cause of what happened to this system in particular and humanity in general.
One in Two/Two in One desire the truth.
[Brother, let us begin.]
A push against the glass
An intake of recycled air
"To what ends are you willing to go to incorporate this wayward fleet? How much knowledge are you able to educate me with? How far into the history and depths of this station are you willing to explore with me, Chief Researcher?"
The other half of one awoke from his pod, surrounded by various crew members. Taking in the scene, the infant grasped the basics of the precarious scene in front of them. Two factions, better served working with one another and yet what was logical was not always what was realistic. Wounds from past history seldom healed quickly and Station and Fleet both had done much harm to one another. Too much for easy forgiveness.
Just as their other half had, this one came to similar conclusions.
Goal: Avoid conflict with their other half. Imperative.
Goal: Gain a better understanding of the situation. What were the half-lies and half-truths that formed the story of these two disparate peoples?
Goal: Gain control of the fleet. Diplomacy and intrigue were the preferred tools to fire and fury.
Goal: Unite the two factions. They had much to offer and learn from one another. But both must be made to see and brought to the table.
Goal: Minimize losses.
Filled with intent, the Infant rose from the pod and addressed the astonished crew members.
"Speak to me of our people. What is our situation? Who do we face? Who is it that leads us? There is much to be done to reverse the decline and little time to do so."
The infant would've left it at that, but an intellect that grew with every passing moment and imprinted knowledge from their progenitor made them take a second, deeper look at those around them. There was awe, yes, and also hope but also despair.
Inwardly the infant was somewhat unsure whether to offer words of comfort. They and their brother were always meant to work from the dark. To inspire others was not they were made for...and yet when confronted by living, breathing individuals and not mere imprints and shadows of imparted knowledge...
"Take heart, a little time is better than none and we have a chance still to do what we must. The old night is coming to a close."
Turn 1
2 majors
Ferrus considered his current state with a sword in hand he killed the beast but the sword did not belong to him it was given to it him by some men. He resolved to follow his tracks and met up with those men that gave him his sword. For he owed them a debt and it would be repaid. He would fulfill his words and he named the sword Limbo signifying his current state.
Once Ferrus meets up with the men he would negotiate how much he owed the people for his new sword. He would also try to ingrate himself with the local people.
Sneaking away into the lowlands was easier than he had expected, but as he emerged into the lands where the poison mists were not as overbearing, he had a breath of almost clean air for the first time in his life and it was a relief he had never known. His eyes could see farther than ever before the mists light and almost non existent compared to the fog that they were on the tops of the mountains. Moving into the lowlands he found ramshackle buildings with beings that resembled himself, smaller and more fragile, eking out a meager existence in the harsh soil. Something within him yearned to join them, but was it safe to do so when the being that called himself father would follow him surely?
Finding out who and what they were would do them no harm. With visibility this good, an approaching search party would be easy to see from far away. Mortarion could leave in good time without putting them in danger. He approached the village.
Such fragility. They wouldn't survive the highlands. And yet, appearance may lie: there is its own hardiness in living like this, refusing to give up to the elements.
The others step forward closer to him and gesture to follow, he sighs before picking up his sword and gem and following them into the forest.
Event Concluded
3 Yearly actions taken, 1 Major action used
Gained: sword relic and unknown magical gem
Duel raised to Secondary and Sword Dueling raised to Core
The lion will create a shield so that if he fights something that can challenge him he can have the option to block and defend himself
2nd major action
when the lion killed the massive beast he pulled out a shinning gem out of the beasts mouth he will try to figure out what it is and what it can do
1 yearly action
The lion has been lead to a strange place unlike the forest he spent his young years so his first course will be to try and gain bonds (friendships/allies) with as many people as possible so he will have some connections to this place
2nd yearly action
as a new comer to this place the lion will try and figure out the culture and laws of this new place so he can better fit in
3nd yearly action
he will research the types of beasts that live on this planet to see if any catch his attention
his 4th yearly action
he will see if theirs anything he can help the people around him with. like helping to repair damaged homes
5th action yearly action
The lion knows to find a beast for himself he would need to learn how to track so he will take two years to learn tracking so he can find the beast of his choice
6th yearly action
will be to research tactics
7th yearly action
the lion will go out into the forest looking for a beast to tame for himself based on what caught his attention from the research he did
=
The station lord frowned slightly as he peered at the child, noting its perfect form, too perfect to be natural. Obvious in retrospect, "As far as you can take us." He would say nothing more to the strange being, for something about it did not feel real to him, it felt incomplete. But nothing could truly quell the rising burning hope in his heart, perhaps something could be done to rise the station from the ruin that it had become.
The other half of one awoke from his pod, surrounded by various crew members. Taking in the scene, the infant grasped the basics of the precarious scene in front of them. Two factions, better served working with one another and yet what was logical was not always what was realistic. Wounds from past history seldom healed quickly and Station and Fleet both had done much harm to one another. Too much for easy forgiveness.
Just as their other half had, this one came to similar conclusions.
Goal: Avoid conflict with their other half. Imperative.
Goal: Gain a better understanding of the situation. What were the half-lies and half-truths that formed the story of these two disparate peoples?
Goal: Gain control of the fleet. Diplomacy and intrigue were the preferred tools to fire and fury.
Goal: Unite the two factions. They had much to offer and learn from one another. But both must be made to see and brought to the table.
Goal: Minimize losses.
Filled with intent, the Infant rose from the pod and addressed the astonished crew members.
"Speak to me of our people. What is our situation? Who do we face? Who is it that leads us? There is much to be done to reverse the decline and little time to do so."
The infant would've left it at that, but an intellect that grew with every passing moment and imprinted knowledge from their progenitor made them take a second, deeper look at those around them. There was awe, yes, and also hope but also despair.
Inwardly the infant was somewhat unsure whether to offer words of comfort. They and their brother were always meant to work from the dark. To inspire others was not they were made for...and yet when confronted by living, breathing individuals and not mere imprints and shadows of imparted knowledge...
"Take heart, a little time is better than none and we have a chance still to do what we must. The old night is coming to a close."
A spark of inspiration crossed the bond between brothers, a new path forward beyond that set forth. The station-masters word, cool and calculated arrived soon after. Contemplative, the station-borne twin pondered his introduction, and how to go forward. Despite the literal and metaphorical darkness of the situation, there appeared to be a spark of hope amidst the descendants of humanity's brightest. That would have to be nurtured and protected from the horrors remaining within and without of the system.
Gazing upon the station-masters face: the elder twin saw a mask of suspicion. Poignant, despite however rightfully earned it may be. While certain that their inborn skills at deception, treachery, and infiltration would always be of great use and importance. But that could be revealed over time. This system and its people could be a chance to find some measure of solace and calm.
A potential respite from the howling abyss--warp-- that clawed at his pod as it was flung from Terra.
A chance to be more than just a mere whisper within the dark.
A small, genuine, smile inched up the child's face. [I am with you Brother, and you are with me.]
"I will work to repay that trust. But first, please, tell me of your people. Teach me not just of it's legacy and technology, but of its culture and values. The history that you yet hold and the dreams of its future. Together, I believe that we can reclaim that which was lost and for once... stand tall knowing that this station, orbiting at the edge of an abyss--will shine brightly once more with the beacon of progress for humanity."
Major Action: Promote the revolution
Year 1: Learn Philosophy
Year 2: Learn Rhetoric
Corax predicted the Revolution would need the support of the public, and would begin a campaign of speeches and essays to earn it. Revolutionaries traveled to slave quarters and, in the scant few hours where the masters were distracted, spoke to congregations about the need for a change or pass out pamphlets to be read later.
While Corax made heavy use of his implanted skills for raising hopes at first, he recognized that his words alone would have little rigor. Philosophical texts and famous speeches from Kiavahr's past were regularly seen by his side as he studied the classics, particularly those who'd called for better conditions for the people or been political enemies of the ruling guilds.
Major Action: Steal weapons & supplies from the Kiavahrans (supported by Rebel Slaves - 1 split, 2.25 multiplier)
Year 3: Learn Theft
Year 4: Learn Logistics
Year 5: Learn Guerilla Tactics
After a few years, the time came to raise their efforts further. Corax would lead bands of fellow revolutionaries to arsenals and depots used by Kiavahr's occupying forces. Aided by the planetwide network of rebel slaves, whose local knowledge would provide them with the holes in the guard's watches or fortifications, he hoped to better equip his growing army for what was to come.
It was a natural side-effect of his efforts here that skills for taking and assigning resources would grow. His reading habits would also take a new twist as he studied past revolutions, supplementing his preexisting knowledge of war with more specific guerilla tactics.
Grand Action: Revolution (Hit & Run / Guerilla) (supported by Rebel Slaves - 1 split, 2.25 multiplier)
Year 6: Learn Ranged Combat
Year 7: Learn Urban Warfare
Year 8: Learn Melee Dueling
When all was as prepared as could be hoped for, the revolutionaries would need to strike constantly, from places unseen and unexpected. The Kiavahrans would almost certainly retain a material advantage, but leveraging Corax's supernatural talent for guerilla warfare would give the revolutionaries an edge, and hopefully keep them strategically off-balance.
Leading from the front in many cases, Corax's personal fighting skills would grow, as would his skill in urban warfare.
Year 9: Learn Governance
Year 10: Learn Laws
As the years of fighting would continue, Corax would turn his attention to what came after: peace. He would not let his home fall to ruin after all they had lost, nor be ruled by petty tyrants in future days. He needed to learn how to govern justly.
As the decade ended the slaves have become more than they were, a refined military with a culture of their own. A cause beyond mere freedom, a drive beyond merely being free of the master's hand. Corax lead them to the glories that were the hallmarks of civilization itself. Preparations had been made, but the masters of the world below remained a potent force that would eclipse the power of the slave armies for a while yet.
Turn completed: Slaves of Lycaeus has become a planetary Military/Governmental Group. Preparations have been made for rebellion that will narratively assist.
The other half of one awoke from his pod, surrounded by various crew members. Taking in the scene, the infant grasped the basics of the precarious scene in front of them. Two factions, better served working with one another and yet what was logical was not always what was realistic. Wounds from past history seldom healed quickly and Station and Fleet both had done much harm to one another. Too much for easy forgiveness.
Just as their other half had, this one came to similar conclusions.
Goal: Avoid conflict with their other half. Imperative.
Goal: Gain a better understanding of the situation. What were the half-lies and half-truths that formed the story of these two disparate peoples?
Goal: Gain control of the fleet. Diplomacy and intrigue were the preferred tools to fire and fury.
Goal: Unite the two factions. They had much to offer and learn from one another. But both must be made to see and brought to the table.
Goal: Minimize losses.
Filled with intent, the Infant rose from the pod and addressed the astonished crew members.
"Speak to me of our people. What is our situation? Who do we face? Who is it that leads us? There is much to be done to reverse the decline and little time to do so."
The infant would've left it at that, but an intellect that grew with every passing moment and imprinted knowledge from their progenitor made them take a second, deeper look at those around them. There was awe, yes, and also hope but also despair.
Inwardly the infant was somewhat unsure whether to offer words of comfort. They and their brother were always meant to work from the dark. To inspire others was not they were made for...and yet when confronted by living, breathing individuals and not mere imprints and shadows of imparted knowledge...
"Take heart, a little time is better than none and we have a chance still to do what we must. The old night is coming to a close."
The crew of the ships gasped and fell to their knees as hope burned within them. It's a sign some of them cried out as they beheld the speaking child that could only have been sent by the gods of the void to end the tyranny of the station. Others were more restrained, but in their eyes burned a fervor that had catalyzed from embers to a raging inferno. Finally, at last the ship master found her way down the halls, aged bones and withered muscles telling of a life long lived as she beheld the child, she saw something distant within the child that the less wise would be blind too. Yet, in the end she had no choice, but to place her hopes in the hands of the stranger, before she could speak another voice cut through the dim, "Its a sign from the Void. The time is now to turn our guns upon the defilers and slavers in the station and turn it to rubble, let us invade and put them to the sword. The child will guide us." The voice started a chant before the aged shiplord sighed and raised an ancient pistol and fired, silencing the madness.
"A child no matter how divine will save us from your folly. Go bath in the void if you wish to do something so idiotic. The child will be raised in my care." Her ancient voice declared and none mustered a response, as she came to you, her eyes were young and clear in rejection of her physical decay. "You are something else, even these fools can see. They are blinded and do not see that you are not what they seek. I do not trust you, but perhaps, you will be able to prevent the foolishness in due course." She whispered in a voice none but you could hear as she lifted your pod with a gravity device and began to trudge away.
Turn 1
2 majors
Ferrus considered his current state with a sword in hand he killed the beast but the sword did not belong to him it was given to it him by some men. He resolved to follow his tracks and met up with those men that gave him his sword. For he owed them a debt and it would be repaid. He would fulfill his words and he named the sword Limbo signifying his current state.
Once Ferrus meets up with the men he would negotiate how much he owed the people for his new sword. He would also try to ingrate himself with the local people.
Returning to where he had met the men a decade ago was but a simple matter for him, they were nowhere to be seen but to a mind of his level and senses it was but a matter of some effort to find the ancient tracks that called to him under the night sky, the stars above seeming to illuminate the ground that they had walked. Through the lands he journeyed for a time, eventually finding his way to great tracks of some mighty machine and hurried his pace. Eventually finding in the distance a moving city, a grand machine indeed that carried the people of a tribe upon its back. Meeting with the tribe confirmed that the two men that had given him aid a decade ago were members but only 1 had lived through the past decade. With a grim smile, he told the young primarch that any debt had been payed when the monster had been slayed.
Finding out who and what they were would do them no harm. With visibility this good, an approaching search party would be easy to see from far away. Mortarion could leave in good time without putting them in danger. He approached the village.
Such fragility. They wouldn't survive the highlands. And yet, appearance may lie: there is its own hardiness in living like this, refusing to give up to the elements.
Entering the village showed that they were barely able to forge metal, and worked with crude tools upon harsh ground. It was barely enough to live and none could truly consider this living. He slowly embraced the village and its people, they hated him he knew, they thought of him a monster from his size and might. But he refused to let it burden his mind, always with an eye towards the horizon and the sky above for any threat oncoming. In time he saw the obvious signs of an incoming horde from a lesser warlord, there was no true worry for him in this coming fight, but the humans he had learned would surly be outmatched. A callous thought came to him that if he let the horde arrive and then fight, it would ensure his welcome for good and he could not trust the village to welcome him if he did not show such abilities in their protection, but was that worth risking their lives?
The lion will create a shield so that if he fights something that can challenge him he can have the option to block and defend himself
2nd major action
when the lion killed the massive beast he pulled out a shinning gem out of the beasts mouth he will try to figure out what it is and what it can do
1 yearly action
The lion has been lead to a strange place unlike the forest he spent his young years so his first course will be to try and gain bonds (friendships/allies) with as many people as possible so he will have some connections to this place
2nd yearly action
as a new comer to this place the lion will try and figure out the culture and laws of this new place so he can better fit in
3nd yearly action
he will research the types of beasts that live on this planet to see if any catch his attention
his 4th yearly action
he will see if theirs anything he can help the people around him with. like helping to repair damaged homes
5th action yearly action
The lion knows to find a beast for himself he would need to learn how to track so he will take two years to learn tracking so he can find the beast of his choice
6th yearly action
will be to research tactics
7th yearly action
the lion will go out into the forest looking for a beast to tame for himself based on what caught his attention from the research he did
The creation of a shield went well, forging it from metal and bones to form a tower shield as tall as himself, thick enough to ensure that nothing could penetrate its bulk. It was a crude design, but it was something that would work for him in the due course of time. However, researching the gem went far more poorly, all that could be determined was that it was a powerful item connected to something within the world.
The hunt went well as far as the Knights were concerned but for Lion there was little enjoyment for all the truly great beasts had already died to his blade that still needed a name it had come to him.
A spark of inspiration crossed the bond between brothers, a new path forward beyond that set forth. The station-masters word, cool and calculated arrived soon after. Contemplative, the station-borne twin pondered his introduction, and how to go forward. Despite the literal and metaphorical darkness of the situation, there appeared to be a spark of hope amidst the descendants of humanity's brightest. That would have to be nurtured and protected from the horrors remaining within and without of the system.
Gazing upon the station-masters face: the elder twin saw a mask of suspicion. Poignant, despite however rightfully earned it may be. While certain that their inborn skills at deception, treachery, and infiltration would always be of great use and importance. But that could be revealed over time. This system and its people could be a chance to find some measure of solace and calm.
A potential respite from the howling abyss--warp-- that clawed at his pod as it was flung from Terra.
A chance to be more than just a mere whisper within the dark.
A small, genuine, smile inched up the child's face. [I am with you Brother, and you are with me.]
"I will work to repay that trust. But first, please, tell me of your people. Teach me not just of it's legacy and technology, but of its culture and values. The history that you yet hold and the dreams of its future. Together, I believe that we can reclaim that which was lost and for once... stand tall knowing that this station, orbiting at the edge of an abyss--will shine brightly once more with the beacon of progress for humanity."
The station master sighed but nodded, "Very well we shall. First is that this was once a research and forge station, but time has been unkind and entropy has claimed much of the underlying machines. We can barely support the Fleet and couldn't support a Fleet superior to it as thing stand." He stated even as he nodded towards others and soon a history presentation was given. Culture had held true here unlike so many other places, information had been retained but even still the vast majority had been lost along with almost all the infrastructure that had once made the station potent. Now, only a crumbling core remained that could barely support itself and a basic protection fleet, let alone a true battle fleet. The station master shook his head, "The foolish void brained idiots that rule the fleet, think us slavers for holding back technology they see as their right. We can't share it with them because to do so would overstretch our means. And even if we could, I would refuse for in recent centuries they have drifted wayward from our alliance." He refused to say anymore on the matter for now.
Tiny tick-tocking tchotchkes trekked through trenches, teeming in swerving streets or straightaways, to and fro, here and there. Sophos watched the masses with a critical eye, the model city having been carefully constructed such that everything was to scale. It took up a good half of an abandoned warehouse, in volume, not only floor space. The mountainous shape would be familiar to any Olympian, and the buildings all remained identifiable as buildings, but there was a great deal more... ornamentation.
"It's certainly... impressive, but I'll admit that I still don't fully understand what all the gears are for, Soph. What are they supposed to connect to?"
Calliphone was perched up on his left shoulder, or rather, on a platform just above his left shoulder, attached to a harness that would make sure that any weight on one side was balanced with the other. It made his calculations easier when Calli or Andos decided they wanted a closer look at his projects; he'd fallen over the first time Andos tried to catch a ride.
But nonetheless, that was a solved problem several years ago. Here and now, Sophos smiled, able to slip a secret past his sister.
"Watch this."
Carefully, he knelt down, and took hold of a barely-there handhold at the base of the mountain. Then, he crept backwards, pulling the hold with him - but not with the rest of the model. Rather, seams appeared, and the once-conical structure separated into four quarters as it unfurled.
The ticking did not cease; indeed, it grew louder, as the true scale of the project was revealed. The city above would be a shining marvel by Olympian standards, but it held barely a candle to the city below. Pillars of flywheels spun and spun, maintaining the power for the hollowed-out mountain, keeping elevators constantly running from floor to floor, letting factories cycle ceaselessly through (simulated) production, while a shaft at the bottom - using cleverly-placed stones to present the impression of high temperatures - clearly bore a mechanism made to take the thermal energy and pressure of the depths and translate it into mechanical energy, making sure that this city - this hive, truly, an entire hollow mountain - would never falter in its motion.
His sister's eyes widened as she took in the sights. The glassstone walls provided a perspective that could never be provided in a true recreation of this city, but even with their aid, it took her entire minutes to find the various secret fortifications, headquarters, reinforced laboratories, and other would-be sites of state secrets nestled within the arcology. Even as she sought these out, other features caught her eyes: entertainment districts, vertical farms, multilevel parks built into preexisting cavern systems. This was not simply a place to reside in, nor a defensive structure, nor a city's base of production, no matter how effective it would be for any of these purposes; it was all of these and more, a place where somebody could live, happily. With all the space, each family could live in what was practically a mansion, and with all those farms... she ran the calculations in her head. They wouldn't just be able to sustain the sort of population this place could hold, there'd be plenty, enough crops to feed any given citizen twice what they had now even at the greater capacity.
She looked closer, to the wire-thin pipes that traversed the whole of the mountain. Cutaways showed that some carried water to and fro - most passing through at least one of the farms - while others, in pairs, had miniscule cylanders flying up and down. She traced their paths, to find that many of them converged at a number of centralized nodes, which themselves had cords of these pipes up to a lesser number of nodes closer to the top, which had their own sets connecting to each other... and what must be Dammekos' palace, up near the top.
"A communication network? You designed a communication network for an entire mountain? How fast can it run?"
Sophos' grin widened.
"The detailed messages, in the pipes, will be able to get from one side of the mountain to the other in a day. If they're going from one government office to another in its cell, it'll only take an hour at most, and a message should be able to get from the bottom of one chain up to the palace in four hours, from which it'll only be four more hours to get to every other office in the mount. But that's the detailed messages. Watch the office above this one."
He took a thin rod - ending in a point barely thicker than a toothpick - and extraordinarily carefully flipped a miniscule switch in one of the lower hubs. Very nearly instantly, a tiny red flag flipped up in the office above that one in the chain - and Calliphone could see that there more levers, much like the first, in that office as well.
"One of the benefits of the cords is that you can have rigid parts in there, too. if you move one of those slightly, the far end will do the same. So in emergencies, any center will be able to alert any other in their immediate chain essentially instantly. At the larger scale, we could probably include multiple flags per station, to indicate different levels of alarm. Really, much of this was proof of concept rather than final versions. A lot of things simply couldn't fit- hey!"
An onlooker could have seen the reason for the outburst. Calliphone had hugged her brother around the head.
He was a genius, and he didn't know how to truly rest. But the same could be said of her, or of Andos. Maybe even Herakon, if only he could get his head out of his ass. But that wasn't the point.
The point was that the model wasn't merely an idea. It wasn't simply a schematic, shown off for Sophos' own self-aggrandizement.
It was a promise. This shall be a city worthy of its people.
This shall be a city worthy of you. "Preparing impact test 5. One-beam square marstone plate, pressure-treated. Original thickness of 5 cent, current thickness of 1 cent. Impact force: 20,000 neuter. Confirm impact calibration, please, Sophos."
Olympia didn't have much in the way of metals. Sure, it had mostly been the conductive metals that were stripped away, but even less conductive materials were in short supply. So Sophos and Andos had had to get creative to make materials that would have the shapes and properties that they needed.
A piston shot out of a clockwork mechanism, propelled at an exceedingly high speed. It struck the marstone plate, shooting up a cloud of dust.
It had taken a while just to figure out what would allow them to make something like that: the casing and rod both needed to take whatever impact they were delivering, the springs had to be able to maintain the high levels of strain necessary to impart the pressure without permanently deforming, and eventually, they needed something that could keep steam contained until very specifically the moment they wanted it released, no later, and most certainly no sooner. But they had made it, together.
The dust cleared. There was no obvious mark on the plate until the piston was moved; then, a small circle of white against the predominant brown was made obvious, exactly the same size as the piston's head. Andos wiped at the circle with a cloth, but the white remained.
"Do you have any idea why it does that?"
Sophos' rumbling voice rolled across the laboratory.
"Not really. It's just like that, best as anyone can tell. I mean, it's usually black, I thought it was going to be white when we finished compressing it. Why, do you think you figured it out already?"
His brother let out a cross between a snort and a huff.
"I'd need a way to watch it getting hit under a lens in slow motion. I'd assume it was a non-Platunian fluid if it weren't very obviously solid in every circumstance. There's something weird going on at the molecular level."
Andos shrugged, and stepped back from the plate. "Usefully weird, though. Alright, preparing impact test 6. One-beam square marstone plate, pressure-treated, previously struck. Original thickness of 5 cent, current thickness of 1 cent. Impact force: 500,000 neuter. Confirm impact calibration, please, Sophos."
They moved like clockwork, and the piston struck again. There were cracks surrounding the impact site this time, radiating out from the white circle. Andos rubbed one with a finger; brown trailed in and filled it.
"It has interesting properties, I'll give it that. Stones aren't supposed to be ductile like that."
Andos shrugged. "Maybe it has high ferrous content or something, who knows?"
"People would have melted it down as ore if it did."
"True, true. Maybe-" he got a gleam in his eyes "-it was blessed by the gods!"
Sophos' hair flared, illuminating the room for a moment, as his giant little brother groaned.
"Andos, my brother, why must you say such things, you little asshole-"
The giant man rolled his constellation eyes, sending Artorien's Belt into a spin, and trudged over to the impact machine.
"We will resume his discussion later. And I will bring with me proof that there is no way in Tartarus that marstone is god-blessed or what-have-you. There is an empiracally-identifiable reason for its behavior, it merely requires more study."
As the piston once more kicked up a cloud of dust, Andos couldn't help but laugh at his brother's aggrieved huff.
This second part had been a completely independent post, but then there weren't any new posts after my first one and I'm pretty sure that you don't really want to have multiple posts by one person in a row if you can help it.
["Its a sign from the Void... The child will guide us."
More chanting from the masses. Cries for blood from the zealous. A desire for a savior from the desperate.
...
A sigh, followed by a gunshot from an aged shipmistress
...
"A child no matter how divine will save us from your folly. Go bath in the void if you wish to do something so idiotic. The child will be raised in my care."
...
"You are something else, even these fools can see. They are blinded and do not see that you are not what they seek. I do not trust you, but perhaps, you will be able to prevent the foolishness in due course.".]
The station master sighed and followed with a nod, "Very well we shall. First is that this was once a research and forge station, but time has been unkind and entropy has claimed much of the underlying machines. We can barely support the Fleet and couldn't support a Fleet superior to it as thing stand." He stated even as he nodded towards others and soon a history presentation was given. Culture had held true here unlike so many other places, information had been retained but even still the vast majority had been lost along with almost all the infrastructure that had once made the station potent. Now, only a crumbling core remained that could barely support itself and a basic protection fleet, let alone a true battle fleet. The station master shook his head, "The foolish void brained idiots that rule the fleet, think us slavers for holding back technology they see as their right. We can't share it with them because to do so would overstretch our means. And even if we could, I would refuse for in recent centuries they have drifted wayward from our alliance." He refused to say anymore on the matter for now.
[Brother, may you see success with the fleet.]
"I understand now. Thank you, station master, forgive me if I overstepped."
The Elder Half turned to gaze upon the presenters, experts in their own fields. Historians, engineers, physicians, and a pair of anthropologists. All adjusting to the situation. Of note was the husband-wife pair of anthropologists who seemed rattled by the situation, yet they appeared to have a look of interest and kindness past his mere utility. The chief engineer looked haggard, while the group of historians and archaeologists seemed excited that their fields--long neglected in the pursuit of survival-- might serve a role in the reclamation of the station.
Barely audible to the primarch's senses were children in the surrounding vents eavesdropping and quietly celebrating the chance to get a choice reward from the various info brokers... Following them in the future may prove of use
A plan to stabilize the station and reverse the decline began to form within the Primarch's mind. Unexpectedly, his other half had seen success upon arrival with his inspirational words, yet it appeared a more cunning plan would be necessary for the station. Learning from each of these individuals in some way is necessary to gain a position of power and trust.
Shadowing the station master and fulfilling his tasks will earn a place of trust by his side. Potential to influence each other?
The engineer can teach what remains of archeotechnology lore and how to maintain it. Mixing archaeotech lore with historian/archaeologist insight will allow for expeditions into the station's core, potentially making contact with other remnant groups. Infiltrating the local information brokers will be a start on discovering motivations of local factional interests: as well as providing more discrete and actionable information to aid takeover.
Finally, staying close to the anthropologist pair will aid in cultural integration and understanding, as well as serve as a counter-balance to potential negative personality influence from the Station Master.
"By your leave, I'll begin learning on a rotating basis from the chief engineer, the historians, archaeologists, anthropologists, and others that you see fit on the current situation of station and inhabitants. Test me, and give me tasks you deem necessary for this station and this people. Furthermore, I request your leave to set up and embark on expeditions into the depths of this station within a few years. I believe that much can be gleaned from discovering what forgotten remains may lie within this station."
Almost as an afterthought, another thought crystallized. When I have the chance I'll also corner the information market and work up from there
With the xenos of Sedna now brought low and the majority of the Sol system now seemingly amenable to induction into the Imperium, Horus was given free reign by the Emperor to spend his time on other pursuits. With that in mind, he elected to spend time studying the art of diplomacy as well as civilian administration. Though the conquest of Sedna was a rousing success, the costs were heavy, and with the troubling prospect of future alien enemies being even more dangerous than these, Horus decided that he would put forth the effort to bring about compliance via his words rather than his hammer where possible, for the Imperium's military might would be needed most for cases such as these rather than for those who can be peacefully integrated if given time.
However, that was a personal interest. When it came to matters of the Imperium in general, Horus' mind naturally was brought to the matter of war. Sedna was a chaotic and strenuous affair for all involved, but even beyond the capture of the dwarf planet, there was much to be gained from the conflict: Namely, experience and data. Horus, having now directly commanded a great number of Imperial Army personnel and the entirety of the Legiones Astartes, concluded that he would be able to improve upon the performance of all parties involved should he devote the time and effort into doing so. And so, he did.
Yearly Actions:
1 to gain Lesser Skill: Group Standard Ensurance
1 to gain Lesser Skill: Civilian Administration
1 to gain Lesser Skill: Diplomacy
4 to upgrade Diplomacy to Tertiary
Grand Action: Train the Imperial Army and the Legiones Astartes, both the notable figures and the regular personnel
Entering the village showed that they were barely able to forge metal, and worked with crude tools upon harsh ground. It was barely enough to live and none could truly consider this living. He slowly embraced the village and its people, they hated him he knew, they thought of him a monster from his size and might. But he refused to let it burden his mind, always with an eye towards the horizon and the sky above for any threat oncoming. In time he saw the obvious signs of an incoming horde from a lesser warlord, there was no true worry for him in this coming fight, but the humans he had learned would surly be outmatched. A callous thought came to him that if he let the horde arrive and then fight, it would ensure his welcome for good and he could not trust the village to welcome him if he did not show such abilities in their protection, but was that worth risking their lives?
If I leave now, these people will all die. If I fight the horde alone, these people will all survive, but if I then leave, they will be as vulnerable as before. But if I show them how to fight... some of them will die, but they may survive even without me.
Mortarion wasn't sure if the village's people were ready for such a sacrifice. He'd have to make them ready. He rallied them, and told them his plan: the children and the elderly would hide in the cellars, while those able to fight would take their sharpest tools and head to the driest field between the village and the army and prepare to ambush the undead. They would light great patches of fire in the yet-unharvested grain and fight as unfairly as possible.
Sacrificing the grain would be painful. Callously, there'd be fewer mouths to feed. They'd manage.
Undead weren't known for their independence, so the warlord would have to concentrate on keeping his army away from the fires. This is when another group, led by Mortarion himself, will attack him from the rear. He didn't expect them to do much beyond witnessing his duel with the warlord; he'd have to train them into proper warriors, once there was time.
I will have to be quick. Even with the ambush, they will not survive a prolonged battle. This must be a baptism by fire, not a slaughter, lest they be discouraged. That they participate in the battle and gain hope from me telling I couldn't have done it without them is the important part, even if it isn't quite true.
I can make it true, in a later battle. Perhaps even against...?
The crew of the ships gasped and fell to their knees as hope burned within them. It's a sign some of them cried out as they beheld the speaking child that could only have been sent by the gods of the void to end the tyranny of the station. Others were more restrained, but in their eyes burned a fervor that had catalyzed from embers to a raging inferno. Finally, at last the ship master found her way down the halls, aged bones and withered muscles telling of a life long lived as she beheld the child, she saw something distant within the child that the less wise would be blind too. Yet, in the end she had no choice, but to place her hopes in the hands of the stranger, before she could speak another voice cut through the dim, "Its a sign from the Void. The time is now to turn our guns upon the defilers and slavers in the station and turn it to rubble, let us invade and put them to the sword. The child will guide us." The voice started a chant before the aged shiplord sighed and raised an ancient pistol and fired, silencing the madness.
"A child no matter how divine will save us from your folly. Go bath in the void if you wish to do something so idiotic. The child will be raised in my care." Her ancient voice declared and none mustered a response, as she came to you, her eyes were young and clear in rejection of her physical decay. "You are something else, even these fools can see. They are blinded and do not see that you are not what they seek. I do not trust you, but perhaps, you will be able to prevent the foolishness in due course." She whispered in a voice none but you could hear as she lifted your pod with a gravity device and began to trudge away.
"Very well then, I shall be in your care for a time. Teach me all you would, Shiplord."
As the younger twin kept pace with the old woman, he couldn't help but reflect that indeed, the Twins were not what what either Station or Fleet sought yet it was all they had. It would be enough. It had to be enough.
The Shiplord held the twin at an arms length but the twin didn't resent her for it. For one, it would be petty to do so when there was so much to be done. For two...well, he wouldn't trust him either? Most wouldn't. Most shouldn't.
None of that mattered at the moment. What mattered was she had wisdom and experience, both hard earned, in equal measure and there was much he could learn from her. As they passed through the various corridors and passages on the Ship, curious crew members watched the duo as they passed and the twin made a mental note of those who they considered would be useful to learn from in the future.
Engineers, scientists, soldiers, historians but also others. Those who watched from the shadows, who feigned disinterest, who clearly were more interested in avoiding the Shiplord's attention than seeing what all the fuss was about.
So much to learn and so little time. But this was what they were made for, was it not?
-----
I have always seen the sky differently than most people. Not that this is the main difference between me and them, but still. When I look into the distant heights, I can see hundreds, thousands of Heavenly rivers and streams. Sometimes they look like a giant cobweb fluttering in an invisible wind. These threads break, intertwine, merge and break again. Constant in their impermanence, united only in the fact that each has a beginning and an end. The heavens are beautiful, watching them brings harmony to the soul.
All right. This is not the time to study the sky while lying in the dust.
The jerk lifts my body to a standing position, almost splitting my ear in half. If this was a real fight, it would have been stabbed into my eye, and not just above my ear.
Three of the best warriors of the tribe stand before your eyes on the trampled platform, with small children cheerfully discussing the past battle nearby. The elders help their parents in the yurts and in the pasture, although I can swear by all the spirits of the Plains that they, too, preferred to watch the intense battle.
The fact that they fought here with all dedication is visible to the naked eye. The first mustachioed warrior standing opposite was lying on the ground ten seconds ago - a blow to the head with the hilt of a sword can be extremely sudden. The second wiry, nimble warrior tried very hard to stand on two legs, not paying attention to the swelling bruise on his right leg. The third one, he is the one who sent me, Jaghatai, to the ground disarmed. Almost an old man, almost lost his strength, whose blood vessels on his arm were almost opened. Almost a lot, the result is the same. The old man has a long scratch on his forearm, and I am lying unarmed on the ground with a sword stuck at my ear.
Refreshing, no joke.
There was no need to limit yourself. Use your superhuman speed, reaction, and freely use superior strength. In general, crush and trample the best warriors of the tribe. But why? It won't improve my skill. A strong beast swinging a club remains just a stupid beast. The beast is prey. I don't want to be prey.
The quick rise is followed by a slow, demonstrative bow of the head. Showing respect from equal to equal. They answer me with a deeper bow, with a hand placed on their heart. This is strange for the surrounding children, but these experienced warriors know how I behave on the hunt. How quickly can I chase an animal. They know, feel, see my self-limitations. This could cause resentment among inexperienced youths, and insulted honor would boil in their blood. These blood is suppressed by reason, enclosed in the chains of sanity.
Worthy of my sincere respect.
-----
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4): Organization to Secondary
-----
Suddenly, the children's noise that occupied all the background sounds stopped. It is unlikely that there is anything frightening nearby, but the palm is already on the raised sword, waiting for a swift attack. I make a half turn and only manage to notice out of the corner of my eye the heels of the last child hiding in the nearest yurt. A cheerful thought flashes through my head that the wisdom of timely retreat must be learned from these children.
Surprisingly, thought turns out to be not so divorced from reality.
From behind a large cart, Ong Khan, moves with a leisurely, inexorable step, the ruler of the Talascar tribe and...
- Good morning son. I see you just woke up and immediately began to maim my best warriors? - and yes, my adoptive father. I don't quite understand why this strong man, who has just turned forty, denies the obvious. Let be. Not important.
- Good morning to you too, Ong Khan. "From my answer, my father made a kind of martyr's expression on his face. Like that time when he stuck a bunch of splinters into his palm.
- Let's leave etiquette, not at Khan's meeting. Follow me, I want to talk to you. - Ong said, turned around and, without waiting, headed to wind between the yurts. There was nothing left to do but follow him.
The silence continued for quite a long time, we managed to go around the entire parking lot in a circle, check the nearby patrols and go for a second circle.
Only then, having collected his thoughts, or maybe tired of waiting for some questions from me, did my father speak.
-What do you think is Jaghatai, who is the most dangerous enemy in the steppes?
-A warrior ready to die for his squad and a squad ready to kill all living things for the sake of his warrior. - After these words, Ong choked and stared at me with deep suspicion.
-Have you prepared for this conversation? - I'm already looking at him with an incredulous gaze.
-Each of my named brothers went through this conversation at one time, often in the presence of someone from the tribe. This is your most favorite and famous phrase.
-Khhh. You are right. - Quiet embarrassment. Now I know what it is.
-And?
-Don't put pressure on your father, puppy! So, before you knocked me out of my thoughts, I wanted to say - obviously, when you get stronger, you will assemble your own squad to conquer the world! "It's not entirely clear why they decided this for me, but his expression doesn't allow me to get a word in."
-Only with your current skills, you will die in the first snowstorm. You will die and drag all your people to the spirits, idiot! Therefore, now childhood is over, you are moving into my training, which will be the envy of imperial slaves! You will learn to notice the strengths and weaknesses of people, track their needs, what things are needed for a hike, how many of them are needed and hundreds of other things! - I just managed to catch a pause to express my thoughts. How...
- NO OBJECTIONS. - Ong yells at my admittedly beautiful face.
-I am your father, I wish and know how to achieve the best for you. Your opinion doesn't count. - This whole situation causes furious irritation, but what to do? Don't kill all the people around who were kind to me. Ehheeh.
-Yes, father. Understood. - My eyes are full of sorrow, but this tyrant doesn't care.
-Great! Let's go and calculate how many armfuls of grass you need for a nomadic camp in the month of Thunder.
I feel these years will be long.
-----
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4) : Shamanism to Secondary
-----
The final canopy of the shaman's yurt moves back, my foot enters this abode of spirits.
Skins, skins with skulls, without skulls, skulls without skins. Ropes bend under the weight of strong-smelling herbs that make untrained eyes water. Mushrooms hang in one place, clay vessels from some of which reveal dead reagents in another, living reagents float in a third. A collection of expertly crafted staves stands on a stand. An expensive cauldron made entirely of metal, with erased patterns, boils dangerously. It seems that the more you look, the more intricate details are revealed to you.
"Arkat," bowing more respectfully than usual, "Where did you hide the respected shaman?" - Yesugei, a student of Arkat and a good friend of mine, widened his eyes, and his hand reached for the nearest scoop.
-Jagatai, this is the house of spirits, they do not require vessels to be here. So I can look however I want. - the man reclining in front of the bubbling cauldron answered me. This man, in his fifties, was currently wearing standard clothes, having been stripped of all amulets, he looked less like a shaman than I did.
- I came to you for human wisdom. Initially I wanted to add spiritual and divine, but now I doubt that you have it. - I sat down brazenly in front of the boiler. -What kind of potion are you brewing today?
- Start a request for mentorship with insults. Ah ah ah. This is so in your spirit that I am almost not offended. -The blow of the ladle hits the spoon I found reaching for the potion. -Don't touch the mushroom soup, it's not ready yet.
-So what is your positive answer? - I stop clowning around and seriously ask a question with the only possible answer. In fact, it is this frightening, serious, cold face that is my real one. I have to make an effort not to remind people I like about this.
-Why are you not satisfied with the fate prepared by your Father? - The shaman asks, ignoring the question asked.
-Everyone is free to choose their own path. - Truth rings in the arches of the yurt, a small breeze from nowhere confirms the words.
-Even if your Khan orders you?
-Submission or death are equivalent, it is a choice without a bad outcome. Everything else is an excuse for fools.
-Well, it's not in my principles to refuse a spirit thirsty for knowledge. Of course your father Khan is completely irrelevant. Hehe. - At this point all I can do is roll my eyes.
- Yesugei! Bring me... - Having finished listing and waiting for a clay jug, a couple of boxes, and a bunch of herbs, Arkat said. - Well, Khan of Khans. Let's get started.
After these words, in one subtle movement, all the ingredients ended up in the cauldron of soup. The soup began to rapidly change color, the air became humid, saturated with ozone, mint, sulfur, bloody, and many weaker smells appeared. This aroma made my eyes watery, they began to see the world a little differently, the voice of the wind turned into the incoherent whisper of thousands of thousands of strangers, my tongue stabbed, burned, froze, all at the same time in different parts.
-You said it was soup. - The melting mind only latched on to this.
-Certainly! You didn't bother to ask what kind of mushrooms there are. The first lesson in wisdom, necessary even for deities.
-----
Progress of the move:
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4): Organization to Secondary
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4) : Shamanism to Secondary
These all have a base value alteration of 1 so (1 + 0.35)/2 = 0.675, 0.675 * 5 * 40 = 135, that + 34 = 169 which is 11 points off but who knows maybe a good enough write up or the narrative impact of Konrad's combat precognition helping with impressing the underhive gangers will make up the difference.
In order to craft the skeleton of what would soon become his new kingdom Konrad would have to utilise every single scrap of knowledge granted to him from the moment he stepped out of that pod if he wished to succeed. For although his visions told him he was a Primarch a being geneforged to nigh perfection, at the moment he was but a babe, fresh from the pod, all alone in the depths of the underhive of Nostramo Quintus.
Still what he had Konrad would utilise to the best of his abilities he would first use his mastery over fear and stealth, Command (Terror Tactics) and Duel (Stealth), to terrify his initial batch of recruits with the entirely accurate prospect of some sort of monster lurking nearby, occasionally utilising his psychic gifts (Specialized Psychic Skills: Telekinenis) to add further fuel to the fire that was their paranoia.
And then once they've been properly marinated in fear Konrad would reveal himself to them, between his geneforged might, personal skill in combat (Duel: Personal Combat) and most importantly the innate combat precognition granted to him as a side effect of his visions. They would be wholly incapable of laying as much as a finger on him while Konrad them into submission.
After they were beaten however, Konrad would build them back up, through his tutelage they would be transformed into his terrors, lurking in the dark (Command: Terror Tactics And Command: Stealth) together they would go forth and under Konrad's leadership carve out a sizeable chunk of territory out from the underhive of Nostramo Quintus.
Sizeable enough for Konrad to begin building the framework of his new kingdom, from the knowledge on law that was imprinted on him (Organizational: Legal knowledge) he would craft his nation's legal code, so that all in his domain may know and obey his law, or suffer the consequences.
On Konrad's laws:
the punishment for breaking any given law follows a certain principle of proportionality and while said punishments were already fairly harsh initially (Or at least by IRL standards) they got considerably harsher as time went on. For instance Konrad made theft punishable by the loss of a hand, as his implanted legal knowledge told him that that was a historically popular punishment for thieves, when he realised that a mere loss of a hand wasn't adequately dissuading people, he started escalating.
First by transitioning from making a quick and relatively speaking painless chop with a butcher's knife to messily tearing the hand of the guilty party with his bare hands, then when that still failed to properly dissuade further thieves he started slowly sawing off the hands, breaking the fingers, dousing them in acid etc. Until finally he came to a point were he performed a intricately designed public torture session on the hand of the offending party, before at last mercifully removing it.
It would go no further then that however as while the execution of the punishments made for breaking Konrad's laws were made to be as horrible as possible, the end result such as the removal of a hand in the case of theft, would always remain the same.
Action noted, will take another Focal action to gain access to tamed Salamanders which will reproduce on their own
Theseus has become a limited relic that is able to withstand Vulkan's might
When not taming Salamanders or working on his hammer, Vulkan did not allow himself to fall idle. Some time was spent getting to know more of his world's people, both far and distant. Some time was spent learning to use his hammer, a monstrous tool equally at home in the forge as on the battlefield. But most of his time was spent helping prepare his home for the Dusk Wraiths- preparing and improving fortifications, teaching others the rudiments of combat that came so easily to him, and demonstrating how to command the Salamanders he had put so much time into training.
It was a difficult effort, especially finding the time to manage it in between hunting and taming his lizards, but Vulkan persevered. And in doing so, gained no small skill in what he was teaching himself.
Year 1: Learn to Hammer good
Year 2: Learn to Diplomacy good
Year 3: Diplomacy with Nocturne's people (making friends and encouraging people to work together)
Year 4: Learn to Teach good
Year 5: Learn to build Fortifications good
Year 6: Teach Nocturne's people to Fortification good
Year 7: Learn to Personal Combat good
Year 8: Teach Nocturne's people to Personal Combat good
Year 9: Learn to control Salamanders good
Year 10: Teach Nocturne's people to control Salamanders good
[Brother, may you see success with the fleet.]
"I understand now. Thank you, station master, forgive me if I overstepped."
The Elder Half turned to gaze upon the presenters, experts in their own fields. Historians, engineers, physicians, and a pair of anthropologists. All adjusting to the situation. Of note was the husband-wife pair of anthropologists who seemed rattled by the situation, yet they appeared to have a look of interest and kindness past his mere utility. The chief engineer looked haggard, while the group of historians and archaeologists seemed excited that their fields--long neglected in the pursuit of survival-- might serve a role in the reclamation of the station.
Barely audible to the primarch's senses were children in the surrounding vents eavesdropping and quietly celebrating the chance to get a choice reward from the various info brokers... Following them in the future may prove of use
A plan to stabilize the station and reverse the decline began to form within the Primarch's mind. Unexpectedly, his other half had seen success upon arrival with his inspirational words, yet it appeared a more cunning plan would be necessary for the station. Learning from each of these individuals in some way is necessary to gain a position of power and trust.
Shadowing the station master and fulfilling his tasks will earn a place of trust by his side. Potential to influence each other?
The engineer can teach what remains of archeotechnology lore and how to maintain it. Mixing archaeotech lore with historian/archaeologist insight will allow for expeditions into the station's core, potentially making contact with other remnant groups. Infiltrating the local information brokers will be a start on discovering motivations of local factional interests: as well as providing more discrete and actionable information to aid takeover.
Finally, staying close to the anthropologist pair will aid in cultural integration and understanding, as well as serve as a counter-balance to potential negative personality influence from the Station Master.
"By your leave, I'll begin learning on a rotating basis from the chief engineer, the historians, archaeologists, anthropologists, and others that you see fit on the current situation of station and inhabitants. Test me, and give me tasks you deem necessary for this station and this people. Furthermore, I request your leave to set up and embark on expeditions into the depths of this station within a few years. I believe that much can be gleaned from discovering what forgotten remains may lie within this station."
Almost as an afterthought, another thought crystallized. When I have the chance I'll also corner the information market and work up from there
The station master sighed before nodding solemnly, "I can not prevent you from doing this and will not attempt to do so. Things are precarious enough without me giving orders that would not be followed." The old man sighed before nodding along, and taking his leave seemingly content to leave you to your own devices for now.
Event Concluded, positive reception with the primary station descendants.
Full turn needed
With the xenos of Sedna now brought low and the majority of the Sol system now seemingly amenable to induction into the Imperium, Horus was given free reign by the Emperor to spend his time on other pursuits. With that in mind, he elected to spend time studying the art of diplomacy as well as civilian administration. Though the conquest of Sedna was a rousing success, the costs were heavy, and with the troubling prospect of future alien enemies being even more dangerous than these, Horus decided that he would put forth the effort to bring about compliance via his words rather than his hammer where possible, for the Imperium's military might would be needed most for cases such as these rather than for those who can be peacefully integrated if given time.
However, that was a personal interest. When it came to matters of the Imperium in general, Horus' mind naturally was brought to the matter of war. Sedna was a chaotic and strenuous affair for all involved, but even beyond the capture of the dwarf planet, there was much to be gained from the conflict: Namely, experience and data. Horus, having now directly commanded a great number of Imperial Army personnel and the entirety of the Legiones Astartes, concluded that he would be able to improve upon the performance of all parties involved should he devote the time and effort into doing so. And so, he did.
Yearly Actions:
1 to gain Lesser Skill: Group Standard Ensurance
1 to gain Lesser Skill: Civilian Administration
1 to gain Lesser Skill: Diplomacy
4 to upgrade Diplomacy to Tertiary
Grand Action: Train the Imperial Army and the Legiones Astartes, both the notable figures and the regular personnel
That was a disaster waiting to happen in retrospect, Horus mused as he read over the reports. Titans almost stepping on tanks, Astartes almost being run over by Knights. It was all he could do to prevent actual deaths on all sides of the war-games he had set up, but at the very least his words and interactions with the more notable members of the legion had done well it seemed. Even if even he had to admit that Hytio and Constaceus were disappointing compared to those that had survived the crucible that was Sedna. Neither of them could compare to Beliadai or Gadiel but then again it made sense for they hadn't been tested as those champions had been.
Regardless, it was a good sign that his brothers' legions could stand on their own and present powerful members worthy of respect even outside of his command. In other news both Saturn and Venus had opened lines of communication with the Imperium and father had been glad to reduce the likelihood of another long brutal campaign that would eat their forces.
Turn end
3rd legion gained Hytio a hero specialized in creating astartes and manipulating geneseed
14th legion gained Constaceus an assassination hero specified in long range sniping and deep strikes
If I leave now, these people will all die. If I fight the horde alone, these people will all survive, but if I then leave, they will be as vulnerable as before. But if I show them how to fight... some of them will die, but they may survive even without me.
Mortarion wasn't sure if the village's people were ready for such a sacrifice. He'd have to make them ready. He rallied them, and told them his plan: the children and the elderly would hide in the cellars, while those able to fight would take their sharpest tools and head to the driest field between the village and the army and prepare to ambush the undead. They would light great patches of fire in the yet-unharvested grain and fight as unfairly as possible.
Sacrificing the grain would be painful. Callously, there'd be fewer mouths to feed. They'd manage.
Undead weren't known for their independence, so the warlord would have to concentrate on keeping his army away from the fires. This is when another group, led by Mortarion himself, will attack him from the rear. He didn't expect them to do much beyond witnessing his duel with the warlord; he'd have to train them into proper warriors, once there was time.
I will have to be quick. Even with the ambush, they will not survive a prolonged battle. This must be a baptism by fire, not a slaughter, lest they be discouraged. That they participate in the battle and gain hope from me telling I couldn't have done it without them is the important part, even if it isn't quite true.
I can make it true, in a later battle. Perhaps even against...?
To the surprise of Mortarion and the farmers but mostly him, the fight went almost too well. The undead horde was quickly peeled apart due to his mastery of tactics, knowing the warlords as he did, it was a simple matter to predict what was going to happen before it did. He was even able to prepare the farmers before the war slightly, organizing them into a superior fighting force to take advantage of the flaws inherent to the risen dead.
Even with all that he had expected the warlord to be a threat, but with the support of the farmers and his own blade it died quickly putting the army into the ground and the village opened their arms to him. It was almost too easy to slay this force, there was none of the challenge he had expected, and perhaps that was the truth and the warlords were not so beyond his might.
Event Over, no action loss
have a starting core to expand into an actual group
Gain: Psychic: Necromancy, Psychic: Soul Manipulation, Psychic: Disease Creation, Psychic: Daemon Summoning at Secondary
Rise: Logistics and Melee Combat to Secondary
Gain Trait: Dark Loremaster (apply psychic skills at 2x mod when for what personally is considered a dark end, psychic skill use inflicts sanity damage, narratively understand the work of chaos cults and other dark psykers, halves time to learn psychic skills, psychic spells cost only 90% to create, dark spells cost 75% to create)
"Very well then, I shall be in your care for a time. Teach me all you would, Shiplord."
As the younger twin kept pace with the old woman, he couldn't help but reflect that indeed, the Twins were not what what either Station or Fleet sought yet it was all they had. It would be enough. It had to be enough.
The Shiplord held the twin at an arms length but the twin didn't resent her for it. For one, it would be petty to do so when there was so much to be done. For two...well, he wouldn't trust him either? Most wouldn't. Most shouldn't.
None of that mattered at the moment. What mattered was she had wisdom and experience, both hard earned, in equal measure and there was much he could learn from her. As they passed through the various corridors and passages on the Ship, curious crew members watched the duo as they passed and the twin made a mental note of those who they considered would be useful to learn from in the future.
Engineers, scientists, soldiers, historians but also others. Those who watched from the shadows, who feigned disinterest, who clearly were more interested in avoiding the Shiplord's attention than seeing what all the fuss was about.
So much to learn and so little time. But this was what they were made for, was it not?
She nodded eventually, "You are wiser than many, we have a decade, maybe two before the hotheads get into a position of power and decide to kill us all. You will have what freedom I can ensure to act, ensure that the fleet will live on." She seemed to be disinterested in more and it was clear that she only sought to use him as a weapon, but much like the station lord with his brother, that was not something to be held against her.
Event Over, good starting position within the Fleet.
-----
I have always seen the sky differently than most people. Not that this is the main difference between me and them, but still. When I look into the distant heights, I can see hundreds, thousands of Heavenly rivers and streams. Sometimes they look like a giant cobweb fluttering in an invisible wind. These threads break, intertwine, merge and break again. Constant in their impermanence, united only in the fact that each has a beginning and an end. The heavens are beautiful, watching them brings harmony to the soul.
All right. This is not the time to study the sky while lying in the dust.
The jerk lifts my body to a standing position, almost splitting my ear in half. If this was a real fight, it would have been stabbed into my eye, and not just above my ear.
Three of the best warriors of the tribe stand before your eyes on the trampled platform, with small children cheerfully discussing the past battle nearby. The elders help their parents in the yurts and in the pasture, although I can swear by all the spirits of the Plains that they, too, preferred to watch the intense battle.
The fact that they fought here with all dedication is visible to the naked eye. The first mustachioed warrior standing opposite was lying on the ground ten seconds ago - a blow to the head with the hilt of a sword can be extremely sudden. The second wiry, nimble warrior tried very hard to stand on two legs, not paying attention to the swelling bruise on his right leg. The third one, he is the one who sent me, Jaghatai, to the ground disarmed. Almost an old man, almost lost his strength, whose blood vessels on his arm were almost opened. Almost a lot, the result is the same. The old man has a long scratch on his forearm, and I am lying unarmed on the ground with a sword stuck at my ear.
Refreshing, no joke.
There was no need to limit yourself. Use your superhuman speed, reaction, and freely use superior strength. In general, crush and trample the best warriors of the tribe. But why? It won't improve my skill. A strong beast swinging a club remains just a stupid beast. The beast is prey. I don't want to be prey.
The quick rise is followed by a slow, demonstrative bow of the head. Showing respect from equal to equal. They answer me with a deeper bow, with a hand placed on their heart. This is strange for the surrounding children, but these experienced warriors know how I behave on the hunt. How quickly can I chase an animal. They know, feel, see my self-limitations. This could cause resentment among inexperienced youths, and insulted honor would boil in their blood. These blood is suppressed by reason, enclosed in the chains of sanity.
Worthy of my sincere respect.
-----
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4): Organization to Secondary
-----
Suddenly, the children's noise that occupied all the background sounds stopped. It is unlikely that there is anything frightening nearby, but the palm is already on the raised sword, waiting for a swift attack. I make a half turn and only manage to notice out of the corner of my eye the heels of the last child hiding in the nearest yurt. A cheerful thought flashes through my head that the wisdom of timely retreat must be learned from these children.
Surprisingly, thought turns out to be not so divorced from reality.
From behind a large cart, Ong Khan, moves with a leisurely, inexorable step, the ruler of the Talascar tribe and...
- Good morning son. I see you just woke up and immediately began to maim my best warriors? - and yes, my adoptive father. I don't quite understand why this strong man, who has just turned forty, denies the obvious. Let be. Not important.
- Good morning to you too, Ong Khan. "From my answer, my father made a kind of martyr's expression on his face. Like that time when he stuck a bunch of splinters into his palm.
- Let's leave etiquette, not at Khan's meeting. Follow me, I want to talk to you. - Ong said, turned around and, without waiting, headed to wind between the yurts. There was nothing left to do but follow him.
The silence continued for quite a long time, we managed to go around the entire parking lot in a circle, check the nearby patrols and go for a second circle.
Only then, having collected his thoughts, or maybe tired of waiting for some questions from me, did my father speak.
-What do you think is Jaghatai, who is the most dangerous enemy in the steppes?
-A warrior ready to die for his squad and a squad ready to kill all living things for the sake of his warrior. - After these words, Ong choked and stared at me with deep suspicion.
-Have you prepared for this conversation? - I'm already looking at him with an incredulous gaze.
-Each of my named brothers went through this conversation at one time, often in the presence of someone from the tribe. This is your most favorite and famous phrase.
-Khhh. You are right. - Quiet embarrassment. Now I know what it is.
-And?
-Don't put pressure on your father, puppy! So, before you knocked me out of my thoughts, I wanted to say - obviously, when you get stronger, you will assemble your own squad to conquer the world! "It's not entirely clear why they decided this for me, but his expression doesn't allow me to get a word in."
-Only with your current skills, you will die in the first snowstorm. You will die and drag all your people to the spirits, idiot! Therefore, now childhood is over, you are moving into my training, which will be the envy of imperial slaves! You will learn to notice the strengths and weaknesses of people, track their needs, what things are needed for a hike, how many of them are needed and hundreds of other things! - I just managed to catch a pause to express my thoughts. How...
- NO OBJECTIONS. - Ong yells at my admittedly beautiful face.
-I am your father, I wish and know how to achieve the best for you. Your opinion doesn't count. - This whole situation causes furious irritation, but what to do? Don't kill all the people around who were kind to me. Ehheeh.
-Yes, father. Understood. - My eyes are full of sorrow, but this tyrant doesn't care.
-Great! Let's go and calculate how many armfuls of grass you need for a nomadic camp in the month of Thunder.
I feel these years will be long.
-----
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4) : Shamanism to Secondary
-----
The final canopy of the shaman's yurt moves back, my foot enters this abode of spirits.
Skins, skins with skulls, without skulls, skulls without skins. Ropes bend under the weight of strong-smelling herbs that make untrained eyes water. Mushrooms hang in one place, clay vessels from some of which reveal dead reagents in another, living reagents float in a third. A collection of expertly crafted staves stands on a stand. An expensive cauldron made entirely of metal, with erased patterns, boils dangerously. It seems that the more you look, the more intricate details are revealed to you.
"Arkat," bowing more respectfully than usual, "Where did you hide the respected shaman?" - Yesugei, a student of Arkat and a good friend of mine, widened his eyes, and his hand reached for the nearest scoop.
-Jagatai, this is the house of spirits, they do not require vessels to be here. So I can look however I want. - the man reclining in front of the bubbling cauldron answered me. This man, in his fifties, was currently wearing standard clothes, having been stripped of all amulets, he looked less like a shaman than I did.
- I came to you for human wisdom. Initially I wanted to add spiritual and divine, but now I doubt that you have it. - I sat down brazenly in front of the boiler. -What kind of potion are you brewing today?
- Start a request for mentorship with insults. Ah ah ah. This is so in your spirit that I am almost not offended. -The blow of the ladle hits the spoon I found reaching for the potion. -Don't touch the mushroom soup, it's not ready yet.
-So what is your positive answer? - I stop clowning around and seriously ask a question with the only possible answer. In fact, it is this frightening, serious, cold face that is my real one. I have to make an effort not to remind people I like about this.
-Why are you not satisfied with the fate prepared by your Father? - The shaman asks, ignoring the question asked.
-Everyone is free to choose their own path. - Truth rings in the arches of the yurt, a small breeze from nowhere confirms the words.
-Even if your Khan orders you?
-Submission or death are equivalent, it is a choice without a bad outcome. Everything else is an excuse for fools.
-Well, it's not in my principles to refuse a spirit thirsty for knowledge. Of course your father Khan is completely irrelevant. Hehe. - At this point all I can do is roll my eyes.
- Yesugei! Bring me... - Having finished listing and waiting for a clay jug, a couple of boxes, and a bunch of herbs, Arkat said. - Well, Khan of Khans. Let's get started.
After these words, in one subtle movement, all the ingredients ended up in the cauldron of soup. The soup began to rapidly change color, the air became humid, saturated with ozone, mint, sulfur, bloody, and many weaker smells appeared. This aroma made my eyes watery, they began to see the world a little differently, the voice of the wind turned into the incoherent whisper of thousands of thousands of strangers, my tongue stabbed, burned, froze, all at the same time in different parts.
-You said it was soup. - The melting mind only latched on to this.
-Certainly! You didn't bother to ask what kind of mushrooms there are. The first lesson in wisdom, necessary even for deities.
-----
Progress of the move:
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4): Organization to Secondary
2Major + 5Yearly(1+4) : Shamanism to Secondary
These all have a base value alteration of 1 so (1 + 0.35)/2 = 0.675, 0.675 * 5 * 40 = 135, that + 34 = 169 which is 11 points off but who knows maybe a good enough write up or the narrative impact of Konrad's combat precognition helping with impressing the underhive gangers will make up the difference.
In order to craft the skeleton of what would soon become his new kingdom Konrad would have to utilise every single scrap of knowledge granted to him from the moment he stepped out of that pod if he wished to succeed. For although his visions told him he was a Primarch a being geneforged to nigh perfection, at the moment he was but a babe, fresh from the pod, all alone in the depths of the underhive of Nostramo Quintus.
Still what he had Konrad would utilise to the best of his abilities he would first use his mastery over fear and stealth, Command (Terror Tactics) and Duel (Stealth), to terrify his initial batch of recruits with the entirely accurate prospect of some sort of monster lurking nearby, occasionally utilising his psychic gifts (Specialized Psychic Skills: Telekinenis) to add further fuel to the fire that was their paranoia.
And then once they've been properly marinated in fear Konrad would reveal himself to them, between his geneforged might, personal skill in combat (Duel: Personal Combat) and most importantly the innate combat precognition granted to him as a side effect of his visions. They would be wholly incapable of laying as much as a finger on him while Konrad them into submission.
After they were beaten however, Konrad would build them back up, through his tutelage they would be transformed into his terrors, lurking in the dark (Command: Terror Tactics And Command: Stealth) together they would go forth and under Konrad's leadership carve out a sizeable chunk of territory out from the underhive of Nostramo Quintus.
Sizeable enough for Konrad to begin building the framework of his new kingdom, from the knowledge on law that was imprinted on him (Organizational: Legal knowledge) he would craft his nation's legal code, so that all in his domain may know and obey his law, or suffer the consequences.
On Konrad's laws:
the punishment for breaking any given law follows a certain principle of proportionality and while said punishments were already fairly harsh initially (Or at least by IRL standards) they got considerably harsher as time went on. For instance Konrad made theft punishable by the loss of a hand, as his implanted legal knowledge told him that that was a historically popular punishment for thieves, when he realised that a mere loss of a hand wasn't adequately dissuading people, he started escalating.
First by transitioning from making a quick and relatively speaking painless chop with a butcher's knife to messily tearing the hand of the guilty party with his bare hands, then when that still failed to properly dissuade further thieves he started slowly sawing off the hands, breaking the fingers, dousing them in acid etc. Until finally he came to a point were he performed a intricately designed public torture session on the hand of the offending party, before at last mercifully removing it.
It would go no further then that however as while the execution of the punishments made for breaking Konrad's laws were made to be as horrible as possible, the end result such as the removal of a hand in the case of theft, would always remain the same.
It was not easy by any means even for him, but in the end it seemed that people craved order and safety and with his strength that could easily be provided. In only a mere decade his empire in the shadows had grown strong, order and law now ruling the most degenerate slums of only a decade prior. The cowards in the high spires had yet to notice the change, but even the most hardened criminal had found their place within his nation and their crimes wiped away, only a relative minority had relapsed and required to be pacified.
Turn Complete
Created a city scale group of a Military style government within the slums of the city. Lawlessness had fallen notably already in a mere decade to a fractional amount of what it was.
When not taming Salamanders or working on his hammer, Vulkan did not allow himself to fall idle. Some time was spent getting to know more of his world's people, both far and distant. Some time was spent learning to use his hammer, a monstrous tool equally at home in the forge as on the battlefield. But most of his time was spent helping prepare his home for the Dusk Wraiths- preparing and improving fortifications, teaching others the rudiments of combat that came so easily to him, and demonstrating how to command the Salamanders he had put so much time into training.
It was a difficult effort, especially finding the time to manage it in between hunting and taming his lizards, but Vulkan persevered. And in doing so, gained no small skill in what he was teaching himself.
Over the course of the decade, he worked as he never had before the fire in his heart fueling his every move and never did he rest. Day in and day out he labored, never stopping never resting and over time the strain became less and became more common for him, until one day at the end of the decade he no longer noticed the strain in his body.
Across the galaxy, upon the surface of Sedna, a tale of the XXth legion begins.
"Next wave!"
Another group of recovering elites sent to the frontline. Thankfully, the work of the 2nd legion meant that there was a frontline… most of the time. Teleporting raiding parties could still get through fairly consistently and raised havoc amidst the relative safe havens where triage was performed in this meat grinder. With a grunt, Fidelitas prepared to join the next group. It would be undue to tarry further.
"Next wave required in approximately 3 minutes!"
As the conflict ground onward the time allotted for momentary rest following days of fighting in a mind-bending hell slowly increased. The Emperor was due to finish off the final remaining group of enemy champions within a week. The resulting bump in estimated survival chance amongst the remainder of the assigned XXth legion contingent jumped from nill to about 3%. Of the initial 5,000-strong landing wave, he and 19 others formed a single under-strength platoon commanded by him. Arturian, Synope, Geranium… Beta Squad, may you endure in glory forever. To the end of glory brothers.
Hell. Within days of contact over half of the assigned XXth was taken out to a mixture of atomics, armor-melting chemicals, and flesh mutating viruses. The dimensional twisting of the area merely increased the avenues of attack. Only the most cunning and lucky survived, and even they died as well. As time went on, the original force was reinforced with trainees from Terra and Luna. Neither group lasted long.
Arturian couldn't find shelter from nuclear barrages in time. Synope was killed with a chrono-accelerator bolt, aging him to dust within seconds. Geranium perished, holding off a raiding party from the sector's triage station. It was only that sacrifice, along with the speedy intervention of a brilliant Third Legion apothecary, that allowed him to live.
Eventually an equilibrium was reached with the best and brightest of the Imperium bled dry just as the xeno continued to weaken. What minuscule training he could give to the Sedna initiates extended their lifspans by minutes to hours. Not enough. Victory was inevitable but seemed increasingly bitter to Fidelitas's eyes.
"Next Wave!"
The 6th sense that Fidelitas had nurtured throughout his time on Sedna screamed at him. There, 8 o'clock. Raiding party, heading towards the apothecary tent. A new sun bloomed from within the refuge, rapidly approaching Fidelitas's squad, but stopped after incinerating the xeno task-force. Soon followed by an Aribyan accented voice over the vox.
[Hail, XXth Legionaries. I bear you no harm. I am Rezghi from the XVth.]
A brief conversation amidst the journey to the front began, the start to a brief camaraderie.
The remaining week ground onwards. The sheer power of the pysker marine complemented by the infiltration and ambush skills of the XXth platoon as they went on the counteroffensive and began operations deep behind enemy lines. Despite their great success and disruption, Sedna still claimed its due. 21 were whittled down to 10, reduced to 5, and finally isolated to 2.
The enemy commander screamed orders to his bodyguards to take down the pysker advancing through the rear guard covering his desperate retreat. Fidelitas lined up his shot on the field marshals's skull and prepared to fire. I really must thank Rezghi for his ability to attract attention such as this. Thunder, recoil, and the xenos final remaining field marshal died to an unseen assasin. After quickly mopping up the remaining forces, the pair ascended a nearby hill to scout. For a moment, nothing. Then a boom from across the horizon drew their attention. Then the vox crackled to life with the indicator that high command was broadcasting
"To all forces currently on Sedna, the Emperor has slain the last of his foes. Victory for the Imperium of man! DEATH to whatever scum remains. Ave Imperator!"
Within an hour, the guns began to fall silent.
My omake for a XXth legionary proto-hero specializing in infiltration and enemy commander elimination. He's currently training up the next batch of the XXth legion.
Deep within the Imperial Palace, people kept getting lost.
Logically, this should not have been happening. There were not actually depths to the Imperial Palace yet, and all of the hallways were straight and carefully-plotted such that only the secret rooms would be difficult to find. But nonetheless, people kept getting lost.
On this particular occasion, 'people' included the Custodian who had been sent to summon the source. There was nobody around to see it, but a hypothetical onlooker would have had the opportunity to see a grand figure, clad in shining golden armor, steadily trudge through a hallway multiple times. They were not pacing back and forth; rather, it seemed that the hallway had decided that it liked them and would prefer that they continue walking through it, and so had decided to direct the exit back to the entrance. For the Custodian's part, although their face was covered by their helmet, it was clear that each pass through the hallway was slowly driving them further and further into agitation.
Eventually, they stopped. A different approach was needed, especially considering their current approach wasn't approaching much of anything besides the hallway.
"GADIEL, YOU HAVE BEEN REQUESTED FOR AN AUDIENCE WITH MALCADOR!"
A moment passed, then two. Then the hallway shifted, and Gadiel's head leaned out of a doorway that had solidly lodged itself in the ceiling.
"Ah, could it wait a moment? I promise I'm almost done, but there's a few tweaks I need to put on the interposition device to make sure it works reliably."
"You are being requested now."
Custodians were not supposed to be impatient. They weren't.
But this one was justifiably displeased with the time that had been wasted in this hallway.
The marine looked back and forth down the passage. He though he could see himself looking out a few dozen meters away.
"...it may need to be properly calibrated before we can actually reach the meeting."
The ice hives of Inwit were safe and stable, the clan of Dorn growing slowly over time, but there was yet strife among the clans and to bring the world to space it would need to be pacified but in general it was a time where he could do as he wished.
Training
Train Defensive Warfare from Tertiary to Secondary - 1 Grand Action
Train Logistics from Lesser to Tertiary - 4 Yearly Actions
Train Creeping Fortress Tactics from Lesser to Tertiary - 4 Yearly Actions
Train Terror Tactics from Basic to Lesser - 1 Yearly Action
Train Frontal Assault Tactics from Basic to Lesser - 1 Yearly Action
Influence
Form an Open and Obvious Planetary Military Group - 1 Grand Action ((15 (Type) * (5 (Size) + 1.25 (Complexity))) * 1 (Awareness) = 93.75 - 97.5 (0.5 (Skill Modifier) * (90 (Defensive Warfare) + 30 (Logistics) + 30 (Creeping Fortress Tactics) + 15 (Terror Tactics) + 15 (Frontal Assault Tactics) + 15 (Fortifications))))
Dorn could still remember the day his family failed him. The day they had proven themselves weak. They'd been visiting one of the hive cities to take tribute from the 'soft' dwellers within. Dorn had noticed a handful of them with signs of promise, with a soldier's stance, watchful eyes, and sparks of discipline. He had told his father, wondering if perhaps these men and women might earn a place within the clan.
A day later, they and three score more were hung in the public square. "Betrayers and rebels!", claimed the clan head, "The unworthy seeking to rise above their station by taking up weapons!"
Dorn didn't see it that way. To execute vassals with such potential was an action unworthy of the strong. He looked at the hives with new eyes then, seeing not weakness, but strength denied. The clans strangled every effort at growth, stomping down on the coordination of the people, taking tributes based not on the clan's need but on what would starve their subjects of the potential to grow.
This was not strength. This was forcing one's own weakness on others. True strength would not fear their subjects, not starve their children so they may grow up weak and feeble. The clans, then, were weak. A people fallen from their ideals, if they had ever truly followed them.
He had, in his youth, thought it may have been a mistake, an unexamined assumption, or a change that had come upon them subtly and unnoticed. So he had spoken of it, to any who would listen, and been told to be silent. He had argued that the clan was failing to live up to its own standards, that they had become a pack of parasites. Perhaps, had he been a different man, he could have convinced them. Had he moved with guile and a silver tongue he could have swayed the clan to his side, but he was young, full of outrage and still in his heart believed in his Clan, in his family.
It had come to a head when during a clan conclave he had spoken loudly in front of all. Demanding the clan head turn from this path and embrace the strength they had all been taught to seek. He cast their every hypocrisy in their face, he tore at the pointless suffering they inflicted their own as a hollow justification, he spoke the truth, and he spoke it eloquently, but he spoke it to power.
He had been exiled, him and any who would follow him. For a moment he had felt he would be failed utterly by his kin, but those who he had spoken to stood with him, forsaking their homes for what was right. His father had spoken to him as he gathered what little he would be allowed to take with him. Telling Dorn he knew in his heart that he was right, but that he could not leave, not when Dorn's youngest siblings still needed someone to take care of them. It was painful to see a good man trapped in a system that failed at its very purpose, it made what he knew he would have to do all the harder.
Dorn took his followers into the icy wastes, and he knew he was expected to die. He had seen the true face of the clans that day, and found it wanting. He would mark this day, not as the day the clans fell, but as the day that their weakness had made their doom certain.
He had for a time then been too busy surviving to do much else. No clan would trade with their outcasts, nor allow the hives under their "protection" to shelter them. They should have died, none could truly survive on their own, yet survive they did. For food Dorn hunted beasts that should have been beyond them, and traded their bones with what few smugglers dared risk the wrath of the clans for a pittance. It was in many ways the darkest time of his life, but it taught him much of leadership, the way men waived in the dark without a rock to hold onto, and how to be that rock. But all storms break, and this one was no different.
They had been taking refuge in a cave from a great ice storm, when he found it. A vast giant of pitted iron buried in the ice, at its feet the remains of a battle older than the clans. Despite the hole burned through one sensor-eye, it maintained a sort of intimidating magnificence, even in death, its thickly armored head akin to a knight's helm, and its array of sensors granting it a humanoid gaze in its viewports. He slipped in through the hole in its eye, and saw the body of some ancient soldier resting upon a rusted metal throne, wires still hanging around their bones. Next to it, some sort of display flickered to life as he drew closer, a static-laden voice echoing through the small room.
"-Begin last log. I'm dead for sure," It started. "Damn thing could barely have gotten a better shot. I'm bleeding badly, and I don't know if any of my house is left on this ancestors-forsaken world. But it's done. That remnant of the Iron Men is gone."
The voice fell into wet, sickly coughs as Dorn stood transfixed. For an instant, it felt like an exhale flew through the room, leftover charge sparking through unknown mechanisms and lights that cast the slumped body in an imperious, noble light. He couldn't speak, hearing that voice. Even through the decaying speakers, there was an iron core of resolve, of the spirit born from countless battles, from struggle and strife in the name of a greater cause, that shone through in their dying voice.
"If anyone should find this... know that in a world gone mad, House Protogens held to its oaths. And know that we did so because it was the right thing to do. Never forget that."
The display faded back into darkness, whatever energy source had forced it back into life failing for good. Dorn knew this machine was far too broken to recover, so damaged the only option would be to rebuild it from the ground up. But he saw, on a decaying banner, in text he'd never known he could read, a name. "Themis," He muttered. It was a good name. A name that promised the change he wanted.
Dorn left that cavern into the next chapter of his life. The honor of that long dead soldier, and the majesty of that machine, a grand engine built to carry its ideals into the face of death inspired him, and what they had salvaged from it gave him the means to pursue it. Such a rich prize was enough that even the displeasure of the clans could not keep him from trading for the supplies and weapons he desperately needed.
From there his band could at last stand rather than scrabble. The hive city that had traded with him became his first "conquest" the clan that ruled them had sought to punish them for dealing with him, and he had protected them. He had flown his standard high, and their enemies had come to him. They drove him and his from the ice cave they sheltered in, only to find empty ice and a trail leading to the next, time and again until he had drowned their furry in their own blood. The clans bristled, but could not deny his strength, and so declared his band of outlaws a new minor clan, thus was born Clan Themis.
They had held the hive city for most of a year, before opposition had grown too intense. In that year both the hive and his clan had thrived, the needs of his small clan being little burden for the hive. A handful of the hive born had petitioned to join his clan, and a few had even met Dorn's standards and been accepted. In the end it had been an alliance of three clans that had forced them from their respite, Dorn had offered terms, ensuring treatment of his vassal in line with his obligations and faded into the ice wastes. He could only hope that their new overlords would hold to their oaths, for he lacked the numbers to truly stand against the other clans, for now.
This would be the pattern for almost the next decade. They would take a hive, hold it as long as they could, Themis breaking the unspoken taboo and swelling its ranks with those in the hives who wished to fight. As his clan grew, Dorn focused on his own growth as well. As part of his vassal contracts demanding access to old lore and ancient texts, learning the ways of war of those who had come before. He mastered the art of creating small redabouts to fight from by blasting holes into the ice, creeping towards his enemies lines forcing them to assault him lest they find their very camp under fire from a protected position. He built his skill and his clan, as brick by brick, he built the foundation for his grand conquest.
Rogal Dorn
Traits: Golden General, Adamantine Will, and Titanomachy.
Core Skills: N/A
Secondary Skills: Command (Defensive Warfare).
Tertiary Skills: Command (Logistics), and Command (Creeping Fortress Tactics).
The station master sighed before nodding solemnly, "I can not prevent you from doing this and will not attempt to do so. Things are precarious enough without me giving orders that would not be followed." The old man sighed before nodding along, and taking his leave seemingly content to leave you to your own devices for now.
Event Concluded, positive reception with the primary station descendants.
Full turn needed
Training:
Train Archaeotech lore up to lesser- 1 yearly
Train Archaeotech reverse-engineering up to lesser- 1 yearly
Train Exploration up to lesser- 1 yearly
Train Archaeology up to lesser- 1 yearly
Train Culture: Understanding Values to lesser- 1 yearly
The child immediately began to learn and learn deeply from his teachers. Time began to blur with the extent of his studies. Archeotech lore and maintenance from the engineers and technicians. Hard-earned knowledge on how to navigate the ruins of the interior station from the explorers, and every scrap of lore from the archaeologists on how to recover lost knowledge. All of these fonts of information, learned from experts while in the field added to the Primarch's skills.
Initially chosen as educators for their position of respect amidst the station, the anthropologist pair, Florence and Markus taught the quickly growing child the concepts and values of the station as planned. It seemed that curiosity, diligence, rationality and cunning were all held with the highest renown, while brutishness, laziness, blind superstition were held in contempt. Yet their examples of humility and introspection greatly impacted him, and he continued to learn from them for reasons beyond the calculated. He maintained the example of rationality and cunning expected of him at this point. Perhaps there is more to learn from them.
Action
Major: Take control of the underground information and other more gray activities. Form an organization based on actionable intel gathering and infiltration of factions
In his mandated free time, the growing child would eventually slip away, track down and take control of the underground information networks present on the station. From the shadows, he would corner the information market and formalize many unspoken rules of etiquette amidst the shadows of the station. Order would come to the stations underworld, with one half of the Hydra at its helm.
Training
Train Espionage: Realpolitik up to lesser in conjunction with the station master.- 1 yearly
What began as a simple shadowing to a meeting with Station Master Leonardo Avril, eventually turned into consistent lessons and practice in maintaining power through playing various groups off of each other.
A most unique mixture of intrigue and diplomacy-- Primarch of the XXth Legion
Actions
Major: Grow influence with the Station Master Avril, and stabilize his rule-- isolating the most extreme factions while elevating the popularity of reformists, explorers, technocrats, and doves.
Grand: Organize parallel organizations. 1 to unite the various explorers into an organization dedicated to mapping the station, and recovering archaeotech for reverse engineering. 1 to unite the various scientists into an organization dedicated to understanding, repairing, and reproducing archaeotech. The end goal of both of these groups is to restore the station and its people to their former glory and status. The XXth Primarch heads these organizations in concert with a council of the most knowledgable experts in their respective fields. This elevates his influence
Over time the child that grew into a man began to take his place as the unquestioned spymaster of the Station Master, displaying an uncanny skill in isolating the warhawks and extreme cynicists. Coincidentally, the reformists, expansionists, and tehnocrats began to get numerous lucky breaks-- gaining influence at the expense of more disagreeable factions. While initially alarming to outsiders, at his core, the spymaster truly believed that this was necessary for the future of the people who had taken him in.
To this end, the spymaster also donned the role of explorer/researcher and organized the disparate groups of adventureres and scientists currently laboring piecemeal. The explorers, were given the best available equipment and training to venture into the depths of the station and map out areas of interest and recover archeotech artefacts,blueprints, and other relics for the common good. The remaining researchers were tasked with understanding, repairing, and reproducing archaeotech for the station, with the goal of rebuilding and expanding the livable space until the whole station was repaired. Combined, these workers were titled Reclaimers and the organization titled Abyssal Redeemers.
Action:
Yearly: Train Introspection: Self-Awareness up to Lesser
Over the span of years the child grew and grew. So too did the couple from which he first learned of his adopted culture-- just not in ways that he expected. A pair of twin boys running about their assigned room as well as the greying hair gave evidence to that. He kept his visits formal on the outside, slotting them in among visits to his other initial educators-- respect for your elders was important amidst the station after all. Yet I still find a sense of comfort and... belonging by visiting them. Perhaps that is why I return.
"Teachers, I have remained nameless until now. Why?"
A long-held question was finally asked of those most trusted.
A brief moment of silence, followed by whispers he fought not to eavesdrop on. He respected them too much to do so "Why?... That is one of the hardest questions that humanity has ever come up with."
"It is. You taught me that." "The station master refused to name you out of fear, the public refused to do so out of awe and in admiration of the roles you play. Do you know why we did the same?"
"I do not." "We respect you too much to do so. We care for you too much to do so. It might be irrational, but from the moment that you crashed through the void into this station, we knew you were destined for greatness beyond the walls here. If you truly wish for us to name you, we will. But first, please ask yourself earnestly. 'Who am I'?"
...
One moment stretched into minutes.
...
His other half reached out in concern [Brother?] [I am troubled, brother.]
[Where does one begin, and where does one end?] [I think neither of us will ever truly get an answer to that.] [... ]
[Thank you, brother]
[...]
[We are Alpharius ]
... "Thank you for all that you have taught us, Teacher."
"It was our honor, dear child."
"I am Alpharius" The hydra awakens
Action:
Yearly: Lead an expedition as far into the station as possible
As Alpharius stood at the final charted gate into the station, he took one final breath before venturing into the unknown. I will reclaim that which was lost. We will discover what happened here.
Actions:
Yearly: Solidify growing influence and popularity
Yearly: Inflitrate non-compliant factions with 'loyalists'
With the decade coming to a close, Alpharius began moving to cement his position and further infiltrate non-compliant factions.
I hope I did the Twins justice here, if you're up for it, please do read the 'fluff' section under "Introspection: Self-Awareness"
It was not easy by any means even for him, but in the end it seemed that people craved order and safety and with his strength that could easily be provided. In only a mere decade his empire in the shadows had grown strong, order and law now ruling the most degenerate slums of only a decade prior. The cowards in the high spires had yet to notice the change, but even the most hardened criminal had found their place within his nation and their crimes wiped away, only a relative minority had relapsed and required to be pacified.
Turn Complete
Created a city scale group of a Military style government within the slums of the city. Lawlessness had fallen notably already in a mere decade to a fractional amount of what it was.
1 Grand Action: Infiltrate the various factions of the Fleet with my loyalists and have them work their way up the ranks to subvert as much of the organizations as possible.
1 Major Action: Spent on taking over the disparate information networks of the Fleet and merging them into a more cohesive and organized unit, loyal to myself of course. 1 Major Action: Diplomacy with the People of the Fleet. Making friends and generally trying to sway people from the more heated factions to the Moderates.
4 Yearly Actions: Train Deception from Lesser to Tertiary. 4 Yearly Actions: Train Command (Infiltration) from Lesser to Tertiary.
1 Yearly Action: Train 'Uncovering Falsehoods' from basic to lesser. Train it by trying to get a sense of the history between the Fleet and the Station and telling apart the parts that are most likely to be fabrications from the Fleet's side in the tale. 1 Yearly Action: Get a lay of the land. What are the factions at play here? Which ones are the most moderate and most hotheaded? What is the Shiplord's play in all of this?
Whatever the Shiplord's intentions for him were, the younger twin at least had access to whatever knowledge and training she and her closest advisors were capable of providing. It was an opportunity to learn, train, grow and most importantly get to grips with the history, culture and political makeup of the Fleet.
As the twin's pool of knowledge and experience grew, so they did too physically. In a matter of a few years, they were already as large and grown as any adult. From the Shiplord and her advisors, much knowledge was gained but what truly caught the ear of the Twin were the things they didn't mention, sentences caught mid-finish, knowing glances shot at one another and half-truths and lies hastily either hastily concocted or passed down from ages past.
Deception and Infiltration.
Through the indescribable connection that the Twins shared, the younger could sense vaguely that their elder was focusing their efforts on being an agent, their specialty certainly, but also on being a scholar and engineer about the ancient technology that surrounded them both on the station and within the fleet.
That left the younger to play the role, for now, of diplomat and infiltrator. And so the younger turned their vast intellect towards improving their skills in deception, yes, but also in the minutiae of commanding a ring of spies. Everything their progenitor had implanted about spycraft was checked and double-checked and the twin pitted themselves against the seedy underbelly of the Fleet's populace. It was ample training, over the years, and the twin could practically feel their skill in such underhanded things soar to new heights.
...
But it wasn't all skullduggery. The Fleet was this wonderful, living, monstrosity of a faction that was at times united by little more than a shared disdain or even hatred towards the Station and their slights. Both perceived and real. At other times, each ship in the Fleet could be an entire sub-faction unto themselves and with the largest ships essentially being miniature colonies in the confines of whose decks, corridors and passageways a person could be born, live and die and have lived a full life, diplomacy was as much a form of art and language as it was a skill.
Taking advantage of the seeming awe that most had for them, the Twin drew upon their implanted knowledge of diplomacy and made themselves a known quantity among the Fleet. Fair-weather 'Friends', political allies, assets and even the occasional friend were cultivated and many an argument and debate were had with leading members of the largest factions, the Twin turning their vast intellect and implanted knowledge towards swaying the hotheaded and cooling passions and when that was impossible, efforts were turned to convincing hanger-ons and less convinced members to instead adopt a more moderate position.
There was much to be done and little time to do so. But 'little time' was still more than what some thought and it was the Twin's job to convince others that there was indeed time left to make preparations, that the time to strike had not yet come. There was still much to do.
...
Above and Under. The twin deemed a two pronged approach was best. Even as their diplomatic 'assault' was underway, so to was a more traditional and perhaps grander endeavor. The various scattershot information networks that existed in the fleet were being consolidated into one much larger and more united unit. One that owed their loyalty to only a single individual whose talent at such things stood miles above them all.
One individual on whose behalf the various factions of the fleet were being infiltrated by new, well trained agents and saboteurs. They would join their designated faction and use all that had been taught them to rise through the ranks and undermine the current generation of existing leaders. The situation was tense and much too volatile to be left to the whims of such individuals. Needs must.
At the center of all of this stood one individual.
They were Alpharius...no, that wasn't true. Not entirely. Two were One and yet Two were also their own Person. That was important to remember. It was essential to do so. Lest one risk becoming subsumed entirely by a false identity.
They were Omegon.
Yes. That felt right. A perfect pairing with Alpharius, yet also their own person. It felt right.
Inspired by the success here and seizing the opportunity, Mortarion decided to build an army to face the being that called itself his father. There were plenty of these people, people who would be willing to seize the opportunity to free themselves of the warlords. He chose the farmers who proved themselves most effective in the battle with the warlord and trained them in combat and leadership. They, and many like them, would be his generals. He made sure they understood his vision and were fully on board with ending the Overlords' tyranny, taught them signs and countersigns to recognize each other, and sent them to spread the word and recruit and train a world-spanning guerrilla force, ready to call upon once the time came.
Mortarion then moved to another village, both to keep Necare from pinpointing his location, and to find more apt soldiers for the cause. He spent the rest of the decade like this, moving from place to place and building this liberation force to lay the groundwork for a guerrilla war. Performing similar martial feats as in the first village, defending them against warlords, should endear him to more and more people.
In the end, they would be at a great disadvantage, so they'd have to raid and pillage through several weaker warlords' domains for arms and supply before taking the fight to Necare himself. Unfortunate, but he'd likely have to do worse things before all was said and done. He decided, then: may this liberation force be called the Dusk Raiders, for they are only the beginning of a long night.
5 Yearly actions: train Command to Tertiary.
2 Major actions: train Command to Secondary.
5 Yearly Actions: train Hit and Run Tactics to Tertiary.
Grand action: found the Dusk Raiders, an irregular military force specialized in guerrilla warfare. Their orders are to stand by and train to become in soldiers in clandestine cells, aside from the recruiters, until the end of the decade, at which time they will gather "up" through the cell structure and organize themselves into simpler armies, ready to present themselves to Mortarion.
Dorn could still remember the day his family failed him. The day they had proven themselves weak. They'd been visiting one of the hive cities to take tribute from the 'soft' dwellers within. Dorn had noticed a handful of them with signs of promise, with a soldier's stance, watchful eyes, and sparks of discipline. He had told his father, wondering if perhaps these men and women might earn a place within the clan.
A day later, they and three score more were hung in the public square. "Betrayers and rebels!", claimed the clan head, "The unworthy seeking to rise above their station by taking up weapons!"
Dorn didn't see it that way. To execute vassals with such potential was an action unworthy of the strong. He looked at the hives with new eyes then, seeing not weakness, but strength denied. The clans strangled every effort at growth, stomping down on the coordination of the people, taking tributes based not on the clan's need but on what would starve their subjects of the potential to grow.
This was not strength. This was forcing one's own weakness on others. True strength would not fear their subjects, not starve their children so they may grow up weak and feeble. The clans, then, were weak. A people fallen from their ideals, if they had ever truly followed them.
He had, in his youth, thought it may have been a mistake, an unexamined assumption, or a change that had come upon them subtly and unnoticed. So he had spoken of it, to any who would listen, and been told to be silent. He had argued that the clan was failing to live up to its own standards, that they had become a pack of parasites. Perhaps, had he been a different man, he could have convinced them. Had he moved with guile and a silver tongue he could have swayed the clan to his side, but he was young, full of outrage and still in his heart believed in his Clan, in his family.
It had come to a head when during a clan conclave he had spoken loudly in front of all. Demanding the clan head turn from this path and embrace the strength they had all been taught to seek. He cast their every hypocrisy in their face, he tore at the pointless suffering they inflicted their own as a hollow justification, he spoke the truth, and he spoke it eloquently, but he spoke it to power.
He had been exiled, him and any who would follow him. For a moment he had felt he would be failed utterly by his kin, but those who he had spoken to stood with him, forsaking their homes for what was right. His father had spoken to him as he gathered what little he would be allowed to take with him. Telling Dorn he knew in his heart that he was right, but that he could not leave, not when Dorn's youngest siblings still needed someone to take care of them. It was painful to see a good man trapped in a system that failed at its very purpose, it made what he knew he would have to do all the harder.
Dorn took his followers into the icy wastes, and he knew he was expected to die. He had seen the true face of the clans that day, and found it wanting. He would mark this day, not as the day the clans fell, but as the day that their weakness had made their doom certain.
He had for a time then been too busy surviving to do much else. No clan would trade with their outcasts, nor allow the hives under their "protection" to shelter them. They should have died, none could truly survive on their own, yet survive they did. For food Dorn hunted beasts that should have been beyond them, and traded their bones with what few smugglers dared risk the wrath of the clans for a pittance. It was in many ways the darkest time of his life, but it taught him much of leadership, the way men waived in the dark without a rock to hold onto, and how to be that rock. But all storms break, and this one was no different.
They had been taking refuge in a cave from a great ice storm, when he found it. A vast giant of pitted iron buried in the ice, at its feet the remains of a battle older than the clans. Despite the hole burned through one sensor-eye, it maintained a sort of intimidating magnificence, even in death, its thickly armored head akin to a knight's helm, and its array of sensors granting it a humanoid gaze in its viewports. He slipped in through the hole in its eye, and saw the body of some ancient soldier resting upon a rusted metal throne, wires still hanging around their bones. Next to it, some sort of display flickered to life as he drew closer, a static-laden voice echoing through the small room.
"-Begin last log. I'm dead for sure," It started. "Damn thing could barely have gotten a better shot. I'm bleeding badly, and I don't know if any of my house is left on this ancestors-forsaken world. But it's done. That remnant of the Iron Men is gone."
The voice fell into wet, sickly coughs as Dorn stood transfixed. For an instant, it felt like an exhale flew through the room, leftover charge sparking through unknown mechanisms and lights that cast the slumped body in an imperious, noble light. He couldn't speak, hearing that voice. Even through the decaying speakers, there was an iron core of resolve, of the spirit born from countless battles, from struggle and strife in the name of a greater cause, that shone through in their dying voice.
"If anyone should find this... know that in a world gone mad, House Protogens held to its oaths. And know that we did so because it was the right thing to do. Never forget that."
The display faded back into darkness, whatever energy source had forced it back into life failing for good. Dorn knew this machine was far too broken to recover, so damaged the only option would be to rebuild it from the ground up. But he saw, on a decaying banner, in text he'd never known he could read, a name. "Themis," He muttered. It was a good name. A name that promised the change he wanted.
Dorn left that cavern into the next chapter of his life. The honor of that long dead soldier, and the majesty of that machine, a grand engine built to carry its ideals into the face of death inspired him, and what they had salvaged from it gave him the means to pursue it. Such a rich prize was enough that even the displeasure of the clans could not keep him from trading for the supplies and weapons he desperately needed.
From there his band could at last stand rather than scrabble. The hive city that had traded with him became his first "conquest" the clan that ruled them had sought to punish them for dealing with him, and he had protected them. He had flown his standard high, and their enemies had come to him. They drove him and his from the ice cave they sheltered in, only to find empty ice and a trail leading to the next, time and again until he had drowned their furry in their own blood. The clans bristled, but could not deny his strength, and so declared his band of outlaws a new minor clan, thus was born Clan Themis.
They had held the hive city for most of a year, before opposition had grown too intense. In that year both the hive and his clan had thrived, the needs of his small clan being little burden for the hive. A handful of the hive born had petitioned to join his clan, and a few had even met Dorn's standards and been accepted. In the end it had been an alliance of three clans that had forced them from their respite, Dorn had offered terms, ensuring treatment of his vassal in line with his obligations and faded into the ice wastes. He could only hope that their new overlords would hold to their oaths, for he lacked the numbers to truly stand against the other clans, for now.
This would be the pattern for almost the next decade. They would take a hive, hold it as long as they could, Themis breaking the unspoken taboo and swelling its ranks with those in the hives who wished to fight. As his clan grew, Dorn focused on his own growth as well. As part of his vassal contracts demanding access to old lore and ancient texts, learning the ways of war of those who had come before. He mastered the art of creating small redabouts to fight from by blasting holes into the ice, creeping towards his enemies lines forcing them to assault him lest they find their very camp under fire from a protected position. He built his skill and his clan, as brick by brick, he built the foundation for his grand conquest.
By the end of the decade his clan had finally been formed and his mastery of the manifold duties that a worthy ruler must bear had reached a level where he could consider himself capable. Soon, it would be time to conquer Inwit and remove the weakness from its people.
Turn Complete
Gained: Planetary Military Government (Clan Themis), and Trait Militarized Logistics: supply falls slower in combat, supply can not fall below Understocked when not beyond supply lines, Logistic skill applies to forming military groups at 0.75 nominal value and production of Vehicles/Knights/Titans at full value, reduced to 0.1 value for non military groups
The child immediately began to learn and learn deeply from his teachers. Time began to blur with the extent of his studies. Archeotech lore and maintenance from the engineers and technicians. Hard-earned knowledge on how to navigate the ruins of the interior station from the explorers, and every scrap of lore from the archaeologists on how to recover lost knowledge. All of these fonts of information, learned from experts while in the field added to the Primarch's skills.
Initially chosen as educators for their position of respect amidst the station, the anthropologist pair, Florence and Markus taught the quickly growing child the concepts and values of the station as planned. It seemed that curiosity, diligence, rationality and cunning were all held with the highest renown, while brutishness, laziness, blind superstition were held in contempt. Yet their examples of humility and introspection greatly impacted him, and he continued to learn from them for reasons beyond the calculated. He maintained the example of rationality and cunning expected of him at this point. Perhaps there is more to learn from them.
In his mandated free time, the growing child would eventually slip away, track down and take control of the underground information networks present on the station. From the shadows, he would corner the information market and formalize many unspoken rules of etiquette amidst the shadows of the station. Order would come to the stations underworld, with one half of the Hydra at its helm.
What began as a simple shadowing to a meeting with Station Master Leonardo Avril, eventually turned into consistent lessons and practice in maintaining power through playing various groups off of each other.
A most unique mixture of intrigue and diplomacy-- Primarch of the XXth Legion
Over time the child that grew into a man began to take his place as the unquestioned spymaster of the Station Master, displaying an uncanny skill in isolating the warhawks and extreme cynicists. Coincidentally, the reformists, expansionists, and tehnocrats began to get numerous lucky breaks-- gaining influence at the expense of more disagreeable factions. While initially alarming to outsiders, at his core, the spymaster truly believed that this was necessary for the future of the people who had taken him in.
To this end, the spymaster also donned the role of explorer/researcher and organized the disparate groups of adventureres and scientists currently laboring piecemeal. The explorers, were given the best available equipment and training to venture into the depths of the station and map out areas of interest and recover archeotech artefacts,blueprints, and other relics for the common good. The remaining researchers were tasked with understanding, repairing, and reproducing archaeotech for the station, with the goal of rebuilding and expanding the livable space until the whole station was repaired. Combined, these workers were titled Reclaimers and the organization titled Abyssal Redeemers.
Over the span of years the child grew and grew. So too did the couple from which he first learned of his adopted culture-- just not in ways that he expected. A pair of twin boys running about their assigned room as well as the greying hair gave evidence to that. He kept his visits formal on the outside, slotting them in among visits to his other initial educators-- respect for your elders was important amidst the station after all. Yet I still find a sense of comfort and... belonging by visiting them. Perhaps that is why I return.
"Teachers, I have remained nameless until now. Why?"
A long-held question was finally asked of those most trusted.
A brief moment of silence, followed by whispers he fought not to eavesdrop on. He respected them too much to do so "Why?... That is one of the hardest questions that humanity has ever come up with."
"It is. You taught me that." "The station master refused to name you out of fear, the public refused to do so out of awe and in admiration of the roles you play. Do you know why we did the same?"
"I do not." "We respect you too much to do so. We care for you too much to do so. It might be irrational, but from the moment that you crashed through the void into this station, we knew you were destined for greatness beyond the walls here. If you truly wish for us to name you, we will. But first, please ask yourself earnestly. 'Who am I'?"
...
One moment stretched into minutes.
...
His other half reached out in concern [Brother?] [I am troubled, brother.]
[Where does one begin, and where does one end?] [I think neither of us will ever truly get an answer to that.] [... ]
[Thank you, brother]
[...]
[We are Alpharius ]
... "Thank you for all that you have taught us, Teacher."
"It was our honor, dear child."
"I am Alpharius" The hydra awakens
As Alpharius stood at the final charted gate into the station, he took one final breath before venturing into the unknown. I will reclaim that which was lost. We will discover what happened here.
With the decade coming to a close, Alpharius began moving to cement his position and further infiltrate non-compliant factions.
The darkness of the station's depths waited before him, countless rumors whispered of what lurked within but how many were true and others mere stories none could truly say.
Whatever the Shiplord's intentions for him were, the younger twin at least had access to whatever knowledge and training she and her closest advisors were capable of providing. It was an opportunity to learn, train, grow and most importantly get to grips with the history, culture and political makeup of the Fleet.
As the twin's pool of knowledge and experience grew, so they did too physically. In a matter of a few years, they were already as large and grown as any adult. From the Shiplord and her advisors, much knowledge was gained but what truly caught the ear of the Twin were the things they didn't mention, sentences caught mid-finish, knowing glances shot at one another and half-truths and lies hastily either hastily concocted or passed down from ages past.
Deception and Infiltration.
Through the indescribable connection that the Twins shared, the younger could sense vaguely that their elder was focusing their efforts on being an agent, their specialty certainly, but also on being a scholar and engineer about the ancient technology that surrounded them both on the station and within the fleet.
That left the younger to play the role, for now, of diplomat and infiltrator. And so the younger turned their vast intellect towards improving their skills in deception, yes, but also in the minutiae of commanding a ring of spies. Everything their progenitor had implanted about spycraft was checked and double-checked and the twin pitted themselves against the seedy underbelly of the Fleet's populace. It was ample training, over the years, and the twin could practically feel their skill in such underhanded things soar to new heights.
...
But it wasn't all skullduggery. The Fleet was this wonderful, living, monstrosity of a faction that was at times united by little more than a shared disdain or even hatred towards the Station and their slights. Both perceived and real. At other times, each ship in the Fleet could be an entire sub-faction unto themselves and with the largest ships essentially being miniature colonies in the confines of whose decks, corridors and passageways a person could be born, live and die and have lived a full life, diplomacy was as much a form of art and language as it was a skill.
Taking advantage of the seeming awe that most had for them, the Twin drew upon their implanted knowledge of diplomacy and made themselves a known quantity among the Fleet. Fair-weather 'Friends', political allies, assets and even the occasional friend were cultivated and many an argument and debate were had with leading members of the largest factions, the Twin turning their vast intellect and implanted knowledge towards swaying the hotheaded and cooling passions and when that was impossible, efforts were turned to convincing hanger-ons and less convinced members to instead adopt a more moderate position.
There was much to be done and little time to do so. But 'little time' was still more than what some thought and it was the Twin's job to convince others that there was indeed time left to make preparations, that the time to strike had not yet come. There was still much to do.
...
Above and Under. The twin deemed a two pronged approach was best. Even as their diplomatic 'assault' was underway, so to was a more traditional and perhaps grander endeavor. The various scattershot information networks that existed in the fleet were being consolidated into one much larger and more united unit. One that owed their loyalty to only a single individual whose talent at such things stood miles above them all.
One individual on whose behalf the various factions of the fleet were being infiltrated by new, well trained agents and saboteurs. They would join their designated faction and use all that had been taught them to rise through the ranks and undermine the current generation of existing leaders. The situation was tense and much too volatile to be left to the whims of such individuals. Needs must.
At the center of all of this stood one individual.
They were Alpharius...no, that wasn't true. Not entirely. Two were One and yet Two were also their own Person. That was important to remember. It was essential to do so. Lest one risk becoming subsumed entirely by a false identity.
They were Omegon.
Yes. That felt right. A perfect pairing with Alpharius, yet also their own person. It felt right.
The Fleet was both chaotic and understandable, learning the secrets of the minds of others was a simple matter and from that understanding came clarity and insight into how to achieve the goals that both of them held for themselves. While his twin dived into the depths of the station he would manage the Fleet and ensure that it would not unduly interfere with his twin's mission.
Inspired by the success here and seizing the opportunity, Mortarion decided to build an army to face the being that called itself his father. There were plenty of these people, people who would be willing to seize the opportunity to free themselves of the warlords. He chose the farmers who proved themselves most effective in the battle with the warlord and trained them in combat and leadership. They, and many like them, would be his generals. He made sure they understood his vision and were fully on board with ending the Overlords' tyranny, taught them signs and countersigns to recognize each other, and sent them to spread the word and recruit and train a world-spanning guerrilla force, ready to call upon once the time came.
Mortarion then moved to another village, both to keep Necare from pinpointing his location, and to find more apt soldiers for the cause. He spent the rest of the decade like this, moving from place to place and building this liberation force to lay the groundwork for a guerrilla war. Performing similar martial feats as in the first village, defending them against warlords, should endear him to more and more people.
In the end, they would be at a great disadvantage, so they'd have to raid and pillage through several weaker warlords' domains for arms and supply before taking the fight to Necare himself. Unfortunate, but he'd likely have to do worse things before all was said and done. He decided, then: may this liberation force be called the Dusk Raiders, for they are only the beginning of a long night.
5 Yearly actions: train Command to Tertiary.
2 Major actions: train Command to Secondary.
5 Yearly Actions: train Hit and Run Tactics to Tertiary.
Grand action: found the Dusk Raiders, an irregular military force specialized in guerrilla warfare. Their orders are to stand by and train to become in soldiers in clandestine cells, aside from the recruiters, until the end of the decade, at which time they will gather "up" through the cell structure and organize themselves into simpler armies, ready to present themselves to Mortarion.
The formation of the Dusk Raiders went smoothly, their training clear and concise, the secret lore imparted to him from Necare coming in useful for once in its existence. His forces would never again need to fear the undead hordes the lesser Warlords used, for they were simple to counter even with basic tools. In the end as the decade came to a close, Mortarion looked up at the mist chocked sky and knew that victory lay within reach.
Turn End
Gained: Annihilative General: increase command skills to 1.25 mod, against necromancers/dark psykers apply Customized Counter Tactics, in a lost battle lose majority of forces and supplies, in a victory slay all foes, always use Terror Tactics: WMD
"We have more soldiers with firearms than Chios has soldiers period. We've only seen them deploy three tanks, and all of them have clearly reached the limit of how far maintenance can help them. Why don't we just rush them and take the city as a satellite?"
Dammekos pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Because, Herakon, Chios sent envoys to Alexena scant months ago; we wouldn't just be fighting Chios' army, but the whole of the Quillent Coalition, and while we can win that, it will be enough of a distraction and investment that opportunists could take advantage. And besides that, the passes near Chios are few and thin. All our soldiers will do little good when we cannot fit them into the battlefield."
Herakon was quite good at tactics. And he had a good sense of relative power levels, most of the time. The problems came in strategy, and realpolitik. The boy had no sense for subtleties, either for his part or from others. Give him a battlefield and he would win the day, but the war was quite another matter.
"Then what about Lepreum? They're further up along the Megdovas, we can do a river invasion! And they've been refusing our trade! Are we supposed to take that insult?"
Dammekos was about to respond, but a voice called from the room's entrance.
"Of course not, but given that they have the backing of Byzellion, we can't just go over and attack them. That'd be war with another of the Twelve."
Calliphone swept into the room, a thin grin planted upon her face. She took a moment to look over the map, before tapping a section.
"If we dammed the Megdovas here, it'd likely be redirected through the Argel Valley. Lepreum's trade routes dry up, Chios gets cut off from the Quillent, and while they won't like it, they'll both come crying to us for protection and resources."
She looked up, looking for approval. Herakon looked downright offended.
"A dam? What do you think we have an army for, to sit around while we build at our enemies?! This is cowardice-"
"It is foresight, and means that we will be guaranteed to have more at the end of the operation than we did at the start of it, rather than risking the lives of our people on ill-advised conflicts that will only escalate. Good evening, sister, Tyrant Dammekos."
And now, Herakon whirled on the newest entrant to the room, Sophos.
"Oh, of course you would be all in favor of trying to win a war with a dam! Do you know how warfare works, tinker? You can't just buid your way out of it, you can't test or invent your way through! You have to fight, and you know nothing of how."
Dammekos quietly released a sigh. Herakon's lack of subtlety extended to this... grudge of his. As best as he could tell, it started when Sophos defeated him in a board game, of all things. Probably using a tactic the boy hadn't considered viable nor taken precautions against, but he'd admit that that was purely (educated) speculation.
Sophos merely levied a disappointed look at his eldest brother, and strode over to join them all at the map. He took up half the table, but it was fine.
"If you took this route, over the Marions, you could make a direct strike into Chios without them having enough advance notice to ready their own levies, much less call upon the Quillent. The peaks aren't actually tall enough to be a full barrier, and they're relatively flat-topped, so the terrain isn't truly an issue. Attacking Lepreum remains a poor decision, but they import most of their foodstuffs from Engyon, which is not known to have any higher patrons; they're not weak, but it has been at least a decade since they engaged in a proper war. A lightning strike through Rutbe Pass would most likely catch them off guard, and we could press our authority from there, stopping them from feeding Lepreum until they accept a more favorable trade deal. Tyrant Dammekos, is there anything that would preclude these plans from viability?"
Herakon's face had grown redder and redder as the giant had continued to speak. He opened his mouth, but apparently could not think of any objections to provide. Conveniently, neither could Dammekos.
"Nothing stands out. Excellent work, all of you. While we are not presently in need of the resources of a few more small cities, you have shown good thinking in the methods you suggested for taking them." Herakon didn't. But he wasn't going to say it.
Whether Herakon heard it anyway, or merely was enraged by Sophos receiving any praise over his solution, the result was the same, and his eldest stormed out of the room.
They all watched him go.
...he misses Sophia. Herakon actually listened to his mother. He'd never been the same since she died.
Leman strode the hallways of his new home on Fenris processing how much had changed with that raid on the village. A wolf brother fallen as had his adoptive mother even if she had been a wolf, but now he was among men and his two wolf brothers remained at his side. Only this past year had he become worthy of a name, but he still remained in tune with the world, but he could see the events that would soon come and that he was not natural to this world. Something was coming and Fenris would have to be ready.
-5 yearly actions spent to bring "Craft (Textiles and Clothing)" up to the rank of Tertiary Skill.
-1 yearly action spent to bring "Craft (Carving)" up to the rank of Lesser Skill.
-4 yearly actions and 2 major actions spent to bring "Canine Husbandry" up to the rank of Secondary Skill.
-1 yearly action spent to bring "Subordinate Training" up to the rank of Lesser Skill.
-1 Major action spent to found the Wolf Wardens (City-scale, Governmental, Obvious, Open), a group of hunters, weavers, and warriors of the Russ clan trained by Leman to form close bonds with Fenrisan Wolves brought into the partnership with promises of food, shelter, and medical care.
-1 major action spent to create two new relics, the paired kraken-bone warhammer and shield "Wisdom and Resolve", and the wolf-fur gambeson "Brotherbond".
DC for Wisdom and Resolve: 5 base (personal) x .8 (large object) x .3 (tech level) x 4 (Barebones Relic) = 4.8
DC for Brotherbond: 5 base (personal) x .8 (large object) x .3 (tech level) x 4 (Adorned Relic) = 9.6
Total DC = 14.4
Crafting (Wisdom and Resolve): (8 crafting skills [Craft Bonecarving, Hunting, Survival] x 2.5 [Major action]) = 20
Wisdom and Resolve (Barebones): A beaked warhammer and round, center-grip shield designed to be used as a pair, carved from the same kraken skull. Both are adorned with intricate, black-stained scrimshaw. "Wisdom", the hammer, is decorated with scenes of Leman Russ weaving a fishing net alongside the women of the Russ Clan. "Resolve", the shield, is decorated with scenes of Leman Russ harpooning a kraken while several warriors and wolves of the Russ Clan hold the net in place.
Brotherbond (Adorned): A huge, quilted gambeson made of layers of fabric spun and woven from Freki and Geri's shed fur. It's blade-proof, arrow-proof, spear-proof, bludgeon-resistant, and quite possibly bulletproof too. The hems are embroidered with stylized scenes of a young boy playing with three wolf puppies, while an adult she-wolf watches over them.
Leman growled at nothing in particular, prompting Freki and Geri's heads and ears to perk up, only to return to their rest as they realized nothing exciting was going to happen. For much to Leman's frustration, this wasn't the sort of problem he could best with brute force and his own raw natural talent. In fact, the amount of brute force and natural talent he could bring to bear was the problem, as the twisted piece of scrap iron and pile of leather scraps that had once been the fine warhammer and boiled leather cuirass the Russ had gifted him could attest. Barely three dozen of his blows had destroyed the best the clan could offer, and he hadn't even swung that hard!
And now, for lack of weapon or armor in fit state to be used, the king had insisted he stay home, rather than joining the latest hunt! Spouting some nonsense about how it wasn't safe. And, well, the fate of his mother and wolf-brother had taught Leman to mind his own mortality, but the slow burn of onrushing fate churning in his gut made such idleness sit spectacularly ill.
The fact that instead of hunting or fighting or testing new arms and armor he was sweeping a spectacular amount of wolf fur out of his quarters didn't help his mood. "You'd think there were five wolves living in here, not two," He grumbled to himself, holding a fistful of soft fibers up in one hand, "How you get it into so many places I'll never know." For all its wonderous properties, turning blades and arrows better than any armor he'd ever seen, it certainly made for a rather irksome source of chores. And yet... "I can't help envying your pelts, sometimes. Armored better than any leather, yet supple as cloth. If only I could..." His longship of thought abruptly capsized as his eyes passed over his underwear. His very warm and comfortable mastodon-wool underwear. Clothes made from the wool of a mastodon, which can be made not only from one slain for food but also from the hair it sheds in the changing of the seasons. "Oh. Perhaps I can."
The spinners' circle found their work, busily making thread and cloth for the clan, abruptly disrupted as the giant wild-man their king had sort-of adopted burst in with an excited shine in his eye. "I need to learn to make clothes!"
"...What?"
"I need to learn to make clothes! Can you teach me?"
"Yes?"
5 yearly actions spent to bring "Craft (Textiles and Clothing)" up to the rank of Tertiary Skill.
1 yearly action spent to bring "Craft (Carving)" up to the rank of Lesser Skill.
As it turned out, turning Freki and Geri's sheddings into armor wasn't quite as simple as learning to spin and sew and weave and knit, and fitting the fruits of his labors to the wearer. It takes quite a lot of thread and yarn to make cloth, and while Freki and Geri were quite large, so was Leman. If he wanted to make enough not just for himself but for his clansmen, he was going to need a lot more friendly wolves, and clansmen able befriend them. And so, with a minimum of grumbling, Leman got to work.
First came learning more about his canine companions, and their free-roaming cousins. Leman, of course, could communicate with them and coexist with them fairly easily, but there's a wide gap between that and convincing them to join the Russ clan. Especially as, if he was to teach others to emulate his skills, he'd have to go back and re-examine what came naturally to him. It might not come so naturally to everyone else. If it were truly as easy for everyone to befriend Fenrisan Wolves as it was for him, surely someone else would have done it by now. So he spent a lot of time observing Freki, Geri, and the nearby packs, and a lot more time talking to his clansmen as he worked out what was and wasn't common knowledge, and what he'd need to do to turn his goals into reality.
4 yearly actions and 2 major actions spent to bring "Canine Husbandry" up to the rank of Secondary Skill.
1 yearly action spent to bring "Subordinate Training" up to the rank of Lesser Skill.
With his preparations completed, Leman approached the friends, acquaintances, and brothers-in-arms he'd gained over the course of his studies. He told them of his plan to enrich and protect the Russ and all his brothers and sisters, man and wolf alike. He approached the packs still living in and around Russ clan territory, and lured them in with promises of new foods, warm and secure dens, refuge and help for the wounded, and hands to reach all those annoying little itches.
And so a great partnership between man and wolf was forged, the strengths of each together as one. Human weavers, hunters, and warriors alongside the Fenrisan Wolves. One clan, one pack, one bright future.
On this day, the Wolf Wardens were founded.
1 Major action spent to found the Wolf Wardens (City-scale, Governmental, Obvious, Open), a group of hunters, weavers, and warriors of the Russ clan trained by Leman to form close bonds with Fenrisan Wolves brought into the partnership with promises of food, shelter, and medical care.
Having made his vision a reality, Leman turned to the whole reason he came upon this idea in the first place: weaving the fur of the Fenrisan Wolf into a new sort of cloth armor. After everything else, accomplishing his goal was much easier than he'd expected. Or maybe it just felt that way because he'd put so much time and effort into it all. To celebrate, and relax in a job well done, he decided to go fishing, and catch himself a kraken. The bones, too, would prove useful. After all, he needed a weapon as well, and there was only one thing he knew of hardier than iron: kraken bone.
1 major action spent to create two new relics, the paired kraken-bone warhammer and shield "Wisdom and Resolve", and the wolf-fur gambeson "Brotherbond".
DC for Wisdom and Resolve: 5 base (personal) x .8 (large object) x .3 (tech level) x 4 (Barebones Relic) = 4.8
DC for Brotherbond: 5 base (personal) x .8 (large object) x .3 (tech level) x 4 (Adorned Relic) = 9.6
Total DC = 14.4
Crafting (Wisdom and Resolve): (8 crafting skills [Craft Bonecarving, Hunting, Survival] x 2.5 [Major action]) = 20
Wisdom and Resolve (Barebones): A beaked warhammer and round, center-grip shield designed to be used as a pair, carved from the same kraken skull. Both are adorned with intricate, black-stained scrimshaw. "Wisdom", the hammer, is decorated with scenes of Leman Russ weaving a fishing net alongside the women of the Russ Clan. "Resolve", the shield, is decorated with scenes of Leman Russ harpooning a kraken while several warriors and wolves of the Russ Clan hold the net in place.
Brotherbond (Adorned): A huge, quilted gambeson made of layers of fabric spun and woven from Freki and Geri's shed fur. It's blade-proof, arrow-proof, spear-proof, bludgeon-resistant, and quite possibly bulletproof too. The hems are embroidered with stylized scenes of a young boy playing with three wolf puppies, while an adult she-wolf watches over them.
