WARHAMMER 40,000: A Thousand Tiny Suns (40k/Exalted Crossover!)

[DragonCobolt]

Crys stepped forward. Her arms crossed her chest...and she shook her head. "No," her voice was soft, her strange version of Old Realm ringing in your ears. "It's too far gone. You don't have to be a Soldatie to see it - they've gremlinized him, even if it hasn't gone all the way." She breathed in. "Great Maker forgive me. I think we...might need to give him...release."

Kit, his brows furrowing, glanced at Amberly. Amberly nodded. Somehow, she could understand what the strange woman of jade and clockwork had said, and softly, she said: "41, do you know how to bring this creature the Emperor's Peace?"

The Emperor's Peace.

It was...a set of three words you carried heavier than most. For some people, it was an easy joke - tossed off at the end of a workshift, or an unthinking mercy on the battlefield. A rock could give the Emperor's Peace, after all. It was your duty, as the medicae, to choose who dies on the field of battle. It is...shameful. Distressing. Every soul whose body has been maimed beyond use needs you. The Emperor's Peace, given in a moment, so their gear might be taken and used on the enemy. Except...

Except no.

That's not what you are. Not anymore.

Kit wasn't looking at either Crys or Amberly. He was watching you.

And his smirk was knowing.

"Amberly," you said.

"Yes?" she asked.

You grabbed your greatcoat and flung it at her. It rustled in the air, a gray-brown shadow against the stark lights of the gremlinization engine's interiors. Amberly caught it from the air with a yelp.

"Hold this," you said, your voice grimly determined behind your resperator. You rolled your shoulders, your slender, muscular arms glittering with the sweat of the battlefield. Crys opened her mouth, clearly about to ask what on Terra you were about to do as you advanced towards the immense capstone, the adamant spike that had drilled through black scales and blacker bone to reach the theomachinery of the vast Oberashi, Shogun of Genocide, Lesser Dragon of Smoke. That spike even now poured dark heterek whisperings into his mind, and it was a fight he was losing. You couldn't reverse the damage.

"Don't touch-" Crys exclaimed, reaching for you.

You grabbed the capstone with both hands, snarling fiercely as your hands tightened on it and then...

CRUNCH.

The entire crystaline structure shattered inwards as a glowing wave of golden fire exploded from your palms, harmonizing then breaking the crystal apart with a whine of taut wires and singing glass. The shards hovered in the air as your caste mark flared brilliantly on your brow. Golden flames roared around your body as spectral horses danced along the walls of the darkened chamber, casting away shadow and doubt.

"The Emperor's Peace is given..." you snarled, as a glowing hammer of pure, righteous gold appeared in your hand, coalesed from nothing but raw will. Warpstuff fumed from your mouth as you breathed out fire and brought the hammer slamming down into an anvil of raw, white hot heat. The crystal crashed into it and sang with the impact. "When I say! Not before!" You beat the adamant into sheets, tossing it aside and into Crys' hands. She stumbled, gaping at you as you grabbed soulsteel cabling and moonsilver wires, yanking them free with sprays of sparks and hissing metal. "Hold it there!"

She slammed the plate down and you hammered it back into spot, rewiring with your other hand. In a flash, the soulsteel capstone had been completely converted into a motonic pulse generator. You ran from it back to the hole in Oberashi's head, then flung down a javelin spike of hardened jade, sculpted from bits and pieces you had whipped off the walls and floors as you ran. It drove into the brain of the vast beast, who roared, bellowing so loudly that the building shook and the floor trembled. Crys stumbled, crying out. "What are you doing!? What are you!?"

"Kit! That lever! Throw it!" you pointed.

He obligingly turned into a tyger, leaped the fifteen meters required to land on the upper gantry way of the gremlinization facility, then grabbed onto the lever you had pointed out with his teeth. His weight bore it down with a thunk.

"What am I?" you asked, essence blazing through your veins. You felt heady and giddy. You had found...not a solution.

You had found time.

"I am 41-22 - the first of the natural magos. I am the warptamer! I am the Twilight Caste - and I say when you're allowed to die!"

Lightning exploded along the jerry rigged wires, screamed along the jade lance, and burst into the vast creatures brain. He trembled, roared...then...the entire room went still. Oberashi was no longer moving and, through the narrow slit windows of the gremlinization facility, the stars had stopped wheeling.

Crys blinked.

"What...happened, exactly?" Ashley asked, her voice soft in the sudden stillness.

"Right now, motonic lightning is coursing through his-" you hesitated, then blushed under your mask, while Kit landed beside you, his hands on your shoulders. You starting to quiver slightly from the raw effort of magical pussiance you had put out. You melted into his grip, gratefully. "-it's a device that will keep him asleep. It won't last forever. Maybe...a year or two at best. A month or two at worse."

Crys gaped at you.

"...you're..." she hesitated. "You're not militat, are you?"

You gulped. "C-Can I have my coat back?"

***
​

Stepping out of the Germlinization Facility, with your coat once more around your body, you found that the glow had not stopped. You still flickered with brilliant golden light, and stepping out merely made you even brighter, shining out like a small star atop the fearsome Oribashi. Kit squeezed your shoulder, his voice soft. "So, think they noticed that?" he asked, nodding up to the craftworld and the strange orb. Looking up at it, Crys muttered in her language.

"It's...smaller from out here than I would have expected..." She said, as a graceful, gull-winged vehicle approached the surface of Oberashi. It was joined by two other Thunderhawks, the three ships arranging to form off against one another in rough square, neither landing nor trying to touch down. You didn't need to be an expert to see that the gull-winged craft was some kind of Eldar vehicle.

Captain Brutus' voice came over the micro-bead.

"Honorable 41-22, what...is happening to you?"

"Um..." you said, looking down at your arm.

The gull-winged craft dove down. The Thunderhawks both moved in, clearly planning to engage it - but it was like watching a pair of busksquids try and beat a trench runner, there was no hope for it. The Eldar craft twirled, dropped, and skimmed to a stop a good half a dozen meters away from your party. The gangway opened...and emerging from it came an Eldar. The legends of their grace and inhuman beauty had prepared you for something...fast and fluid, not the slow, ponderous creature that stepped free. It had an oblong helmet with bright blue coloring, yellow armored shoulders and belly, and bore not a single weapon. It thumped forward, hands pressed to its chest in a motion that was, to the human eye, pleading. It stepped forward, and then in a voice like two grinding stones pressing together, spoke in relatively passable Gothic.

"Greetings mon-keigh. I have been sent. To offer. Audience. Aboard. Neutral Territory."

"What is it saying, 41-22?" Brutus' brusque voice comes over the vox-link.

"Dead Gears..." Crys muttered, some light glinting in her eyes as she narrowed them at the strange entity.

---
[ ] Accept the Iyanden's offer of meeting at neutral ground
[ ] Counter offer: Meet in Crys' home nation - after all, you need to talk to them too, right?
[ ] Refuse - if you're going to talk to the Eldar, you will talk to them at their craftworld.
[ ] Write In

Health: Fine
Anima: Bonfire (visible for miles)
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 12/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 8 | Solar XP: 5
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 8 | GXP: 35 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

You stepped forward, nervousness clear on your face. Which was why you were so very glad for your mask. You gave a curt little nod to the xenos, and said, as clearly as you could. "We will meet in neutral ground."

The xenos nodded back, with just as much jerky precision, then turned to go.

Crys frowned. "Now, do we follow?"

"I...don't know," you admitted.

***
​

Two weeks later, and the neutral ground was ready.

It had been an infuriating, frustrating, impossible length of time to wait -when so much mattered, when so many important things were about to happen. But the Eldar had simply responded to your requests for clarification with a bizarre response, more poem than diplomatic communication:

The time is not yet right, allow the flowers to bloom,
the moon to turn, the tide to come once more for the boughs.
Isha's repose will come, but first she and Lileath and Moragi-Heg
must dance.

Bothering Aurora for a translation had brought the somewhat prosaic response that the auspexes showed that the Eldar were not simply idle - they had launched several skiffs and bum-boats, the revelation of which had provoked chortles and laughter from Amberly and a reserved little smirk from Kit, before you had roundly educated them on the important position of bum-boats in naval activities, as asteroid and comet tenders. You might have been a corpsman and, thus, not officially ever on bum-boat duty, but you knew well enough that without water for drinking or reaction mass, no naval ship was ever going to get very much done.

Amerbly seemed little chastened, but at least Kit stopped smirking.

Those days you spent gnawing at the problem. New ideas were sparking in your brain, and Kit sometimes had to haul you bodily from your librarium sanctum and the machine shop. Those times...you...appreciated. You still had no idea how exactly you found something new to learn about his most intimate details every single time - not simply the sleekness and tautness of his body, new variations in his scent, his taste, his passions. You also learned, face buried against his hair and nose full of his clean, male smell, about new faceted of his youth, his adventures in the Cadians. How could a single life have so much about it?

When you asked, he had chuckled, then turned, and with fearsome tickles, forced you to start recounting stories. But the issue was that your tales were all so mundane and ordinary...save that they became spectacular, or ghoulish, or sad when they were heard by Kit. He shook his head and frowned intently. "Corpses, really?" He asked, as you had just told him about your earlier schola education and how they had often left bodies in the corridors or classrooms, for students to acclimate to their future lives in the trenches.

"V-Vat runoff, not real corpses," you had hastily corrected. "IT's to ensure you learn how to...when the battles...it's not that bad...you get used to it. A-And they don't even properly putrefy, the Magos BIologis spray them down with fixatives."

And still, Kit wanted to hear.

And still...you waited.

And at last, after two weeks, the missive came - a set of coordinates that were barely needed. The neutral ground was an asteroid, roughly a kilometer and a half wide, but most curious on the auspex. For one thing, it had been smoothed to a perfect orb, and for another, it had been polished along the exterior. Black and brown rock had been shone down to reflect light back as if it were a gemstone. Several Eldar craft hovered around it, and watched you intently as you flew towards it - your Thunderhawk joined by an even more curious construct. The two weeks had been time enough for Vengeful Crystalline Hawk to travel back into her strange home, which she called Autocthonia. She said she would be returning not with one ambassador, but with six.

It had...

The explanation had not exactly been clear. She had made strange references to machine organs, blight zones, and of two nation-states that had been terribly lost to some calamity or another. She had also made hay of how mighty and powerful her home, Clasat, was. And it proved at least somewhat capable at responding to imminent need, by launching a most absurd space vehicle.

For one thing, it was clearly humanoid in shape - nearly twenty meters tall and with huge thrusters built onto its ankles, shoulders and hips. It flew through space bearing a rectangular parcel in its hands, and as it came close to the orb, that parcel turned out to have an intricate clockwork and steam-powered seal-lock which clicked up against the curving white bone of the ELdar seal-lock rather like a xeno clasping hands with a human might.

Awkwardly.

You winced a little at the sight, while the Thunderhawk dove down and landed on the asteroid's side - and you winced again, harder, as the Thunderhawk's broad feet crunched and crushed into the mirror smooth side. But despite Amberly claiming that her strange powers over fate and time made void suits unnecessary, you and Kit and her walked onto the surface of the asteroid. The seal-lock opened for you as Brutus emerged from the Thunderhawk, striding after you with his hands clenching and unclenching. None of you had brought more than ceremonial weapons - his knife, and you a lance without an explosive tip. You felt naked without them, even as you stepped into the world...and felt a smooth transition from standing on the outside of the asteroid to standing within.

And...

Blinked.

You wanted, for a fleeting moment, to take your mask off. To boggle at the place surrounding you.

It was...

Impossible.

The interior of the asteroid had been hollowed and curved around, creating a perfectly spherical worldlette. But the Eldar had gone a step farther and plated it in gravi-plates, then, upon those plates laid down greenery. Grass and trees and brilliant flowers bloomed every way you looked, with a single small building made of elegant bone-white material built at the bottom of the bowl. Several people were walking towards it - most of them in leather jackets of familiar cut, looking around themselves in clear awe. Beyond them, you saw several more people...xenos. Clearly xenos.

You glanced at Kit and Amberly, both of them nodding and starting forward. Brutus took off his helmet, tucking it against his belt.

Coming close to the gathering knot of people, you steeled yourself. THe sacred texts and the sunday readings you had gone to every day of your life were quite emphatic in their condemnation of the alien - and they warned most of all about the beguiling and perfidious ones that mimicked the human form in some low, base way. Looking at the Eldar, you immediately noted their differences - their ears came to narrow points, their eyes were queerly large and they stood a bit taller than a human might. They were dressed in flamboyantly brilliant colors, a flock of reds, blues, golds, dark blacks, somber grays. Imagine if a human worse such puffery, such absurd excess of decorations. Approaching close, you looked at one of them - a tall, narrow faced...you supposed she was a woman. SHe had a braided plait of hair, unlike anything a human might wear, and looked down upon you with a curious expression on her inhuman face. You couldn't quite tell what it was.

Then she smiled, and spoke a musical tone, gesturing to Captain Brutus, who looked quite fine in his brilliant ultramarine armor, with golden and bronze and pure white highlights, crimson purity seals freshly applied, the scrollwork covered in the finest stencil-neat writing the scribes could manage, his ceremonial knife studded with the tiny gemstones as befitted him. He had even managed to find a blue-red trimmed cloak to throw over his power pack, to add more dignity to his three meter stature, as befitted an angel of death.

"I, um, don't speak your tongue, xenos," you said, quite politely, considering.

The woman cocked her head a bit, then you felt a curious fluttering feeling in your mind. Then in clearest Kadic Gothic, sounding precisely like someone decanted from your very birthing creche, she said: "Parlez vous francais?"

You jerked back, almost stumbling into Kit. "What...the...don't get out of my head!" You exclaimed, while Kit growled.

"Forgive me, most honorable Warpsmith," the woman said, her accent still impeccable as she bowed her head to you with a mocking attitude - it was as if the very tilt of her head was pure condescension. "I know that our humble meeting place does not befit such of your stature, Walker Free of Ways, but I hope you can look past our poor and inhospitable showing."

"What took you so long?" Kit asked.

"So long?" the eldar asked, her voice still mocking. "The tygre asks, why we took so long? We cast aside all ceremony, in pel mel haste, as Kurnous did upon the Hunt of the One Horned Stag." She cocked her head the other way, and pursed her lips - as if she could have been sincere. "Would you prefer that we skip even the greening, the placement of the gravity, the shaping of stone? To meet in suits upon cold void? Would that be any way to greet the Foolish Architect, reborn?"

You bristled. "Foolish!?" you asked, stepping forward.

A male Eldar spoke in their tongue, his voice musical, high, falling, sweeping around again. The ELdar in the company looked at the female that had been conversing with you - the witch that had ripped your language from your head. To your surprise, a loud clicking and chittering sound rang out from one of the Autocthonians...and you took a second look. Beneath the robes and the simple turban, his skin was not merely sallow. It was actually gold. Dull gold, yes, but gold none the less. And from his lips came purest Low Gothic, and Eldar, both tongues woven one over the other, so each might understand.

"Do let us choose not to quarrel on such an auspicious day," he said, his voice warm and soothing. "I am the GSA Unblinking Devotion to Orthodoxy, and I believe that I can serve as mediator between such...estranged peoples."

An Eldar hissed quietly, stepping away from the golden Champion.

"I ask," the eldar woman said, her voice tight, speaking in Low Gothic once more. "Does this creature of unfeeling flesh and clay wish to be seen as mortal? As god? Name yourself, entity."

"I am a Champion - and I see myself as neither. It is my place to serve mortal man, not to lead them," Unblinking Devotion to Orthodoxy said, gently.

"As is mine," Brutus said, sounding honestly a little impressed to hear such an Ultramarine like sentiment from such a strange being. Unblinking Devotion to Orthodoxy - Devi, you supposed, for short - gave him a warm nod in return.

You tensed, then breathed in. If Brutus could be so kind to the xenos, you supposed...you could too as well. You nodded. "I am 41-22. This is Kit, Amberly." You gestured. "And this is Captain Brutus, of the Ultramarines."

"We know of the Butcher," a male Eldar said, voice soft. You bristled, but the female Eldar you had been speaking with held up her hand.

"Yarlan misspoke, for he yet does not have mastery over your tongue, which so often leads itself to a need for further elaboration. Captain Brutus has faced our warriors before in battle, yes, but ere honorably, showing quarter when quarter were offered, or when greater foe revealed itself. No, the Butcher refers to the Unending Maw, the Everstairing Eye, the...the..." She frowned.

"Tyrannids," Brutus said, nodding.

The male eldar inclined his head. "Quite so. Butcher."

His eyes flashed, and you practically felt the distinction between butcher and butcher. From the tightening of the lips on the female Eldar, you had a feeling had had felt it too. Brutus simply let it cascade off his shoulders, like water.

"Is that lunch?"

The voice was from one of the other humans from Autocthonia. He was pointing at the white building that the ELdar stood before - and, yes, there were tables arranged out in the greenery. You felt a shiver running along your spine - he sounded as if he was speaking Lower Gothic. Did the female Eldar look more focused? Whatever she was doing...

---
Gonna be honest, there's no way you are learning anything BUT craft charms, so, I just took the choice from your hands and spent the downtime and XP on Occult skills and Craft Charms.

How do you react?
[ ] Try and resist the witchery
[ ] Allow it...for now
[ ] Write In

What do you do to begin the diplomacy?
[ ] Wait and see what everyone else has to say first
[ ] Immediately lay out the plan to fix Oribashi - crafting diagrams as need be to communicate the point
[ ] Write IN

Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 8 | GXP: 35 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

You allowed the witchery to take place - after all...the Eldar were speaking Gothic to you, so, maybe the witchery had something to do with it? You walked with the group towards the tables and you saw that each was elegantly built and sculpted from the same pale white bone as the building. There were seats enough for everyone and, you noticed, two extra large seats. One was taken by Burtus, who shifted into it with some concern, while the other was offered to Kit, by a slender Eldar male.

The Eldar seemed quite amused by Kit's expression.

"We believed that one who hunts like Quena would prefer to express themselves, rather than being so constrained by the requirements of former service to the Broken and Unbroken," he said, cocking his head. Kit pursed his lips slightly, then crossed his arms over his chest. He considered the massive seat, while you bridled. Did the Eldar expect him to show off his transformation powers? As you glowered, you barely noticed the talkative Eldar woman stepping to your side.

"I can have the offending grotesquery altered, for your tastes?" she asked, hesitantly. You snapped your head around to look at her - forgetting that they were all so much taller than you and ending up with your glare narrowed at a small ruby red gemstone set on her chest. She looked down at you with an increasingly piteous look, adding: "Being wed sun to moon, you would have the right of special...ah...restrictions, yes?"

You didn't like this conversation one bit. Everything felt as if it were not quite about what was being said, and every word was frighted with more meaning than was on the surface. It was like walking through mud while outside of the trenches, without a bayonet, a parachute flare hissing overhead. You squared your shoulders.

"I need metal," you said, thinking intently.

Kit sat in the throne and, with a rippling of silver, transformed into his fusion of tygre and man - massive, as broad as Brutus in his power armor, and looking quite regal. Amberly took her seat with a harrumph, dangling her cap on the curved point of the back of the chair. She slouched, glowering at the Eldar across the table, while the Autocthonians arrayed themselves in seats, Devi making sure to shift one who was dressed in a dark black great-coat far from a woman in a bright red toga.

"As Vaul so wished, chained as he was," the female eldar said, proffering to you a simple sphere of steel, roughly the size of your palm. You blinked, taking it.

"Why...did you have this in your pocket?" you asked.

"Does not the sea-fairer long, some day, for the steadiness of land? I have such in my pocket, as is the right of a Bonesinger," she said, her voice amused. You scowled behind your mask. Can't these Eldar ever say anything that made sense?

"Now, I believe-" Devi started.

You stepped up to the side of the table, then clenched your gloved hand. Molten metal spurted between your fingers as the Autocthonians gasped in shock and the Eldar watched with catlike intensity. The metal flowed and you caught it with your other hand, threading it out into fine lines, which you tossed, caught, and fixed together, then slammed it down - having created in a flash a framework of metal to suspend a piece of parchment. You plucked grass from the ground, weaving it with a blurring of your hands, into a serviceable piece of parchment, then picked up one of the quills that the table had already been provided. Finding no ink you, set the quill back down and pulled out your Kreiger Infantryman's Portable Communication Transcription Device, uncapped it with a soft prayer, then started to scrawl onto the parchment.

Once done, you turned to the table, then thrust.

"Oberashi!" you said.

"Oberashti," one of the Autocthonians interjected.

"As you can see," you said, cheeks burning. "Oberashti has been struck with what can only be described as a theocorruptive virus, a hex-code designed to inoculate him with a kind of biomorphic virus - what I believe you Autocthonians call gremlinization, but we Imperials may instead refer to as tek-heresy. Currently, the condition has been stopped, but this creature cannot be cured...unless and until we successfully repair the inner working of his body. While he's apparently biological, that's actually a deception - my quick glance inside his brain made it clear that it was primarily made of components one could call gears, clockwork...engines, machines..."

"Much of the Great Maker is so," the red robed woman said, her voice soft. "Who are you?"

"She is the reborn star," a male Eldar said, sounding tolerably amused. "Who, like last time, will surely burn us all again."

The Bonesinger - the one who had given you the metal - though was looking at the diagram with curious intensity. Quietly, she said: "Do you seek to merely hide the blade, or will you stand before Khaine on the blood soaked fields?"

You looked at her, in complete confusion.

"...no, we're going to fix him," you said, pointing at the diagrams you had drawn.

"Surgeon, is this possible?" the red robed woman asked, turning to one of her comrades, who was rubbing his brow, looking pained. You noticed he had a ...strange gemstone affixed to his forehead.

"She's speaking of technosorcery that would require the greatest efforts of the Maker himself, not merely mortals," he said, sounding pained. "But if we were to have such pussiance, it would be possible. But, like, it is to say that if we could but fix the machiney of the Maker, we could cure the Blight, and it has been clear that even Project Razor has only slowed it down."

"Well, you have one," you said.

Everyone looked at you. Kit was grinning slightly.

"What?" The black coated man asked.

You blushed, realizing that admitting what you were would-

"Did you not see her? Hand dripping with steel, unchained, she is next to Vaul, reborn - in a mon'keigh's clumsy and pathetic imitation, yes, but still," the Bonesinger said, her voice actually growing excited, even as she insulted you to your face. "And maybe, see, her tongue is stilled. Did ere our Farseers or sleeping Ancients say that his tongue ever stilled in the face of a ground to speak of his glory and majesty?"

"No, it's true..." one of the Eldar said.

"...wait!" you exclaimed.

The black clad man slammed his palm down. "This is arrogant blasphemy!" he said, springing to his feet. "The militat will not stand for some tunnel rat chitless outsider to even think of touching Oberasthi, let alone the Maker!"

"You forget yourself, Estasian!" the red robed woman sprang up, despite Devi's hand lifted to slow her.

"You forget who polices your streets!" The black clad man shouted, pointing at her.

"Oh you gear-jammed-"

One of the Eldar was rubbing his temple and you swore he was muttering under his breath: "Mon'keigh."

---
What do you do?

[ ] ignore the absurd sectarian infighting of the heathens and ask the Bonesinger if she really just called the Emperor a bragging blowhard
[ ] Focus on continuing your brief - after all, you hadn't gotten to the 51 gigatons of orichalcium you need.
[ ] Demand the Estasians to shut up - if they want the Omnisiah to die, they can let them. (Thus, probably triggering a massive religious argument)
[ ] Write In

Spoiler: Rolls!?!!!!???

Using your flat crafting rather than Arete Shifting Prana and Craftsman Need No Tools, rolling 7d+2s, and you get 7s, which is more than enough to trigger the special effects, giving you 12 SXP and 1 GXP, +1 SXP from rolling a 10!

41 then launches into her explanation, rolling Cha+Per to persuade the group. Now, there are lots of people with major or defining intimacies in the Great Maker, which will work, but a few people don't have that - so, it will automatically fail. The resolve is 3 for the friendly delegates, 1 for the Bonesinger, 6 for the Estasian delegate, and 4 for the rest of the Eldar!

So, the average resolve is 2, so you roll...1d, +3d for apperance, +2d for stunt, for a total of 6d+2s!

You roll 6s!

The Estasian is uneffected, the average eldar is uneffected, but the friendly delegates and the bonesinger are swayed thanks to their combination of you succeeding + intimacies.

Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

"Please, can we have some order here," Devi said, lifting a golden palm, as Amberly frowned and then lifted her chin, calling out to the Estasian.

"Did you call my esteemed colleague...chitless?" She said, her voice dangerous in the extreme, while Kit frowned and remained quiet, thinking. You, though, were still processing what the Bonesinger had said. You turned to face her, and your voice dropped low and quiet.

"...did you just call the Emperor, the holiest of holies, the highest of Terra...a braggart and a blowhard?" you whispered, soft enough that you weren't sure the slender xenos could even hear through your respirator. The Bonesinger looked at you with those alien, unreadable eyes, and then chuckled.

"Fain to hear, oh shrouded spark, the story of Ylendis and the Fourth Gift?" She cocked her head and leaned her head on her palm. "There was once tell of Ylendis, a bold and brave warrior, skilled in the art of spear, of sword, of bow and horsemanship. He rode across the plains and was said to be able to shoot down the stars themselves. One day, he graced to see the procession of the Triad, for they had taken to the roads in the form of beggars and mendicant-wives. Not knowing of their true guise, Ylendis showed great courtesy, and had them taken to his manor, where he feasted them day and night, and in the morning, he slept. The three came to his bed as he slept, and each granted a gift-"

"What are you talking about?" you hissed.

The Bonesinger mimed a little twitch across her lips. It reminded you almost of a man drawing a fastener shut. You spluttered, and the Bonesinger continued, lilting voice carrying under the increasingly heated conversation flaring around the table.

"-Isha, the first, granted him a single rose that would bloom eternal - and so, too, he would never sicken or show ill health. Lileath, her daughter, gave him a single kiss upon his brow, so that Yilendis would lay with warm dreams in his mind evermore. Thus, both had seen to his nights and his days and waking hours. And so, finally, the eldest, Morai-Heg, gave her gift. With a hand of silver glass, she carved into his cheek five finger marks that woke him with a great shriek. Yilendis, horror stricken by the marring of his perfect features and the sight of the Crone herself, snatched up spear to defend himself. The Crone told him this was a gift, if he was wise enough to see, and departed."

The Bonesinger picked up a cup of tea, then sipped from it.

"We'd never stoop to such hideous heresy!" Amberly shouted, drawing your attention from the strangely enrapturing and utterly baffling tale. You lifted your head and saw that Amberly was right in the nose of the Estasian, glowering into him despite him towering above her a solid head and a shoulders length. Devi had stepped between them, palm upon her shoulder, upon the Estasian's chest.

"What you call heresy is the will of the Maker and of the Luminous Exarch himself - you claim to call yourself a Commissar!?"

"I am a true Commissar and not whatever half malformed backwards sept you think you might be from!" Amberly said, snapping.

"Be silent, both of you!" Devi snapped, his voice showing actual anger. A chevron on his chest blazed brilliantly and you blinked, feeling a sudden pulse of...admiration. Respect, even. His face was suddenly cast in the sharp planes and features of a living propaganda poster, and his voice resonated with a deep, and powerful clarion call to listen, to heed, to understand. "Quarreling now serves who? The Void! You are both honorable and dedicated to the glories of the Imperium and Estasia - and only by standing stalwart and arm in arm can we turn back the Void and save the Maker and the universe entire."

Amberly flushed, then nodded. "I...spoke in haste," she said.

"I mistook your...well, I...yes, as did I," the Estasian said, stumbling.

As if there had been no break in the conversation at all, the Bonesinger continued. "For a year, Yilendis sought the counsel of the wisest sorcerers and kings of all nine towers and seventy seven holdfasts. He climbed the highest peaks, to speak to the King in Waiting, and he sought the Dragon Princes on the coast and none could tell him precisely what the gift was. In every mirror, he saw his disfigurement. But he slept the sleep of the just, and he lived hale and healthy, even when the Plague of the Everweeping swept the lowlands." She shook her head. "But that Plague and Yilendis' place in it is a tale for another day." She set the tea cup down while the other Eldar nodded solemnly.

"His spear unwavering," one said.

"The bodies, stacked into a wall, between us and the ork," another added.

"What!?" Amberly said, sounding completely lost.

"Yilendis, at last, decided he would ask the meaning of the gift. He traveled far and wide, seeking for the Triad, until at last, he saw the thunderstorm and rumble of Khaine and his battle with the Dragon of Stars. This, of course, is another tale, for another day. After it, when Khaine's wounds were dressed by his wife, Yilendis saw the gentle touch of her fingers upon his cheek, and within him came a realization. She had touched him, as she now touched Khaine-"

"Wait, whose Khaine? And whose his wife?" You asked.

The Bonesinger looked at you, then shook her head slightly, sighing quietly. "That is a tale for another day," she said. "But you surely know who the Bloody Handed God's wife is, no? You are not so ignorant, after all."

You weren't sure if you wanted to answer that - and before you could, the Bonesinger continued: "Yilendis stole into the manor of Khaine. Every skill was tested, every ability he had, put to the limit. His grace, breathtaking. His bravery, impeccable. His mastery of the soul, impossible. He spoke poetry that lulled the guard dogs to sleep, and he met Khaine's third son, Elendesh the Younger and they engaged in the Battle of Hushed Riddles - which is, also-" She reached up and, with utter temerity, placed a finger upon your respirator before your drawn breath could escape. "...a tale for another day."

She's doing this on purpose! You thought, as the Bonesinger said, her voice growing sad: "At last, he came to the chambers of the wife of Kaela Mensha Khaine, and there, he offered her his heart. She listened, then clicked her tongue, and said: You seek a fourth gift? And with hope in his eyes, Yilendis said yes. And so, she plucked out his eyes and placed them above her husband's home, so that he would forever watch, and warn of dangers. And thus, ended the stories of Yilendis."

Silence hung in the air. The Eldar applauded gently, nodding somberly.

The Bonesinger looked at you, waiting patiently, as if you were the final piece of this puzzle.

---
[ ] "...what!?"
[ ] Try and figure it out (write in what you think this means)

Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

You frowned behind your respirator. The Eldar had to have told the story for a reason. Slowly, you sat down in the chair next to her, considering. "Two wonderful gifts," you said, hesitantly. "Thrown aside to figure out the third. It's never enough, huh?"

The Bonesinger inclined her head. "Some people are born with a hole in their soul - an emptiness that can never be filled. They can either doom themselves or they can doom those around them - but doomed they are."

You prickled. "Are you saying the Emperor is like that?" you asked, frowning.

The Bonesinger looked at you. Her eyes were...suddenly full of a deep, deep, deep sadness. "No, mon'keigh. I am saying that I am."

You rocked back slightly in your seat. Frowning.

"But...the Emperor...you told the story of this Findelly fellow when I asked about him..." you paused. "Are you saying we're alike?"

The Bonesinger's smile was gentle. "Are we?"

"Do you Eldar ever give a straight answer?" you snapped, angrily.

"Yes," she said, demurely. Then, leaning forward, she placed her hand next to the table, not touching yours. Her eyes flashed and she frowned, very intently. "You have forgotten something. Now is the time, oh daughter of Vaul."

"What?" you blinked - then noticed that the Estasian and Amberly were glowering at one another, and you could see that Amberly's stance was such that her hand was drifting closer and closer to her laspistol. "The- oh right!" You sprang to your feet, throwing the parchment back, revealing the next stage of your plan. "We can replace the theotechnic engine with a fairly basic purging of the internal systems of Oberashti using a crucible of molten orichalicum, poured into the hole in his brain and passed through his body with a string of implanted adamant crystals here, here, here and here, then extracted around his ankle." You pointed. "This would reset him to the moment of his creation, and if we place jade baffles in a certain kind of...monofilament motonically aligned omnimesh, here..." You pointed at a different part of the diagram. "It'll keep the memories intact as well!"

Everyone looked at you.

The red robed woman lifted her hand slowly. "Honorable Solidate..." she hesitated, looking at you again. "Or...whatever you are."

"I'm a medicae officer for the Death Korps of Krieg," you said, blushing behind your mask. "B-But this will still work."

"So she is militat?" The Estasian grumbled, while the red robed woman leaned forward.

"How much orichalcium do you need here?" she asked.

You rubbed your chin. "For proper suffusion of the greater dragon's internal components, considering, uh, hm...it's likely..." you started to scribble math on the board, then stepped back, nodding to yourself. "Fifty one gigatons."

"Fifty one gigatons!?" The Estasian roared, springing to his feet.

"Yes," you said, nodding. "...but we would have the orichalicum afterwards. It may pick up some unique-"

"Fifty one gigatons!?" The Estasian shouted, even louder.

"It's only a sphere approximately eighty meters in radius," you said, blushing.

"Of solid orichalicum!"

Kit chuckled. "What?" he asked into the dawning silence around the table. "It's only the width of an entire scrumball field, with the bleachers thrown in for pleasure, made entirely out of the most rare substance in the universe," he said. You blushed, about to think about methods, means, strategies - but then...one of the delegates surprised you by speaking up. He was a scrawny, slender, remarkably hideous fellow with a bent nose, scarred features and...a breathtakingly ornate geometric pattern on his robes, giving him the look of a moving, living piece of mathematics. When he spoke, his voice was remarkably fair and gentle.

"That's not entirely true, honorable militat," he said, clearly interpreting Kit's flak vest and open sleeved vest one particular way. "I know my nation is small and impoverished, but we exist within the outer reaches of the Great Maker. Ever since the advent of Project Razor, we have needed to explore less...but still...some of our more daring and brave heroes have found the physiological effects useful to push deeper into the Reaches than was normally possible."

"Uh, beg pardon?" Amberly asked. "What's Project Razor."

Everyone of the delegates all looked at a tough jawed woman in a simple but brightly colored uniform with a high white cap. She sighed, then said: "Project Razor was a joint Nuradi-Clasati effort to retard the Blight Progress of the Great Maker and, possibly, expand human capacities to survive within the realm of brass and shadows. It...sort of worked."

"It altered the flow of time itself!" The Estasian growled. "Made five decades feel like five months."

"According to Clasati analysis, it allowed Autocthon to persist far beyond initial projections, though," the Clasati woman said, hurriedly.

The Estasian grumbled something that might have been 'you were lucky it didn't start running backwards' while the beautifully adorned fellow coughed, then started to continue. "Jarish has discovered a technological organ that may be of use in this situation - it is too far for economical tapping, but our heroes have named it the Glorious and Most Divine Smelter of the Eternal Maker."

"What is it?" you asked.

"It's an engine the size of a world, which spews forth endless torrents of smelted orichalcium, to be processed off and sent to various parts of the Great Maker's body. It's a dangerous, perilous trek to reach-"

"And nigh blasphemous," the Estasian grumbled. "That Organ is used by the Great Maker for his own purposes, not for ours."

The Bonesinger, to your shock, leaned in. She whispered in your ear. "There exists three routes to arrive - within, beyond and through." She smiled, slightly. "Also, do the mathematics on the use of Elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" you asked, frowning. "What's Elsewhere?"

A memory tugged at you...

"Elsewhere is a dimension used to store the devices and constructions of the Exalted - it also is where Autocthon retreated, to sleep out the ages-" Devi started.

You sprang to your feet. "Elsewhere is to time as the Webway is to space, they're built on the same Emperor be damned substrate!" You ran to the board, casting the paper aside and scrawling frantically. "Anything can exist in the Wyld, the Warp, anything, anything at all! The palace of ----" You barely noticed that the word didn't leave your lips, that the ELdar in the room all galred at you. You were too busy scribbling. "The bloodfields of the Great Ax, even the brawling of Gork and Mork, all of it exists in the Warp! But, see, here!" you pointed at a scrawl of complex equations. "This lays out the basic principles of motonic physics, using an apature focus and certain high powered psychoactive structures, say, uh, uh, uh..." You tapped your temples. "Wraithbone! That was it! Yes! Yes!"

You turned back to the board, scribbling more. "You can turn anything into something, because anything isn't useful, no, no, no! Anything is anything, anything is useless, it can be flowers or it can be fire, or it can be flowers and fire, or up and down, at the same time! Worse than useless. But something, you can use something! Wraithbone collapses the Warp into threads, the webway, space!" You scribbled wildly, then stepped back, pointing at the board. "See! See!"

"...have you drunk too much kaff today?" Amberly asked.

The Eldar looked askance - save for the Bonesinger, who was grinning, nodding.

"The webway exists by threading the warp into tunnels! Elsewhere exists by carving a chunk of the warp off! But instead of space, it's time. Everything in elsewhere lasts forever, because there's no temporal function! But they use the same substrate. That's why the Craftworld flew into Autocthon, because Elsewhere IS the frakking Webway!"

Everyone kept looking at you.

"Which means there's a back door!" you said, excitedly, turning back.

"A back door!?" The Estasian asked. "Where?"

"Commorragh," a male Eldar said. Everyone looked at him. He sighed. "It's always Commorragh, in the end."

"...or we can just...fly over the skin and drill in," Brutus said, having taken this all quite plegmatically.

You blushed.

That did cover all the options, yes.

---
Which way, then? Each option is equally difficult in a different way

[ ] Within - trek through the reaches
[ ] Without - drill in from the outside
[ ] Beyond - Head to Commorragh first

Spoiler: Mechanics!

Guess who rolled 9 fucking successes on their occult roll...41-22, it was diff 4, jesus christ...

Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

You frowned. "What's..." You lifted your head. "How dangerous are these...Reaches? To get to the furnace thingy?"

"The Reaches are utterly hostile to human life," the red robed woman said, her voice grave. "They're unlike anything you've ever heard of. Endless steel catwalks, countless factories and furnaces, linked together by warren-like accretions of corridors, sidechambers and storage rooms, as if a million different habitations and industrial facilities have...fused together over countless thousands of years. Where it is not cramped, it is vast, with immense caverns of steel illuminated only by crackling arclights and industrial organs. The only way to travel safely is to cling to vast capillary trains that thrum between the regions of the Great Maker's machine body - trains the size of small cities, bearing their way along motonic rails, using impeller engines to powerful they create gale force shockwave winds through side passages that can kill an unprotected human stone dead. In some areas, the air itself becomes choked with toxic fumes..."

"There's also the everpresent threat of mutant scum," Estasia said. "Tunnel rat gangers, eager to slit your throat for the first chance at some food, or worse, to roll your body into a recyc vat without even popping off your soulgem. They're little better than animals."

"And there's the machine spirits, which are often untended by any priests or clerics, and thus, barely register human presence at all. Lift-Gods and Fork-Tenders, oiloids and Carcinogenies are all fairly common machine spirits, and even in their unthinking tending to their duties, they can be utterly and instantly lethal," one of the other Autocthonians added.

You nodded. "Okay, and the dangers?" you asked. "Like, anything unique or special we should keep an eye out for?"

Silence.

The Estasian growled. "She makes a mockery of us!" he exclaimed.

"What?" You asked.

"Like, you just described Necromunda, it's just Necromunda," Amberly said.

"I wouldn't say anything is just Necromunda," Kit said, his voice dry.

This did something you never expected.

It united every single Autocthonian in an expression of pure, utter ire, aimed at you three.

***
​

Gitta snorted and clawed at the ground as you adjusted her saddle, frowning intently. "If I don't miss my guess, we're going to be glad we have you around, my Gitta," you whispered, rubbing the back of her neck, while Kit and Amberly checked off the bolt shells, the rations, the ropes, grapnels, and other supplies the chapter serfs had loaded up. You smiled as Gita turned and bumped your head with her sleek, armored visor, then blinked and turned as the chamber opened and Captain Brutus, in his simple robes, entered with a warm smile. You blinked at him in some surprise.

"Uh, why are you not in your armor, Brutus?" you asked, curiously. "I mean, uh, Captain?"

He chuckled. "Brutus is fine, honorable 41-22." He said. "I am staying. The Eldar believe that...with the Webway and Elsewhere bleeding together, that the craftworld cannot traverse from here - and more, that they will need to ensure that there is no...unfortunate connections to other realms." He frowned. "Their farseer made mention of something that sounded rather...unfortunate."

"What?" you asked, curiously.

"The name was...translated to Gothic..." He cocked his head. "The King of the Evertolling Bronze Bell."

"That...doesn't sound so bad," you said, biting my lip behind your mask. Kit let out a quiet huff and standing.

"Bronze is tarnished gold, sometimes," he said, absently. "Isn't it? I mean, it looks like tarnished gold."

"Maybe it's some kind of gigantic monster," Amberly said. "Which, of course, can be slain immediately by our exalted personages." She beamed, puffing up her chest.

"Whatever it is, I need to remain with the Craftworld to ensure it does not bring yet another doom to our allies against the Great Devourer," Captain Brutus said. "And, more, it will give me a chance to spend some time with my wife."

Kit dropped the canister of bolter shells, which started to roll across the ground. You, who had been sticking the Lens Lance into the saddle horn, yelped and flung the lance up into the air, where it cartwheeled and landed on the ground with a crash and clatter. Amberly dropped her laspistol and a ruby red beam shot up and struck the brim of her cap, flipping it off her head. All three of you gaped at the massive space marine, who regarded you all with a look of quiet amusement.

"Y...Yu...bu..." you stammered.

"Who did you marry?" Kit asked, sounding shocked.

"Ilthandier," Brutus said, shrugging one shoulder.

"That's...an...Eldar name!?" You exclaimed.

"it has become quite in vouge, since Yvraine and our Primarch were wed," Brutus said, calmly.

"What!?" You shouted. "When!? How?"

"Apparently, they rather hit it off after she brought him back to life in the face of the Great Warp Storm that has riven the Imperium in twain," Brutus said, rubbing the back of his neck. "As for me and Ilthandier, we had actually met during the first battles against the Hive Fleet, she was a ranger and-"

"But you're- the..." you flailed with your arms. "Inquisiton?"

"The Inquisition? What would they have to say on it? We're in Ultimar," Brutus said, amused. "Though, there has been quite a few radical Ordo Xenos who have come over to the thinking - there is a certain logic in it, as we space marines are infertile, and thus, won't produce any of the complications that the led to the Nastase Edict, and the Eldar find our relatively long lives to be something to appreciate in Mon'keigh. I believe it's called the flowering of piquant sadness."

"Buh?" you asked.

"We live long enough for them to feel bad when we die," Brutus said. "Though, Illy-"

You made a noise somewhat like a teapot boiling over at the name Illy being thrown around.

"-does say that that's mostly the conservative wing of the Paths, most of the more open minded Eldar feel quite sorrowful when a short life is cut down. They call it the Tragedy of a Spark." He rubbed his chin. "Apparently, it can be quite debilitating for some - they keep the most distance between us short lived folk, lest they make a close friend, turn around, and, in what seems no time at all, lose them."

"I..." You sat down next to Gitta, right on the bundled supplies. "I need a moment."

Brutus smiled. "We'll hold the fort down here."

He turned and started to go, then started to chuckle, then laugh, and headed around the corner of the corridor, his booming baritone laughter ringing all the way down the corridor.

"...he was fucking pulling our leg," Amberly said, firmly. "Marrying an Eldar Ranger. And never mentioning it now. Preposterous."

"No he wasn't," Kit said, narrowing his eyes.

"I...I need a moment." You hung your head down between your knees.

***
​

The elevator into Autocthon was a golden, drill tipped circular protrusion that jutted from the skin of the Omnisiah himself. you wished, oh how you wished, there were proper tech priests around to talk too. But you were a natural magos, so...you supposed that meant you counted for this kind of august, vital duty. You wondered, a bit, as the thunderhawk came in close to land beside the elevator, if the fact the Omnisiah was not, in fact, on Terra would make the...

"Wait, the Omnisiah is the Emperor, how can he be a big sphere in space?" you asked.

"You know, I was going to leave that to the coggies to figure out," Kit said, shrugging. "But the priests did say that the Emperor is both on Terra and everywhere else. That's how we can drink his blood, during congregation."

"True," you said. "Trangalacticsubstantiation..." You rubbed at your chin strap. "But does that cover being a big sphere in space too?"

"Why not? He's the Omnisiah and the Emperor," Kit said.

You nodded. That did make sense.

The thunderhawk landed, and the airlock synched to the elevator. It opened, revealing the interior had another chamber within - the outer edges of the elevator was a kind of forward operating base, with window slits and a large array of technosorceries. The Tech Priests of the Autocthonian nations, called the Soldaties apparently, were all busy at work, taking notes and murmuring to one another. But there were two people waiting for you: The Bonesinger and the CNA Vengeful Crystalline Hawk.
"Hey!" Crys said, taking your hand with a grin. "Welcome to the Realm of Brass and Shadow. I'm here to be your guide - not just down to the patropolis of Lund, but also through the Reaches. I've got a full suite of charms prepped." She rapped her chest

"I come bearing a gift as well," the Eldar said. "Though not in the form of my company. I instead offer you a choice. Do you wish some uncarven wraithbone, to make what you will, or the blessing of wisdom?"

You blinked at her. "Isn't...Wraithbone-"

"What is your name!?" Amberly exploded.

Everyone looked at her, then at the Bonesinger. "You haven't told us your name and it's driving me wild to hear it," Amberly said. "I can't keep thinking of you as the Bonesinger for this entire thing!"

The Bonesinger smiled, then cocked her head. "Ilthandier, of course."

---
Brutus is...

[ ] Pulling your leg. Like, he heard her name and chose it to mess with you. Right?
[ ] ...oh no, he was telling the truth! Oh no! What! No!?
[ ] Write In

And you're going to...

[ ] Take wraithbone for future crafting
[ ] Take the gift of wisdom
[ ] Write In


Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

You breathed in, then breathed slowly out. "The wisdom," you said, focusing on one heresy at a time. The Omnisiah was dying? Was that...even heresy? You'd have to ask Kit.

The Bonesinger stepped close, then leaned in. Her voice was soft in your ear.

"Empires never last," she whispered.

Then she turned and walked away, her head held high.

***
​

The hissing chunk of the pneumatic train coming into the station was so loud it nearly overwhelmed Amberly, who shouted her last point over it with an effort that turned her cheeks nearly as red as her hair. "But is as I was saying - the Emperor has been dying since the Horus Heresy! So, since he is dying, and kept alive by the endless worship of us in the Imperium, then it follows that thus, the Omnisiah is dying as well! As they're one in the same!"

"True, true," Kit said, nodding as the doors to the train opened and you three stepped out of the station - hanging pagoda style lanterns that flickered with glowing blue lumens cast their light in the area, while a rather mundane looking hive city sprawled up and ahead of you in the darkens of the vast metallic chamber that you found yourself in. The only unique features you spotted was the hive city's relatively paltry sized, it couldn't have had more than a few million people in it, despite its hive-style structuring. You regarded it a bit dismissively, while Kit raised his finger, more focused on the debate you had accidentally started. "But in the 5th book of Jerrin, it did say that the Emperor's wounds were healed when he was placed on the Golden Throne."

"And in the 7th, it said his wounds bleed the light of the Astronomicon!"

"It's not a contradiction, though, sacred wounds bleed all the time."

"But then they're stigmata, not wounds, why use the gothic word wound then and not stigmata?"

"Well-"

"Ahem," Crys turned back around to face you. Her wings mantled. "I have been listening to this conversation for the entire ride to Clasat. And I have to tell you, right now?" She placed a blue palm on Kit's shoulder, then another on Amberly's, leaning in close. "If you keep talking like this, the Theomachiney are going to have you killed."

Kit and Amberly blinked at her.

"You're talking real big time heresy," Crys whispered, quietly. "I'm just Jade caste, not really big on managing the Regulators, but like...just...keep this voidbringer talk to a minimum, until we at least fix up Oberashti, right?"

"But-"

"Heresy!?" Amberly spluttered. "I'm a Commissar!"

"And you're talking like the Great Maker is some human being who doesn't even live here, but instead lives on some mythical far away planet, and that instead of toiling to serve him, he's a big gigantic lighthouse you feed souls into!" Crys shook her head. "It's vile!"

You coughed. "W-Well, the Emperor wasn't a human being, precisely. He's a god."

"Just...hush, until we get the airship," Crys said, as you headed into the patropoli of Lund. The streets were wide and well lit, and hummed with a kind of energy you didn't quite recognize - it felt very midhive to you. And as you walked along, hivers were busy at work - heading into factories, operating levers and shifts that were attached to immense machines, carting around goods. Cheerful work songs rang out, while- Amberly grabbed your sleeve and pointed.

"What is that!?" she exclaimed.

You turned and Crys put her hand over her face. "Oh Great Maker," she whispered. "I was hoping it wasn't back up."

You blinked through your resperator. That was a mural of the CNS Vengeful Crystalline Hawk standing about fifty meters tall, in a heroic pose, her shield raised as a deadly weapon met it with a crash of sparks. Glyphs above and below her said: SHE NEVER STOPS FIGHTING FOR YOU and NEVER STOP WORKING...FOR HER!

Several people did point eagerly, and soon, Crys, who was holding up her hands and stammering. "N-Now, hold up, I have to get to-, I, uh, there, uh, that is-" But they didn't let her get the words out. The hivers bounced around her, clapping and shouting excitedly.

"We love you, Crys!"

"Did you really save the whole Great Maker from that dragon?"

"Are you still dating Well Lubricated Cognitive Engine?"

"Can you sign my pictogram!?"

"Can you sign thiiiiis?"

That last had come from a girl who was about your age, lifting her shirt and flashing her chest at Crys, who was looking so flushed that her cheeks were the same color as her hair. She stammered and stepped backwards - but before you could be overwhelmed by the crowds, a whistle tweeted out and a tall, burly looking man with a bald pate and a glittering soulgem on his brow (you noticed then that everyone else had soulgems - their hair just made it harder to spot) came out.

"Shift 42! What are you doi- oh! Diving Beauty!" He said, excitedly. "Oh, this is an honor, we didn't know you'd be heading through this district."

"I-It's fine, it's fine!" Crys said.

"Diving Beauty, huh?" Kit said, grinning. "Should I have asked for an autograph too? I could help organize them into a line, you know, we Cadians know a lot about queuing up."

"I will feed you into a meat grinder," Crys muttered under her breath.

You had to admit?

You were enjoying not being the center of attention. In fact, you were enjoying it so much that a big part of your brain was working out ways you might stay in Lund and let Crys stand around you more often. You grinned behind your repserator, while Crys looked increasingly harried - but alas, the fun was not to be had. Amberly Cain was many things. Able to let work not be done was not among them, it seemed. She stepped forward, then barked out. "Listen, populat, you cannot let your work shifts be unworked. Crys is a hero for you and yours - but you need to be a worker for her, so that she has a nation to defend! Without your labor, this whole patropolis might very well sink into chaos!" She thrust out her palm dramatically. "Go! To your stations!"

The crowd, drawn in by Amberly's words, blinked, then nodded and ran to their stations with vim and vinegar.

"I could have sworn this place didn't have a shift going," Crys said, rubbing her temples. "I'm so embarrassed."

Kit, still enjoying playing with his food, laced his hands behind his back. He shot you a glance, a grin, a wicked light in his common purple eyes. You blushed behind your mask - but, well, it was fun watching someone else squirm for once. You gave him a nod. Kit looked back at Crys. "...soooooo...this...Engi fellow."

"Why are the Populat so interested in our love lives!?" Crys exploded.

"Well, are they dramatic?" Kit asked, his voice matter of fact.

"No," Crys said. Then, cocking her. "...so, basically, last month, I found out that Engi had been pining after a populat girl whose creche-line had been his next door neighbor in a previous life, so he had a really intense soul-connection to her despite her being a third run reincarnation without even any past life memories."

"Mmhm."

"But...she also had...you know..." Crys mimed a gesture indicating an impressive bust. She tended more towards the athletic. "A-And, well, uh...I had been kinda distant. Not that I was cheating on him. But, there's this Champion from Nurad named Optimistic Discoverer of Unthought Tomorrows, and he...we...I mean, we fought a few times, but it was all sparring for who gets resource rights, and I didn't MEAN to kiss him, and I made sure that any of the crys-pics were destroyed before they got to the press."

"...buuut?"

"But some rumors got back because Doctrine Proves Itself was also pretty jealous ever since I started dating Engi, so Doc has been on the lookout for anything that might break us up. So she spread around that I had done way more than just kiss Opti. Then Opti got word of it when the diplomatic meeting to cover the duel came up, and he visited me in my room after Engi and I had the fight about the Populat girl, Lesti. But Lesti, she was already in the Vat Complex, since she was getting her soul read for any essence blights and that meant she met Engi, so Engi was with Lesti while I was with Opti, and Doc got Pan spy on us with her camera drone, and Pan reported to Engi that I was with Opti, and Opti and Engi got into a fight while Lesti was there, and then-"

"Pan?" Kit asked.

"Oh, uh, Dedicated Panoply 99-Alpha, she's an experimental Soulsteel caste who is pre-fused to a warstrider to see if we could jumpstart to Colossi stage Champions without needing the essence cultivation. Kinda worked, actually, but she's still working on her essence cultivation. So, anyway, Pan got involved too when I found her drone..."

"How did it all shake out?" Kit asked, politely, as you came to the elevator.

"...an orgy...again..." Crys muttered, her voice utterly humiliated. "Right there in the vat complex."

The elevator door closed on Amberly's choked splutter and your loud coughing.

***
​

The airship that Crys had mentioned was a sleek metal beetle that hung in the air on a series of repulsor lift engines that reminded you a bit of a landspeeder. It was roughly the size of a Chimera, with a low ceiling and no sign of weapons on its sleek, curved hull. The side of it had a name stenciled on it in neat Autocthonic.

"What is it called?" Amberly asked.

"Airship 9811," you said.

"What is that!?"

The voice came from one of the crew working on prepping the 9811 - and you saw that he was pointing at you. No, not at you. At Gitta. You pointed at Gitta. "Gitta," you said.

"What in the maker's name is a Gitta!?" The man said.

"Uh, Seriin, we have a burnt out essence converter here, we need to replace it before the launc- what is that!?" another techwight shouted as he emerged from the underbelly of the airship.

"Gitta," you said.

"I don't think they've seen a horse before," Kit said, scratching his chin.

"Oh that's a horse?" Crys asked.

"You didn't know what a horse was?" Amberly asked. Crys coughed, her wings folding shut behind her, then folding into her back with a whirr and a click.

"I-I was kinda just nodding along and figured someone would explain it eventually, through context," she said, shrugging a bit as she did so. "What do you do with them?"

"Ride them," you said.

"Ohhhhhhh! They're like a living gyrocycle," Crys said.

You nodded.

"It's like a big cockroach from the reaches, but all skinny and not a bug," the other techwight said, while Serrin shook his head, then hurried off. When he returned, it was with the essence converters. Soon, the airship was humming quietly, and Crys turned to face you, Amberly, and Kit.

"This ship will take us through a lot of the reaches. But when we hit areas that can't be navigated by a big ship, we'll need to go on foot - the ship can be collapsed down either by hand, or by using essence, but there is a chance that it will need to be abandoned completely before we get where we're going. This means that coming back is going to be a lot harder than getting out there - even with...this." She nodded to you. Your hand went down to the last going away gift Brutus had given you: A teleport beacon, which would let the battle barge yank you and every bit of orichalcium out. Assuming you could get it centralized. Normally industrial scale transportation like that wasn't possible - but one nice thing about moving inherently magical materials was that it would synch with the warp-energies of a teleportation quite well.

"So, if there's anything you want before we head out?" Crys asked. "Now is the time to ask for it."

---
Your ship has enough food and water for the whole group thanks to a recycling system, and you've got basic survival gear for Autocthon: Breather suits, pitons, climbing gear, magnetic latches, tools, and so on. You've got Gitta, your Lens Lance, and Amberly has packed plenty of bolt shells, lasgun charge packs, and similar ammo.

Each extra thing you bring will leave less cargo for anything interesting you find on way, or new friends you meet.

You can vote for multiple things, just make it a plan vote!

[ ] No, we're good!
[ ] See about bringing some of Crys' dramatic extended cast! (write in who)
[ ] The Bonesinger has decided to come with!? (this is against 41's wishes, but if you vote for it, it's cause you want it, so it happens!)
[ ] Actually decide to leave Gitta behind - she takes up a lot of space and the Realm of Brass and Shadows seems too dangerous to bring her along. (Frees up extra cargo.)


Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

"I believe we have everything we require," you said, then started to lead Gitta aboard the airship. Fortuantely, Gitta was a well trained war-horse, and she easily stepped into the tight confinement of the piloting chamber, sitting down on her haunches and then folding her forearms up under herself in a way that made her look rather like a loaf of bread. You weren't sure if normal horses could have compacted themselves like that, but this was why the Death Riders were superior. You reached up and brushed, gently, along the inner side of the augmetic sealmask that covered her face. A whuff of warm air escaped the filter, while Gitta bumped her head against yours.

"Hmm, she cannot smell flowers."

You started and spun around, and gaped as you saw the Bonesinger, Ilthandier, stepping into the airship behind Kit and Amberly. SHe had discarded her robes for a simple set of mesh armor, the hardened plates and the smooth mesh interlocking together to create an elegant, brightly colored figure - yellow and blue and gold. It was so garish. She had a sleek xenos rifle strapped to her back and a xenos sword hanging from her hip, making her look more martial than she had been before.

"Where did you come from?" Amberly exclaimed.

"The elevator," Ilthandier said, her voice amused.

"Aren't you a civilian? What are you doing here?" you asked, angrily.

"All we who dwell in a craftworld must be called to defend it. I have set aside the path of the Bonesinger to carry the path of the Guardian - for the moment." She smiled, slightly. "There is a rather large and unfortunate dragon quite near to my home - I would prefer to put my own hand on the tiller, guiding the raft through these rocks."

You narrowed your eyes at her.

"Hey, the more the merrier!" Crys said, cheerfully.

You didn't know about that.

***
​

The airship 9811 took off from the patropolis of Lund with a fanfare and a lightshow - glittering glyphs flashed along the hive-like spire of the patropolis as the humming essence powered engines clove through the pitch blackness of the chamber that the patropolis had taken root in. You watched through the windows, sitting as far from the xenos as possible, while said xenos worked on sharpening her sword with a quiet humming note. Amberly petted Gitta, and Kit stood behind your chair. Crys had her hands on the controls and was looking a bit awkward. She glanced back at everyone as the floodlights of the airship came on - and spilled across sleek metal and silvery gears. You were cruising along an industrial landscape within a titanic warehouse - huge engineering bay...

It was infuriating to watch skim by because your mind kept catching on threads, like you were being snagged by brambles and thorns. Everything almost made sense, but you knew you just didn't see enough to know where it was all going.

"...so, uh, were you two at war recently?" Crys asked, jerking your attention away.

"Hmm?"

"You and the other lady," Crys said. "Ilthandier."

"Oh, uh...the human race has been at war with xenos for ten thousand years," you said, firmly. "Longer, even. They attacked us before even the Imperium was founded."

"What's a xenos?" Crys asked.

"An alien," you said. "A non-human."

Crys looked at you a bit quizzically. "Like an elemental? Or a machine spirit?"

"No, like, a...they're...they're a xenos," you said, a bit lamely, not sure how to explain it any better. Crys frowned.

"We are of different stock, but the same doom," Ilthandier said, her voice amused.

"...huh..." Crys frowned, tapping her foot. She glanced at you, biting her lip. "Is it going to be a problem? In this kind of mission, we can't have wars going on between an assembly."

You snorted. "You should ask her, the perfidious Eldar are the ones who have always stabbed us in the back."

"Mmm. Yes. Quite." Ilthandier murmured, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Crys sighed - but before she could continue, a vast wall appeared from the darkness, as stark and sudden as a lightning bolt. The floodlights of the ship shone out towards it as you admired the smooth purity of the wall. There was a single, human scale catwalk, positioned what had to be two, three kilometers above the complex ground, leading to a tiny door which, alone, stood out against the smoothness. Rather than crusiing towards the doorway, Crys dove the airship down, picking up speeds as essence lightning crackled from the skin of the ship and touched the wall. She flew towards the ground and you saw that there was an opening down there: a vast vent, air blooming from it in a slow hissing roar.

The airship dove in, the air pressure change causing the whole ship to shudder and quake as Crys pulled up, taking you through dull red-luminated corridors the size of a hab block. The airship took a left, then a right, then a left, and then burst out of another vent - and above a vast, flowing conveyor belt of shimmering slag metal. Cauldrons of the stuff stung by overhead, while cranes and more catwalks stretched overhead. A crane swung a huge collection of freshly forged pipes overhead while Crys took you up and into the first of the catwalks, which lined above the factory floor. Hammers the size of buildings crashed down onto the slag as it was poured automatically into molds, and the entire place was lit by red and blue - the blue coming from immense arcs of lightning that leaped along the ceiling, springing from capacitator to capacitator.

It was...

Less like a hive city than you expected.

Everything was vast and inhuman - there was no room even for the proles to work, merely the machine. You wondered if this was what Mars looked like, in the dreams of the tech-priests.

"All right, from here it should be fairly easy cruising till we reach the first of the interlock airchambers and the oil tank 2234...assuming it hasn't moved..." Crys said, shaking her head. She turned in her seat as the airship hummed above the factory. She leaned in, grinning a bit. "Now, as I was saying...are you going to be okay with the Eldar?" She asked.

---
[ ] Of course! And to prove it, you will spend the flight talking to her
[ ] Of course! And to prove it, you will spend the flight ignore her existence and doing something else.

[ ] Talk to kit​

[ ] talk to Amberly​

[ ] talk to Crys​

[ ] try to make sense of the Machine God's innards as you fly overhead.​

[ ] Write In

Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11

 

[DragonCobolt]

"It will be fine!" you said, then decided you would prove it. You stepped over to the Bonesinger and placed your hands behind your back. She was still drawing her finger along the smooth curve of her sword, her head cocked as she regarded the blade. You opened your mouth behind the resperator - but before you could ask anything, she looked up and transfixed you with an intense look.

"Your Earth, it has a moon, does it not?" she asked, her voice pointed. "Not two? One?"

"Of course!" you exclaimed. Every child across the Imperium had some variation of The Twelve Fables of Holy Terra, and you were able to bring forth this childhood learning to impress a xeno. You supposed it was in the general direction of what the schola was meant to teach, yes? "Earth's moon, Luna, is famous. Did you know across the galaxy, no other moon is as uniquely perfect."

"Is that so," Ilthandier said, her voice still holding that lilting amusement all Eldar seemed to affect at all times. She looked down at her sword and started to sharpen it again, humming quietly as her finger and her focus alike honed the blade.

"Yes it is!" you said, hotly. "Luna is placed, by the divine will of the God-Emperor himself, precisely far enough to produce the most auspicious and unlikely celestial movement - the holy Eclipse." You held up your thumb, as if to cover the sun. The books were quite clear on all this.

Ilithandier's musical laugh pealed off the wall. "You know all worlds have eclipse, yes?"

You scowled, then went to the wall. "No, like this!" You drew out your standard issue transcription device and scribbled out the diagram - shocked at how much you remembered from the book. "See! A total eclipse!"

Ilithandier cocked her head at the diagram. Then she sprang to her feet. "Truly!?"

"That wasn't in my copy of the Twelve Fab-" Amberly started, then, at your look, hastily said. "Yes, truly, it's...truly, truly. Luna is quite a moon, sacred. Holy, even."

"I have long wondered at mon'keigh pretense," Ilithandier said, looking at the diagram with an intense, almost avidoid focus. "Maybe there is something behind it."

You sat next to Ilithandier, then leaned against the wall, looking out the window out of the corner of your eye. The endless foundries continued to pass by. Quietly, you asked: "Have you seen anything like this?"

"There are dead paths of slain gods that I think harken to this," Ilithandier said, her voice soft. "Vaul, the smith."

"You referred to him about me," you said, cocking your head to get a better view out the window. Crys took a banking turn to avoid a massive pillar that looked a bit like a smokestack. Conveyors ran in and out of bricklike buildings that had to be the size of small mountains - and from them emerged cooling ingots carried on racks, which were conveyed off to more hammers and pistons. Whirring robotic arms were stabbing forth, and star-bright pinpricks of cutting and welding systems flared and flashed. Ilithandier smiled, wanly.

"Vaul, oh Vaul...born lame of leg and swift of mind, ugly and bent, he was mocked by the other gods...sickly, he was born dying. Of an immortal kind, he alone knew the fear of death, and so, he understood mortalkind best of all," she said, quietly. "He hid his face, often. In the old inscriptions, his back is to us, his head bowed, his hair long."

You fidgeted, uncomfortable with her words.

"There is a saying among the Drukari, the ones that you call Dark Eldar - when you see any difference at all - that pain reveals as much as it transforms." She turned, looking at you. "Vaul suffered, and it revealed a great genius, and a great kindness. Save, of course, when his spouse was involved." Her lips quirked up. "But that-"
"Is a tale for another time, yes, yes, I know, how many stories do you Eldar have?" you asked, angrily.

"Less than your kind," Ilithandier said. "I still haven't read every book on the Horus Heresy and I'm immortal."

"Why is every other word out of your mouth an insult?" you asked.

"To a wound, every caress is an agony," Ilithandier said.

"I'm not a wound!" you said, flaring angrily.

"And yet, you wear a mask, still," she said.

"She doesn't always," Kit said, cutting into the conversation with a casual interjection - something that made you freeze bodily. He turned in his chair and grinned warmly at you. "And it's not a mask, the way you and I think of masks. 41-22 doesn't hide her face from shame. Her mask is part of being Kreig - it's how she...expresses herself."

"Is that so," Ilithandier said, her eyes suddenly sparkling, brightening far more than it seemed possible considering the dim lights of the cabin and the shadowy realm you were flying through. Her teeth flashed just as brightly. "And in what situation, oh perfect moon, did you get to see her face?"

"That is a story for another day," Kit said, smiling slightly.

"For another day! Ever! never! Never! That is, a never day!" you said. "So, uh...do you think...this...automachinery out here is clearly producing ingots that, oh, look, we're just now flying over the next output array, and see...are..." You turned, cheeks burning and the rest of the room forgotten as you mashed your rebreather against the window, the panes of your eyeholes clacking against glass. "Emperor above, are those self sealing stembolts? Mass produced and, oh! There's flying machine spirits taking them off - this organ is actually providing material for the rest of the body...we're in a production facility! it's doing something."

"Of course it's doing something," Crys said, sounding offended.

"Something we can understand though," you said, taking out your tool and scribbling on the wall. You craned your head, grumbling, trying to see more clearly. With a little sigh, Ilithandier stood and then peered down with you.

"The converyors connect like so," she said, plucking your transcription device from your fingers - her fingers shockingly warm and hot to the touch, as if she burned with fever. She scribbled a few junctions you had been trying to make out. She handed the transcription device back, then smiled at you. "Does it illuminate the issue more for you?"

"Y-Yes..." You said. "There's inefficiencies down there."

"How can there be inefficiencies!?" Amberly exploded. "This is the Omnisiah, a manifestation of the Emperor himself."

Crys bit her lip. "Don't..." She turned back. "Don't tell anyone back home. We don't like to talk about it. But the Blight Zones? The Gremlins? They're...spreading. Growing. The orthodoxy is that they're products of voidbringer cults - that order and stability can be maintained and expanded against them, that we can fight back. But...I've seen some projections. Doc did them for the team, in a private meeting. The Great Maker is dying."

"Yes, the Emperor has been wounded, and he needs his sacrifice, but..." Amberly hesitated. "There's a difference between...there...the parts that work should work! The astronomicon doesn't blink or fail. It works! Because the Emperor is eternal."

"Eternal wounds for an eternal faith," Ilithandier said, her voice soft.

You started to pace through the room. "Well, obviously, we just have to fix him," she said.

Everyone looked at you.

You blinked behind your mask.

"...fix him?" Crys asked. "Fix the Great Maker?"

"Fix the Emperor himself?" Amberly asked, sounding just as offended.

"Well, I can't fix the Emperor," you said, thinking as you did so, the thoughts flowing through your brain. The realization ticked over in a single lurch, an obvious conclusion springing on you right out of the blue. It was so staggering that you stood there silently, working backwards. Your mind spooled backwards. Autocthon was dying. He was born dying, with a sickness in him - expressing itself in the tiniest little inefficiencies here, then building outwards. Fixing him was possible, you could just barely begin to see where to go. Because you were an Exalted. And then your mind came back to that thing you had refused to think about, all the way back on Cathexias II.

A chaos worshiping sorcerer had said...He was dead.

"41-22?" Kit asked, quietly.

"I..." you were silent for a while. "Crys. Uh. You said Alchemical Exalted, uh...I...how did they...happen?"

"Well, the Great Maker provided the schematics to them in sacred visions and dreams to the first Soldaties - he had designed them," Crys said.

"And you said, uh, you're Jade caste, what are the other castes?" you asked.

"Orichalicum, Moonsilver, Starmetal, Soulsteel, Jade and Adamant," Crys said. "Why?"

The glittering brightness of gold. In your mind your could see it flowing before you.

"Solar, Lunar..." you said, trembling. "Sidereal oh my you're a prototype." You started to pace around and around.

"You said you weren't the Emperor, but you were of him," Amberly said. "When you spoke to the heretic. That means the Emperor's still alive, he's just blessing us." She spoke with a kind of confidence that made you realize that you hadn't thought about this because it still felt like standing on the precipice again. Again, again, again. You'd come back here again a third time, if you pushed away. And back again. And again. Until you actually reckoned with it.

"...I think he was right," you whispered. "Thark-Thakunen."

Amberly's eyes narrowed to slits. "What?" she asked.

"Who?" Crys asked.

"I think the Emperor is dead," you whispered. "I can't fix him."

Crys was silent for a long moment. Amberly, though, simply shook her head. "Incorrect," she said. "I think you're letting your own concerns and worries run yourself ragged and allowing doubt to infiltrate your mind. Simply bulwark yourself against such things and reject it."

"Also-"

Whatever Kit was going to say smeared as your entire body locked into warm ice. Colors bled from the room and a smearing of patterns started to draw itself across your eyes. The sensation was hideously familiar. You strained and trembled - clenching your teeth and glowering at the image...of Asdrubael Vect as he flowed into your perceptions again. It felt like every neuron in your brain was on fire at once - and then there was a CLICK and you found yourself able to move. The rest of the cabin seemed perfectly still, caught in the transitory moment, and you and Vect were the only beings with color. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared daggers at him.

"How are you doing that!?" you snapped. You felt like the connection wasn't just easier and faster, it was...more...

Intuitive.

That was unsettling. Previously, you had needed to scream in your mind. Now, you felt as if you were present in the same room as he.

"It's a little tiny bit beyond a mayfly mon'keigh," Vect said, sneering at you. "But one thing I did not expect to be beyond you was to be so slow. How-"

"Direct neural stimulation of a quantum entangled pattern that matches some part of my brain's internal architecture, using direct interfacing," you said, throwing out the theory you had been batting around.

Vect frowned at you. "You know, no one is impressed when a canine can play regicide, yes?"

You stepped closer, glowering at him. "And we're not slow! We're on the way. WArp travel takes time-"

"And yet, my Hamunclai say that you are within the webway. I assumed you'd be at my door any second after that, and yet, here you are!" He looked around himself. "Have you gotten lost? Do I need to send a guide?" He sneered. "Or maybe I should destroy a planet or two to hurry you up?"

"We're getting there!" you said, snarling at him.

Vect narrowed his eyes - bloodless lips pursing. Then he started to smirk. "I'm curious where precisely in the webway you are, right now. It's confusing my poor Homunculi...maybe you could tell me that, rather than risk that I might destroy...say..." He sneered. "Scintilla? Necromunda? Oh, maybe poor dear Ilthar-Kalak."

You bristled at him.

---
What to offer Vect to buy time.

[ ] Tell him precisely where you are and let him chew on the fact his webway connects to the terrifyingly vast and dangerous Realm of Brass and Shadows. It'd be funny to see how many Eldar get themselves mangled here.
[ ] Start speculating on the communication system to annoy him
[ ] Refuse to communicate at all and try and get Kit or Amberly to break the connection, like they did last time
[ ] Try and get Ilithandier's help. She was an Eldar. She might be able to stick her Eldar nose in?
[ ] Write In


Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 2
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 21 | GXP: 36 | WXP: 11