Sir_Travelsalot
Never wakes up tired.
- Location
- At Home
Warp directions and threatening the Chaos lady with brain drain narrowly wins out, I think.
WARHAMMER 40,000: ROGUE TRADER: FALLEN SUNS (40k roleplaying on the farthest frontiers)
- Thread starter DragonCobolt
- Start date
F0lkL0re
Officially not an Inquisitor
- Location
- Shetland
Er that's not my write-in, complement @fanficfan instead.
Ah, sorry, my mistake there!
Fayhem
Definitely not an escaped SCP
- Location
- At large
- Pronouns
- He/Him
@DragonCobolt I think this version should be easier to read. So having Em talk to Huln and threaten her with mindripping for non-compliance wins that vote, and then A Cunning Secret and Precise Warp Destinations are tied at five votes apiece. So it's dealer's choice which won, I guess? I dunno, your call.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Okay can I get an intimidation check from em with a +20 bonus!
Sir_Travelsalot
Never wakes up tired.
- Location
- At Home
Keyed to Fellowship, I hope?
Fayhem
Definitely not an escaped SCP
- Location
- At large
- Pronouns
- He/Him
holy
SHIT
"Paging cleaning crew to the interrogation room, the subject has begun uncontrollably fear shitting, paging cleaning crew to the interrogation room immediately." 🤣
Edit: okay I did the math. 72 Fellowship + 5 (This Ship is My Home) + 10 (Renowned Warrant) + 10 (Shadowcloak) + 20 (QM said so) = 117. I think that's 11 degrees of success right there? Then we factor in that Legend of the Expanse gives an automatic +2 bonus DOS to interaction tests. And so that gives us a result of...
WE INTIMIDATED THIS BITCH WITH 13 DEGREES OF SUCCESS
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CHAPTER THREE: The Soul Shrine (1.3)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The chamber that Captain Huln sat in was better than she expected. It was neither cold nor cramped, nor hot and blazing bright. It had no obvious signs of the rack or wheel or burning brands. All of that combined, somehow, to make her mouth drier, and her tongue rasp like sandpaper as she squirmed in her seat. She had been stripped her leather armor and her force-screens, her weapons, flip darts, shigawire garrottes, that damned Tabitha Von Strauss had even found the concealed det-charge under her left toe and the gas cap on her molar. They had taken from her everything but her hands - and even those were bound together by heavy chains, leaving her nothing but a rough shawl of white sackcloth and bare feet on bare stone floors.
Despite it all, Huln managed to look defiant as the door opened and the Captain of the Scourge Dynasty walked in. He was just as the intelligence reports had placed him: Young. A whelp. The stories about him had said that he had conquered an Eldar treasure world, bested Karad Vall himself, burned Inequity to the ground and stole their spaceport.
She curled her lip, slightly, as she looked him over. "You're it?" she asked.
The Captain didn't respond. He was, in fact, more interested in the cup of tea that he held in his left hand. He cradled it as he walked to the table that dominated the center of the room. He took his seat, across from her, and sipped the tea, regarding her with his storm-gray eyes. He didn't even look mad.
Huln scowled at him. "Do you know what Vall will do to you when he breaks your fleet's spine and captures you and your family?"
The Scourge Captain sipped on his tea.
"He will drag you to the Basilica of Torments, deep in the grasp of the Warp itself. There, you will die a thousand deaths. There, your soul will be rent and remade a hundred times, forged into the engine components for our ships. You will live in there, to see your precious Holy Terra burn, and it will be our guns to set her continents aflame." She spat on the table. "Do you know what will happen to you then? Well? Do you!?"
The Scourge Captain slowly set down the tea cup. He looked her square in the eyes, then smiled slightly.
"I know," he said, simply. "And you?"
Huln looked into those eyes and the silence in the room stretched - and the unspoken implication of those four words began to ring in the air. I know. And you? And you. Slowly, Huln began to think about what, precisely, would happen to herself when Karad Vall marched through the ship, his victorious banner rising, and his men finding her...in a white sackcloth gown, her hands manacled together, her ships flying a Scourge flag. A pair of Hades cruisers, both loyal ships that had served Vall for two centuries, bought at a high price from the bloody forge world of Pollux. Vall had handed over a planet's worth of treasure and souls for just one of them, treasure massed over decades of hard plunder, dark dealings and vile pacts.
And she had lost both of them...in an hour and a half...
Without...
Killing...
A single...
Imperial...
Soul...
Without even scratching the paint of the Whisper.
Without even firing more than a single half hearted broadside.
The Scourge Captain sipped on his tea again, pursed his lips. "A good blend, I'll have you know," he said, dryly. Huln blinked a bead of cold sweat from her eyes.
They sat in silence as Huln slowly tilted her head forward, her shoulders slumping. Once the cup was empty, the Scourge Captain put the cup down, then set down a piece of parchment onto the table. He slid it over the table with a preternaturally loud rasp of parchment on metal. He set an auto-quill beside it, which glowed as he spoke the activation incantation. His voice was soft. "It is registered to your vocal patterns. You have until..." The faint sound of a ship's bell rang.
Bong...Bong...bong bong...bong...
"You have until the sixth bell, Captain Huln."
"W-What happens after the sixth bell?" she whispered, not lifting her head.
"I suppose that depends upon the men and women we extricated from your bridge. Captain." And for the first time in the conversation, the Imperial let a single shred of emotion show in his face and his features. Those storm-gray eyes flashed like lightning and he compacted into that title that it struck Huln as more humiliating and disgusting than thrown sewage. The doors slammed shut behind him with a hiss and she was left in the chamber, alone.
Quietly, Huln began to speak to the auto-quill.
The Shrine was being, even now, explored by the Eldar...
Tine frowned, while her sister paced behind her.
"I say we can't trust a single damn word that she says," she growled.
"I don't know, I watched the pict-recording, I almost peed myself," Tine said, dryly, as the door to the chamber opened and Em and Von Strauss, looking as well suited to her position as ever, entered.
"You did what?" Em asked.
"It was very hot," Tine said, cheerfully.
Em shook his head, while Dr. Balthazar entered, his head cocked. "Is this something that I should be hearing about? A medical condition, perhaps?"
"No, Doctor, my wife is merely trying to drive me to drink," Em said, provoking a little tongue sticking and 'nyah!' from Tine.
Dr. Balthazar took this in, and proclaimed. "Remarkable!"
"Oh?" Ryia asked.
"To meet such noble, high bread creatures, such as you, and to find you infused with such vitality, such lust for life, is remarkable indeed. I have found that the higher statures of our society produce and unfortunate imbalance in the humors," Dr. Balthazar said, then harrumphed. "Possibly something involving the diet? The unfortunate dependence upon juvinat? A lack of invigorating near death violence and combat? Hmm..." He shook his head. "Whatever the reason, I believe it is an overabundance of the black bile, producing a melancholic and depressive air, mixturing of course with a dangerous level of caustic phlegm, creating apathy to go with this melancholy, producing a creature of low passions and shallow frivolity, seeking ever to find a new way to distract themselves from the world in which they stand. They could all stand to bleed in the doctor's chamber less and on the battlefield more, as I have found nothing corrects black bile faster than the dangers of combat. Why, I have seen the most melancholic spacers, plucked from the home by the press and thrust into these vast, floating steel prisons you call ships, and then put to the fire of interstellar combat and, overnight, become the most animated, cheerful fellows you could ever imagine!"
"That does sound about right," Tine said, her eyes wide - she'd never met a non-Magos BIologis who understood the biles so well.
"Quite," Von Strauss said. "Now...the intelligence?"
"Intelligence? Oh! The naval intelligence, in this, I shall bow out, for i am useless when it comes to naval matters," Dr. Balthazar said.
Von Strauss inclined her head, then began to speak - having processed the information retrieved from both the Farseers on the Soul Shrine and the confession of the late Captain Huln.
"The fleet of Karad Vall consists of his flagship, a desecrated Emperor class battleship named the Optimum Nemesis, twelve heavy cruisers - primarily Hades and Carnage variants - serving as the central battle line, with two Retaliators class grand cruisers, both of which have been completely retooled and overhauled: Their broadside and lance arrays have been refixed to be launch bays, giving each a strength of approximately thirty six squadrons, a total of seventy two squadrons on them, bolstered by a motley of ten Soulcages that have been modified similar to our own carriers though...with significantly less skill, giving them another thirty squadrons. There are then four wolfpacks of six sub-rated ships each, arrayed on the outskirts of the fleet as watchdogs and anti-torpedo screens."
"Good God-Emperor!" Tine exclaimed.
"Fucking shit!" Ryia said.
"No wonder he left two Hadies on this - that was a sliver of his forces...he must have gathered up every damn pirate in the Expanse for this," Em said.
"According to the late Captain Huln, that has been the primacy goal of his warfare and conquests over the past two centuries," Von Strauss said. "Still, in short, that's one first rate, twelve second rates, two flag-carriers, ten escort-carriers, and twenty four frigates, sloops, destroyers, gunboats and xebecs," Von Strauss said, listing off the staggering figure.
"And the Craftworld," Em said, softly.
"And the Craftworld," Von Strauss said. "Speaking of...the Farseers have gotten a course..." She licked her lips. "He's heading for Footfall."
"No subtlety here. No grace," Em said, frowning. "He's going to destroy Footfall to remove a port for any Imperial ships on this side of the Expanse, butcher any Traders there, punch through, hit Port Wander...and head for Purgatorio."
"That is in line with my first approximation analysis, yes," Von Strauss said.
"Can...we take them?" Tine whispered. "We have...a fraction of their ships. Even with Eldar. Even with the navy's help!"
"Assuming the navy can arrive," Ryia said, quietly.
Em frowned. "Bring me the Farseers."
Von Struass bowed.
"LIKE HELL WE WILL!" Ryia snarled, stepping forward, her hands clenched, before Tine grabbed her and held her back with shocking ease for a woman of her statue - shocking to anyone who didn't know Tine's various secrets. Serradon glared at her.
"Do you think I want to?" he asked. "I used the forecasting room on the Whispers herself - and it is clear. If you and your fleet come with us, stopping at various human colonies, we can save a million of your kind. We can spirit them away on Kaleor and, in a thousand years, the fruit of your dynasty will return with an avenging fleet that will obliterate the Empire Umbral from the face of the galaxy. The reborn Kronelyx Sector will become a beacon unto the Imperium - far brighter than the debased, conspiracy riddled haven of heretics that is the Calixus Sector today. But if you go to face Vall, you will die at the Maw. Your children will die. You-"
"Callie!" Ryia said, suddenly. "What did you see?"
Callie blushed. "V-Vision uncertain. I...couldn't hold down a thread."
Em frowned.
Serradon looked at him - and Em knew, in his bones, that the Farseer was telling the honest truth. If the fleet went to the Maw, then they would face Vall...and they would die. That was what his visions saw...
---
What say you?
[ ] Then we will sell ourselves dearly. Set course for Furibundus.
[ ] Then we shall not face him...at the Maw. Set course for...
Despite it all, Huln managed to look defiant as the door opened and the Captain of the Scourge Dynasty walked in. He was just as the intelligence reports had placed him: Young. A whelp. The stories about him had said that he had conquered an Eldar treasure world, bested Karad Vall himself, burned Inequity to the ground and stole their spaceport.
She curled her lip, slightly, as she looked him over. "You're it?" she asked.
The Captain didn't respond. He was, in fact, more interested in the cup of tea that he held in his left hand. He cradled it as he walked to the table that dominated the center of the room. He took his seat, across from her, and sipped the tea, regarding her with his storm-gray eyes. He didn't even look mad.
Huln scowled at him. "Do you know what Vall will do to you when he breaks your fleet's spine and captures you and your family?"
The Scourge Captain sipped on his tea.
"He will drag you to the Basilica of Torments, deep in the grasp of the Warp itself. There, you will die a thousand deaths. There, your soul will be rent and remade a hundred times, forged into the engine components for our ships. You will live in there, to see your precious Holy Terra burn, and it will be our guns to set her continents aflame." She spat on the table. "Do you know what will happen to you then? Well? Do you!?"
The Scourge Captain slowly set down the tea cup. He looked her square in the eyes, then smiled slightly.
"I know," he said, simply. "And you?"
Huln looked into those eyes and the silence in the room stretched - and the unspoken implication of those four words began to ring in the air. I know. And you? And you. Slowly, Huln began to think about what, precisely, would happen to herself when Karad Vall marched through the ship, his victorious banner rising, and his men finding her...in a white sackcloth gown, her hands manacled together, her ships flying a Scourge flag. A pair of Hades cruisers, both loyal ships that had served Vall for two centuries, bought at a high price from the bloody forge world of Pollux. Vall had handed over a planet's worth of treasure and souls for just one of them, treasure massed over decades of hard plunder, dark dealings and vile pacts.
And she had lost both of them...in an hour and a half...
Without...
Killing...
A single...
Imperial...
Soul...
Without even scratching the paint of the Whisper.
Without even firing more than a single half hearted broadside.
The Scourge Captain sipped on his tea again, pursed his lips. "A good blend, I'll have you know," he said, dryly. Huln blinked a bead of cold sweat from her eyes.
They sat in silence as Huln slowly tilted her head forward, her shoulders slumping. Once the cup was empty, the Scourge Captain put the cup down, then set down a piece of parchment onto the table. He slid it over the table with a preternaturally loud rasp of parchment on metal. He set an auto-quill beside it, which glowed as he spoke the activation incantation. His voice was soft. "It is registered to your vocal patterns. You have until..." The faint sound of a ship's bell rang.
Bong...Bong...bong bong...bong...
"You have until the sixth bell, Captain Huln."
"W-What happens after the sixth bell?" she whispered, not lifting her head.
"I suppose that depends upon the men and women we extricated from your bridge. Captain." And for the first time in the conversation, the Imperial let a single shred of emotion show in his face and his features. Those storm-gray eyes flashed like lightning and he compacted into that title that it struck Huln as more humiliating and disgusting than thrown sewage. The doors slammed shut behind him with a hiss and she was left in the chamber, alone.
Quietly, Huln began to speak to the auto-quill.
***
Tine tried to not feel intensely comforted by the sight of the fleet. She knew that they weren't out of the woods, not by a long shot, but the array of plasma wakes that flanked the Argent Scourge was just a delight to see. She and Ryia were off the Whispers - the Eldar had quietly, but politely, requested them to return to their ships the instant they had an excuse to, and she didn't mind it. Being aboard her home was...deeply comforting. She watched the fleet cruise by as they made for the edge of the system - and watched the Soul Shrine. She was being towed by the four carrier-transports. Their bulk and cargo-rigging made them exceptionally well suited to towing the thing, and since they were already wallowing, lubberly craft despite the best that Em and his officers could do.
The Shrine was being, even now, explored by the Eldar...
Tine frowned, while her sister paced behind her.
"I say we can't trust a single damn word that she says," she growled.
"I don't know, I watched the pict-recording, I almost peed myself," Tine said, dryly, as the door to the chamber opened and Em and Von Strauss, looking as well suited to her position as ever, entered.
"You did what?" Em asked.
"It was very hot," Tine said, cheerfully.
Em shook his head, while Dr. Balthazar entered, his head cocked. "Is this something that I should be hearing about? A medical condition, perhaps?"
"No, Doctor, my wife is merely trying to drive me to drink," Em said, provoking a little tongue sticking and 'nyah!' from Tine.
Dr. Balthazar took this in, and proclaimed. "Remarkable!"
"Oh?" Ryia asked.
"To meet such noble, high bread creatures, such as you, and to find you infused with such vitality, such lust for life, is remarkable indeed. I have found that the higher statures of our society produce and unfortunate imbalance in the humors," Dr. Balthazar said, then harrumphed. "Possibly something involving the diet? The unfortunate dependence upon juvinat? A lack of invigorating near death violence and combat? Hmm..." He shook his head. "Whatever the reason, I believe it is an overabundance of the black bile, producing a melancholic and depressive air, mixturing of course with a dangerous level of caustic phlegm, creating apathy to go with this melancholy, producing a creature of low passions and shallow frivolity, seeking ever to find a new way to distract themselves from the world in which they stand. They could all stand to bleed in the doctor's chamber less and on the battlefield more, as I have found nothing corrects black bile faster than the dangers of combat. Why, I have seen the most melancholic spacers, plucked from the home by the press and thrust into these vast, floating steel prisons you call ships, and then put to the fire of interstellar combat and, overnight, become the most animated, cheerful fellows you could ever imagine!"
"That does sound about right," Tine said, her eyes wide - she'd never met a non-Magos BIologis who understood the biles so well.
"Quite," Von Strauss said. "Now...the intelligence?"
"Intelligence? Oh! The naval intelligence, in this, I shall bow out, for i am useless when it comes to naval matters," Dr. Balthazar said.
Von Strauss inclined her head, then began to speak - having processed the information retrieved from both the Farseers on the Soul Shrine and the confession of the late Captain Huln.
"The fleet of Karad Vall consists of his flagship, a desecrated Emperor class battleship named the Optimum Nemesis, twelve heavy cruisers - primarily Hades and Carnage variants - serving as the central battle line, with two Retaliators class grand cruisers, both of which have been completely retooled and overhauled: Their broadside and lance arrays have been refixed to be launch bays, giving each a strength of approximately thirty six squadrons, a total of seventy two squadrons on them, bolstered by a motley of ten Soulcages that have been modified similar to our own carriers though...with significantly less skill, giving them another thirty squadrons. There are then four wolfpacks of six sub-rated ships each, arrayed on the outskirts of the fleet as watchdogs and anti-torpedo screens."
"Good God-Emperor!" Tine exclaimed.
"Fucking shit!" Ryia said.
"No wonder he left two Hadies on this - that was a sliver of his forces...he must have gathered up every damn pirate in the Expanse for this," Em said.
"According to the late Captain Huln, that has been the primacy goal of his warfare and conquests over the past two centuries," Von Strauss said. "Still, in short, that's one first rate, twelve second rates, two flag-carriers, ten escort-carriers, and twenty four frigates, sloops, destroyers, gunboats and xebecs," Von Strauss said, listing off the staggering figure.
"And the Craftworld," Em said, softly.
"And the Craftworld," Von Strauss said. "Speaking of...the Farseers have gotten a course..." She licked her lips. "He's heading for Footfall."
"No subtlety here. No grace," Em said, frowning. "He's going to destroy Footfall to remove a port for any Imperial ships on this side of the Expanse, butcher any Traders there, punch through, hit Port Wander...and head for Purgatorio."
"That is in line with my first approximation analysis, yes," Von Strauss said.
"Can...we take them?" Tine whispered. "We have...a fraction of their ships. Even with Eldar. Even with the navy's help!"
"Assuming the navy can arrive," Ryia said, quietly.
Em frowned. "Bring me the Farseers."
Von Struass bowed.
***
"There is no hope," Serradon said, quietly. "The best thing to do now is to flee to Kaledor and evacuate as many of our people as we can from the Expanse and the Calixus Sector. My visions show that if you do this-"
"LIKE HELL WE WILL!" Ryia snarled, stepping forward, her hands clenched, before Tine grabbed her and held her back with shocking ease for a woman of her statue - shocking to anyone who didn't know Tine's various secrets. Serradon glared at her.
"Do you think I want to?" he asked. "I used the forecasting room on the Whispers herself - and it is clear. If you and your fleet come with us, stopping at various human colonies, we can save a million of your kind. We can spirit them away on Kaleor and, in a thousand years, the fruit of your dynasty will return with an avenging fleet that will obliterate the Empire Umbral from the face of the galaxy. The reborn Kronelyx Sector will become a beacon unto the Imperium - far brighter than the debased, conspiracy riddled haven of heretics that is the Calixus Sector today. But if you go to face Vall, you will die at the Maw. Your children will die. You-"
"Callie!" Ryia said, suddenly. "What did you see?"
Callie blushed. "V-Vision uncertain. I...couldn't hold down a thread."
Em frowned.
Serradon looked at him - and Em knew, in his bones, that the Farseer was telling the honest truth. If the fleet went to the Maw, then they would face Vall...and they would die. That was what his visions saw...
---
What say you?
[ ] Then we will sell ourselves dearly. Set course for Furibundus.
[ ] Then we shall not face him...at the Maw. Set course for...
[ ] The Screaming Vortex and Q'Sol - and see how badly they hate Vall as well.
[ ] The Dread Pearl and her webway gate. Warpstorm or no, we will use her.
[ ] Kaledor herself.
[ ] The Void Dancers' Roil - we shall find a second Passage straight to Purgatorio or die trying.
[ ] Write In
Xilentxium
Existential Crisis Management
- Location
- Temperate Regions
A part of me thinks that a decapitation strike would spell the end of Vall's fleet, have the pirates desdend into infighting. Another part of me says that it wouldn't be that easy
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Now, getting him on the Optimum Nemisis might be tricky!
Sir_Travelsalot
Never wakes up tired.
- Location
- At Home
Eldar ships are built with a focus, one might even say crippling overspecialization, on stealth...
F0lkL0re
Officially not an Inquisitor
- Location
- Shetland
Well we do have a teleportarium and have shown a willingness to use it, just need to bring those shields down (I think because I'm pretty sure that we have teleported through shields before) and then prey that the teleport to the bridge goes right, that Vall is there and that he never learned any code words for the Eversor.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So, normally, teleportariums can absolutely beam through shields, but there are special fields that can interdict them - like at the Citadel of Skulls.
I figure they're kinda similar to geller fields, since teleportariums "beam" you by slamming you through the warp!
EDIT: And, like, just to be quite honest, it's likely that beaming aboard Karad Vall's flagship might be harder than other ships - if only because...well, think of Vall as a dark mirror to the Scourges. He's just as whacked out absurdly overpowered, just...you know...
For evil!
And remember, your flagship can, pretty regularly, get SIX LAYERS OF VOID SHIELDS.
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Xilentxium
Existential Crisis Management
- Location
- Temperate Regions
"Admiral! Message from Vall!"
"What does the Heretic say?"
"It's a picture of him laughing and the text says 'Good luck, I'm behind Seven Layers of Void Shields.'"
Sir_Travelsalot
Never wakes up tired.
- Location
- At Home
[X] Then we will sell ourselves dearly. Set course for Furibundus.
-[X] "All that has happened in the last two decades of my life was wrought by chance. I had set myself upon a career in the Imperial Navy. From the first day, even if only as an abstract, I knew full well that I, and everyone I cherished, would most likely die gruesomely in the cold depths of the void. Facing a foe that was beyond my ability, or one that simply brought to bear enough broadsides that even an imbecile could wrest victory. All my travails as a Rogue Trader were full of impossibilities. The word means precisely nothing to me at this point. So do not speak of impossible battles. I know the enemy's position, and his course. I know his fleet composition, and how many Imperial lives will be snuffed out of existence at best if he remains uncontested. You speak to me of a triumph a thousand years from now, of the million we can spirit away from doom, and I only hear of the billions whose souls will wail in torment for each day of them, while we who claim to be righteous cower in the hidden spaces. It is better to die for the Emperor than to live for yourself, for living with that knowledge would gruesomely kill the man that is Emil Vendigroth Scourge as surely as any heretic we will face at Footfall."
-[X] "All that has happened in the last two decades of my life was wrought by chance. I had set myself upon a career in the Imperial Navy. From the first day, even if only as an abstract, I knew full well that I, and everyone I cherished, would most likely die gruesomely in the cold depths of the void. Facing a foe that was beyond my ability, or one that simply brought to bear enough broadsides that even an imbecile could wrest victory. All my travails as a Rogue Trader were full of impossibilities. The word means precisely nothing to me at this point. So do not speak of impossible battles. I know the enemy's position, and his course. I know his fleet composition, and how many Imperial lives will be snuffed out of existence at best if he remains uncontested. You speak to me of a triumph a thousand years from now, of the million we can spirit away from doom, and I only hear of the billions whose souls will wail in torment for each day of them, while we who claim to be righteous cower in the hidden spaces. It is better to die for the Emperor than to live for yourself, for living with that knowledge would gruesomely kill the man that is Emil Vendigroth Scourge as surely as any heretic we will face at Footfall."
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- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Not quite yet sold on the vote, but that was well written. Well done.
- Location
- Canada
The Emperor protects.
That's not a platitude, a cliche, or a trite homily in this moment. Faith is easy when you hold all the advantages, the ships, the guns, the tanks, the money. Faith is easy when you know you'll win either way.
It's when you know you haven't a hope beyond a sliver, that behind you are billions who'll be dead or worse either way, that those who gave up their faith for power and pain are approaching in numbers who blot out the stars? That's when you have to have faith, real faith.
The Emperor has faith in humanity, and we have faith in him. Call for aid, call in every favor we've got, spend every throne we've made, land an assassin on that flagship, fire every gun until the barrels melt, our swords break, and all we have are fists and nails and teeth and every last Fate Point is spent!
In His name, vindicate His faith!
The Emperor protects!
That's not a platitude, a cliche, or a trite homily in this moment. Faith is easy when you hold all the advantages, the ships, the guns, the tanks, the money. Faith is easy when you know you'll win either way.
It's when you know you haven't a hope beyond a sliver, that behind you are billions who'll be dead or worse either way, that those who gave up their faith for power and pain are approaching in numbers who blot out the stars? That's when you have to have faith, real faith.
The Emperor has faith in humanity, and we have faith in him. Call for aid, call in every favor we've got, spend every throne we've made, land an assassin on that flagship, fire every gun until the barrels melt, our swords break, and all we have are fists and nails and teeth and every last Fate Point is spent!
In His name, vindicate His faith!
The Emperor protects!
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- Pronouns
- It/Its
The Emperor is a slowly decaying corpse that hasn't realized it's dead yet. We shall protect ourselves, and we shall triumph
- Pronouns
- It/Its
[X] Then we shall not face him...at the Maw. Set course for...
-[X] The Screaming Vortex and Q'Sol - and see how badly they hate Vall as well.
mostly voting this because I liked the character from there
-[X] The Screaming Vortex and Q'Sol - and see how badly they hate Vall as well.
mostly voting this because I liked the character from there