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Waci posted:C, for the reasons my dad mentioned. And one (1), hang out and be generous with the Rockopolis fucked around with this message at 16:16 on Sep 6, 2014 |
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Sep 6, 2014 15:36
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Oh, I completely forgot to vote on that. Yes, 1, stay for the wedding and hand out the money we gave ourselves as wedding gifts. We need loyal cronies more than we need petty cash.
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Sep 6, 2014 16:03
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Oh yeah, 1. Let's stay for the wedding and make some potential allies. Also, how do we get fate points back?
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Sep 6, 2014 16:13
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End of a session or doing something the GM deems suitably awesome, so whenever LowellDND pleases, but presumably somewhere around once every chapter/segment/arc/whatever of the story.
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Sep 6, 2014 17:02
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C1 Also, Awareness, Search, Sound Consitution, Basic Weapon Training, Int Simple Advance
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Sep 6, 2014 17:15
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Fate points can be spent and recovered every session to reroll checks, or burnt and lost forever to win an encounter. Since we are leveling up our chatacter and starting new mission arc next post, we will have the points recovered by then. edit: they can also be spent to heal some wounds, increase your level of success, recover from stun, or get a 10 on initiative. burning a fate point are also used to let you survive certain death (but a greater daemon might cause several certain deaths ) Loel fucked around with this message at 19:30 on Sep 6, 2014 |
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Sep 6, 2014 19:13
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LowellDND posted:(but a greater daemon might cause several certain deaths ) On the bright side, they can raise you from the dead if they hate you a lot and think they haven't killed you hard enough. Although that's usually reserved for Ork Warbosses who castrate them, or something similar.
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Sep 6, 2014 19:39
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MaliciousOnion posted:C1, and I concur with Waci's advance suggestions. +1 for this stuff.
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Sep 6, 2014 21:11
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Vote isn't over, but trend is as follows: A) Mechwright x B) Mechassassin x C) Factor Lathes x x x x x x x x x Stay wedding x x x x x x x x x x Leave Wedding x x Wrangling x x x x x x x x Wolf Pack Tactics x x x x x x x x Awareness x x x x x x x x x Simple Int x x x x x x x Simple Tough x x x x x x Pack Hunter x x Tracking x x Search x Sound Constitution x Basic Weapon Training x Looks like you are going for social activities/diplomacy and occasional sudden violence. So Ill start sketching the next arc for that.
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Sep 6, 2014 22:20
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Outrail posted:Hmm ok. But as a tech priest would it be feasible at some point in the future to weaponize a warp drive and fire demons at people? There is actually an Inquisition faction that do that. They are so crazy they are kill-on-sight by the other inquisitors, but they make xeno-tech, warptek, and heretek like its cool. They are called Phaneonites, and there *are* advancements for them in the Radical Handbook. quote:Xanthism is a Radical faction of the Inquisition. It is named after Inquisitor Lord Zaranchek Xanthus, executed as a heretic in the 32nd millennium. The most overtly Radical grouping within the Inquisition, it advocates the use of Warp-based weaponry, such as daemon possessed swords, daemonhosts, and generally turning the power of Chaos against itself. It is the ultimate goal of Xanthites to harness the power of Chaos for mankind, believing that it can not be defeated as it is merely a reflection of humanity itself. However they believe that those energies and powers created by Chaos can be turned back for the benefit of humanity, rather than being an enemy.[2] quote:The Phaenonites are one of the darkest and most malignant radical factions of the Inquisition, obsessed with harnessing the powers of the warp and mastering the daemon though the use of twisted and long forbidden technology. Declared Excommunicate Traitoris for its many crimes and from turning from the worship of the God-Emperor in favour of its own megalomaniacal quest for power, the faction was brutally suppressed and purged, but not destroyed. Operating now entirely under a shadowed veil of secrecy like a slowly spreading cancer within the Inquisition, the Phaenonites, though few in number, are growing again in power and influence within the Calixis Sector. Loel fucked around with this message at 22:48 on Sep 6, 2014 |
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Sep 6, 2014 22:26
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Looking forward to severe heresy up in this thread 
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Sep 7, 2014 01:31
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I'm not a fan of the Phaeonite idea since it means swearing ourselves to someone else. I'd rather become the leader of the ship.
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Sep 7, 2014 01:38
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Obscil posted:I'm not a fan of the Phaeonite idea since it means swearing ourselves to someone else. I'd rather become the leader of the ship. Two, there always are. A master, and an apprentice.
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Sep 7, 2014 01:58
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B 1 T Simple Advance Int Simple Advance Sound Constitution Shadowing Tracking
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Sep 7, 2014 06:27
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Not so keen on swearing allegiance to anyone really (without our fingers crossed behind our back anyway). But why do we need to join a bunch of sociopaths in order to do fun things with the roiling forces of misunderstood chaos? Is there a 'tinker with tech' skill? Can we just crank that up to 11 and see what happens? Vv: I think you mean 'really drat fun'. Outrail fucked around with this message at 21:21 on Sep 7, 2014 |
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Sep 7, 2014 08:56
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I don't see why someone can't independently rediscover the principle of harnessing Chaos for the greater good without swearing fealty to a preexisting heretical sect.  Although I imagine that trying to operate as a rogue agent of Chaos (whatever our noble intentions) would be really drat hard with both the regular Inquisition and the Phaenonites with KOS orders on our asses.
McSpanky fucked around with this message at 12:00 on Sep 7, 2014 |
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Sep 7, 2014 11:52
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MaliciousOnion posted:C1, and I concur with Waci's advance suggestions. +1
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Sep 8, 2014 02:53
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quote:A) Mechwright x That's pretty conclusive I think. Ill start updating the sheet and brainstorming the wedding bash.
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Sep 8, 2014 16:02
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Relevant changes to character sheet: WS 25 BS 31 S 25 T 44 (Simple Advance) Ag 31 Int 52 (Simple Advance) Per 27 Wp 33 Fel 33 Wounds 9 Skills: Awareness Basic Weapons Training (Las) Common Lore (Machine Cult) (Int) Common Lore (Tech) (Int) Electro Graft Use Evaluate (Int) Forbidden Lore (Archaeotech) (Int) Literacy (Int) Logic (Int) Melee Weapons (Primitive) Pistol Training (Las) Scholastic Lore (Cryptology) (Int) Secret Tongue (Tech) (Int) Speak Language (High Gothic) (Int) Speak Language (Low Gothic) (Int) Tech Use (Int) +10 Trade (Armourer) (Str) Trade (Copyist) (Int) Wrangling Wolf Pack Tactics Talents: Tainted Blood (applied) Peer (Nobility), Peer (Mercantile) Legacy of Wealth : Double starting wealth and income. Vendetta : Enemy determined by the GM. Talented: Deceive Resistance: Fear Available Advances 100 XP Blather Blather +10 Carouse Charm Deceive Diplomacy (requires Fel 30) Disguise Inquiry Inquiry +10 Logic Scholastic Lore Bureaucracy Scholastic Lore Heraldry Scholastic Lore Imperial Creed Search Shadowing Tracking Trade Wrangling +10 Basic Weapon Training (Pistol) Basic Weapon Training (SP) Basic Weapon Training (Primitive) Mimic Peer Admin Peer Government Peer Military Peer Nobility Pack Hunter (requires Tracking) Pistol Training (Las) Pistol Training (Primitive) Pistol Training (SP) Sound Constitution WP Simple Advance Fel Simple Advance 200 XP: Charm +10 Deceive +10 Diplomacy +10 Scrutiny 250 XP: WS Simple Advance BS Simple Advance Per Simple Advance Int Intermediate Advance T Intermediate Advance Fel Intermediate Advance 300 XP Peer (Adeptus Arbites) Master Orator (requires Fel 30) 400 XP Talented Diplomacy 500 XP ST Simple Advance AG Simple Advance Fel Advanced 750 XP Fel Expert Lot of good stuff in there. Notably, we can now advance fellowship, which standard tech priests cannot.
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Sep 8, 2014 16:18
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Notably, in addition to advancing fellowship, we can now buy Deceive, which we started with the Talented talent for, because lying runs in our blood.
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Sep 8, 2014 17:21
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Fever dreams Helpful mood Music The celebration was one that wouldn’t be repeated for a generation. Thousands of people were gathered amongst the loading chambers, the largest room that was available to the Tribes of the Batteries. The flames had settled down, although in the distance the occasional secondary explosion could be heard. Such was life amongst the dregs. The feasts extended as far as the eye could see. Nearly a hundred of meat-beasts had been collected and slaughtered, including ones that had been grown for a decade or more. The people went at them with a will, using knives formed of polished shards of ship hulls, collected from ancient battles. The meat itself was smoky and rich, saturated in chemicals from the depths and a life living Between. Meanwhile, beasts of a distant sort were used for music, tormented and twisted into strange shapes, their air sacs deflating and refilling for the shrieking cacophony that was the music preferred by the Tribes. Tubes of different lengths extended from their bodies, producing different notes, and drums composed of dried skins performed counterpoint. Much of the culture and survival of the Tribes were built around these beasts, although they had made little impact in the cities built around the Grateful Burden. Woodhouse and your Cyber-mastiff were tearing into a steak half their size, although it was unclear who was winning as of yet. Your cyber-mastiff had massive jaws and a deep hunger, but Woodhouse was showing surprising skill in using a quill for carving. Idly, you wondered what he had been eating before you returned to the ship. Meanwhile, all around you, the celebration continued at a feverish pace. The luminescent mosses that normally lit these corridors had been agitated into flaring into prismatic displays, disorienting flashes of light that gave the thousands of celebrants an unreal look to them. Mixed in with them were dozens of black powder explosions, crackles and pops that tore through the ship’s “evening.” The Tribes were understandably quite skilled when it came to explosions, and it showed in their recreation. Firecrackers, sparklers, flashbangs, and a hundred other variants cut through the noise and light and heat, producing a battlefield in all but name. A burn pit had been established for victims of the race. The survivors were surprisingly good natured about it. Apparently burns were routine in this place, even ones that covered half the body and required skin grafts. Fungus of various sorts had already been collected and been placed on skin, promising a recovery of a kind within days. However, it would produce the leathery discoloured skin which was iconic among the tribes-people, one of the main indicators that kept them separate from the general population. It was a rare person who made it to old age without spending at least one visit to the burn pit, and they were kept well sedated on fungal wine. You were impressed to notice that it had a kick equal to any still on the ship. Interspersed through the food, the fireworks, the flashing lights, the wailing pipes and pounding drums, a vast and arrhythmic dance was being held. It weaved through the celebration, stopping and starting spontaneously, forming in what could only be described as outbreaks. Many of them wore masks, shouted things you could barely hear, re-enacting battles of centuries ago. The main event, however, was the Ritual of Cleansing and the Rite of Strength. The full Ritual would take days, perhaps a week, but it was begun now. Nearly a thousand people strapped into skin-suits, thin layers that would protect them from the depths of space. They traversed along the barrels of the main guns, removing debris that had often been there for years or decades. A Rogue Trader might go a lifetime without firing the guns, and it was the duty of the Tribes to keep them maintained. They did so ceremoniously, undoing the decay of years in hours. As it wound down, the Rite of Strength began. While torpedoes were loaded into the ship by Machine Spirits, they required physical labor to bring them to the guns themselves. Accompanied by sacred chants, music, and incense, the multi-ton torpedoes were dragged kilometers from the loading bay to the launch tubes. There they would wait, possibly for decades, until the Rogue Trader ordered them fired. Even as the torpedoes were moved, the binding between tribes was occurring. Weddings held at this time were believed to be particularly blessed, and the marriages to the new tribe weren’t the only one that were to happen. Nearly fifty couples were married that you noticed, and a great cheer went up as the torpedoes were slid into place. This was the final pronouncement of the Omnissiah that the marriages had been recognized, that the torpedoes had been accepted into the launch tubes. It was dreadfully bad luck if there wasn’t a smooth connection, or worse, a detonation of some sort. The Ritual of Cleansing was thusly vital for any good marriage. And, of course, the gift giving. Nearly everyone was blitzed on fungal wine by this point, so there were many incomprehensible toasts and cheers and speeches, trades of ancient tech and blessed objects and relics. You yourself handed out Thrones by the hundred, focusing in particular on the new couples, the Elders, and the High Technicians. It showed great respect, and you noted many people watching you approvingly. You had respect for the Traditions. Many, many hours later, the celebrants slowly migrated to their individual battery, often supported by friends, or perhaps crawling slowly over the vast kilometers. Many of the routes taken would be incomprehensible to an outsider, but they could do it even while deep in Fungal Wine. A) After a bash like that, you need a recovery. Head to the Tech Priests for check up, and to get your Servitor and Cyber-Mastiff repaired. Woodhouse (sprawled on the ground in a corner) also tells you that your new organic skin has finished growing in the vat. B) The other Family members have probably finished their tasks by now, so it would be good to report to the Lord-Sire and let him know that the batteries have been integrated successfully. It would also be smart to see how the others did in their tasks - favor among the Family is one of the few things that matter. C) Why not stay a little bit longer? The Elders are about to take new adults on an exploration of the secret paths, and they invited you. A familiarity of Between could save your life later. D) You’ve received an encrypted vox message that reports a message from the Astropath. It could only be one person, and it would be nice to get some direction from the Inquisition. E) Now that you’ve cultivated the gun batteries, it would be good to start working on other crew stations. The church, the mercenaries, the city around The Grateful Burden? F) Something else
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Sep 9, 2014 11:52
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C
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Sep 9, 2014 12:02
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B
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Sep 9, 2014 13:25
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Time to butter up the Lord sire
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Sep 9, 2014 14:05
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C. Into the depths! Maybe we'll find a xenos craft or some dangerously unstable ancient tech. Edit:Yeah good point, we need to get our dog fixed and get back some fate points (can we get them by resting?) A then C Outrail fucked around with this message at 14:50 on Sep 9, 2014 |
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Sep 9, 2014 14:19
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A WE really ought to get our mastiff fixed.
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Sep 9, 2014 14:34
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C
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Sep 9, 2014 14:36
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Outrail posted:C. Into the depths! Maybe we'll find a xenos craft or some dangerously unstable ancient tech. Yup, we are assuming the fate points have reset as of the new session/last post.
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Sep 9, 2014 14:52
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B
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Sep 9, 2014 15:38
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C These people are cool dudes and that was an awesome party. Who knows what kind of kickass secrets might be waiting on this ship, unknown to our family that we intend to one day betray for our own gain?
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Sep 9, 2014 20:17
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A
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Sep 10, 2014 01:38
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A Then the report, then the Inquisition message.
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Sep 10, 2014 01:42
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B.
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Sep 10, 2014 01:43
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B Deffo get a rain-check on learning the secret paths though.
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Sep 10, 2014 01:53
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Many, many hours later, the celebrants slowly migrated to their individual battery, often supported by friends, or perhaps crawling slowly over the vast kilometers. Many of the routes taken would be incomprehensible to an outsider, but they could do it even while deep in Fungal Wine. B) The other Family members have probably finished their tasks by now, so it would be good to report to the Lord-Sire and let him know that the batteries have been integrated successfully. It would also be smart to see how the others did in their tasks - favor among the Family is one of the few things that matter.
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Sep 10, 2014 01:56
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A. Let's go get that new skin of ours.
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Sep 10, 2014 09:20
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B - We can do most of the other stuff later. Unless something goes spectacularly wrong. The odds of which are probably rapidly approaching 1.
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Sep 10, 2014 09:23
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BAC it is. Suitable, given our last post was a binge party. From the lowest to the highest The perfumed halls of the Alpha Deck are a dramatic and jarring change from the promethium and grease of Between. Flickering fluorescent lights maintain an unhealthy glow, making your eyes ache in comparison to the fungal growths that you had adapted to over the last week. Woodhouse was in no condition for meeting the Family, and you weren’t doing much better. You had sent him to the Tech-Priests to get maintenance on your machines started, but it would likely be a while before you could ride your servitor on the tracks once again. Your quarters hadn’t changed much since you left them, more than half a lifetime ago. Woodhouse had maintained a floor mat to sleep on between the pressure locks, but other than that, it was nearly identical to your memories. A dozen tool kits and the weakest of Machine-Spirits lay displayed on one wall. Even as a child, your destiny had been set out for you, and it was fortunate you took pleasure in it. Many people were not so lucky. The main reason for going here was for the sonic scrubbers. Your clothes and remaining flesh stank of organics and the materials that supplied them, and it would not do well to meet your Family in such a condition. While they were being cleansed, you took a brief time repair and maintain the sacred technology that composed most of your body. The thought of replacing them with synthetic meat had a certain loathsome horror to it, but it was necessary for the needs of the Inquisition. Few people outside the Machine-Cult had an appreciation for the True Flesh. You did take the time to receive the encrypted message from the Astropath, recording it to your personal implants. It wasn’t the most optimal security - the Astropath would likely know the contents, for example, even if he was sworn to secrecy. Your Lord-Sire could access it if he had the inclination, but you were willing to bet he was far too busy to examine everyone’s messages from across the Imperium. Unless, of course, you drew his attention in some way, and then Emperor save you if he wasn’t loyal to humanity. You’ll actually view it elsewhere, of course. You didn’t trust the security of your quarters after a decade away. The pathways to the meeting room are crowded, with Family members in their blue cloaks nearly at every turn. You barely recognize any of them, and few recognize you. It was always a large Family, and your time spent away hasn’t helped things. Escorting many of them are the Wardens, in their grey cloaks. You tuck that away in your mind - it seems something has unnerved people, they are a lot more jumpy than usual. Of particular interest is the increased numbers at the shrines to Shing Chih, the patron saint of the Beast of You, maybe. Not that you’d ever admit to such a thing. Its the unspoken ambition of every Family member - everyone wants to be the Rogue Trader, Family routinely kill and die for it, but its rude to say it aloud. Hence the dynastic games you are about to enter. It’s time to size up the opposition, and see how they handled their tasks. Scholar Limosa, sanctioned psyker, and current contender for the heir. Amacita the Scribe, a harmless paper shuffler of no interest or standing. And Investigator Cruentus, often called the Widowmaker. The servitors, Family members who had failed in their coup centuries ago, provided food and drinks of absurd value to you as you waited. Not that you ate much anymore, but it was the thought that counts. The wine alone probably cost more than all your implants, and you knew you were getting something close to the lowest grade available to the Family. Just further incentive to climb the ranks as quickly as you could. Emperor, the table probably cost more than the shuttle that brought you aboard. Lord-Sire, when he entered the room, dominated it instantly, as he always did. A hulking presence, dressed in the precious loot of a hundred worlds, he had guided the family to success and massive wealth for decades. His charisma, cunning, and sheer iron will was nearly unassailable, for all the worlds were leveled against him and he hadn’t faltered yet. Given the option, it would be much easier to let someone else take him down, and then crush the new leader - although you expected many Family members thought that. Dynastic successions always brought out the best in people. His voice was a rough growl, like some sort of alpha predator beast from a feral world. “Cruentus.” The Investigator straightened in his seat, his dozens of medals jingling. His smile was bland and meaningless, his eyes cold. “Yes, my Lord-Sire.” The Rogue Trader threw down a stack of folded papers. You recognized them - the Ship’s Press. It had been long tradition to let the dregs write down their puerile thoughts (after the Church reviewed them for heresy), and let them be passed about the ship. The paper itself a plastic facsimile, with text that could wash away and be stamped easily. It was another gimmick to extract wealth from the dregs, and let them have a formal source of gossip. And who cared what dregs thought? The Wardens watched it closely, paranoid bunch that they were, but it was rare when the Lord-Sire gave it any thought. “Your task, if you recall, was to find a serial killer in the depths. The Wardens had failed in their investigations, and you went down there, talked to a merchant for 30 minutes, and then shot him in the face. From there, you spent a week with the drop troops, where you got in four fights and killed twelve mercenaries.” Cruentus smiled breezily. “I’m just that good, my Lord-Sire. I have a nose for villainy. His neighbors will agree, he always was a vile sort, and we haven’t heard a single complaint of murder since he was met with Justice.” The Lord-Sire’s grunt was skeptical. “See that we don’t. I don’t want a riot over some murder-cult we could have nipped early.” “Amacita.” Her voice was weak, high pitched and fearful. “My Lord Sire.” “In a week of investigation, you found… nothing.” “No, my Lord-Sire. I mean, yes, my Lord-Sire…” “An entire shift, spooked over noises and nothingness?” “Yes, my Lord-Sire.” “Mm. Thought so. For wasting the Family’s time, I had the laborers flogged, and their shift leader spaced. I won’t have crewmen jumping at shadows.” As blood drained from Amacita’s face, he turned. “Limosa, report.” The Rogue Trader’s voice was warm, as if speaking to a favored subordinate. Definitely smart money that Limosa was in line for being the heir. “Yes, my Lord-Sire. It turned out the Maintenance crews were trying to conceal mutation in their ranks, with the more deformed mutants not going to work. I took a platoon of the Wardens and cleansed their perversions. We should have new crew trained up shortly, but the Church would not favor us if we let them live.” His voice was oily, obsequious. Apparently a decade to work on the Lord-Sire had worked wonders for him. “That’s how it’s done. Good job on that, Limosa.” “I live to serve, Lord-Sire.” “Of course you do.” “And the newest addition to our ranks. Owen.” “Yes, my Lord-Sire.” “I read the reports about your action. It was … unorthodox.” Your stomach twists. That could be a set up for a reward or punishment, either. Best to remain silent, see where he goes with it. “Just the sort of thinking we need out here on the Rim. A strict interpretation of the Creeds are not always what’s best for the Family, although you’ll never hear me say that in our Holy Church.” His voice is softer, almost fond, before hardening. “However, don’t think that you can deviate too far. The God-Emperor established our place in the world for a reason, and the dregs don’t need to be thinking above themselves. Joining their races as if you were one of them, and participating in their barbaric rituals. Never forget that the dregs outnumber us two hundred to one, and if they sniff out any weakness, our ship will burn in the night. Limosa has it right. A hard fist prevents rebellion. They need to fear us, Owen.” “Yes, my Lord-Sire.” “Nevertheless … it was a smooth binding, smoother than most I’ve seen. Well done.” The conversations continue for sometime longer, with the Rogue Trader telling stories of his past, giving lessons of leadership and tactics, grooming all of you for Command. Even if none of you became Rogue Trader, all of you were officers on this Ship, members of rank and standing, and your proficiency and preparedness would dictate how the Dynasty continued into the future. When it wrapped up, you took your leave to visit the Tech-Priests, to see how the repairs were coming along. - The holy engines, when you got to them, had the comfort of easy familiarity. This place was practically an outpost of the Machine-Cult, and even the Rogue Trader would step lightly in this place, the Magos’ place of power. In this time, the Magos and Rogue Trader were close friends and allies, but in the past such relationships were marred by distrust, paranoia, and occasional outright war. When they Wardens fought battle-servitors, the entire ship suffered. For this reason, the Engines were amongst the most highly secured place in the entire ship, equivalent to a small temple on a Forge-World. Many secrets of the Omnissiah were kept here, and the constant chattering of binary, green highlights of noospheric implants, and sacred oils and the whispers of the Machine-Spirits were a comfort to you. You could be happy here. In addition to the battle servitors that prowled the corridors, there was a company of augmented troops - a platoon each of Skitaari, Herakli, and Praetorians. They were far better than the comparative models in the Imperial Guard, being cybernetic infantry, heavy weapon specialists, and storm troopers respectively. You were never sure if all engines of Rogue Traders had complements like this, but they were familiar to you even from childhood. You sometimes speculated that seeing them as a child pushed your interest in the Machine-Cult in the first place. Finally, you arrive in the repair ward. Dozens of servitors, and even a few mastiffs, are being repaired. Yours is complete, thankfully, and she excitedly leaps up to meet you. Her wear and tear was minimal, she has a new polish, and is in high spirits. You kneel and welcome her to you, quite pleased she made it through okay. She follows you eagerly, jumping here and there as she sees new sights, exploring parts of the ship she had previously not seen. Your servitor-mount, on the other hand, still had quite a while to go. They had him in a catatonic state while they replaced half his body, treads, throat, eyes, limited muscle structure, most of his skin. The race had not done him well - in fact, this is probably the worst you had seen him. Most races weren’t as … enthusiastic … as the one you had just participated in, and the repairs would be both intensive and time consuming. Now, for the unpleasant part. The removal of half your body, losing your true flesh, for the … decay of meat. You tried to conceal a shudder of revulsion, and the other Tech-Priests sent you sympathetic chitters in binary. It was necessary for the good of the Machine Cult, of the Family, of the Beast of As the procedure began, the Magos quietly sent you a message, unreceivable by any of the technicians working on your body. <Do you know why we do this?> <Duty. Obligation.> <Yes. Those histories you remembered coming here, those were suggested to you. The Machine Cult and the Family have gone to war. Several times.> <I’ve never seen any record of it.> <Sequestered. We’re not sure if even the current Rogue Trader knows. But the false flesh is necessary, to be our bridge.> <???> <The Rogue Trader and I favor each other. But the new Rogue Trader might not appreciate the needs of the True Flesh, of the Machine Cult, of the Omnissiah. You are our face to their world. Something they can understand. Part of one world, part of the other.> <I will perform my duty.> <I have every expectation of it.> The false flesh is unpleasant, like an ill-fitting glove. It will take time to adjust to the new form, but you notice an immediate change in the behavior of the dregs around you. You are treated simply as… a human. A human with some augments, yes, and an officer, but not a messenger of the sacred Omnissiah. You don’t like it. One final thing, before you can rest. The message from the Astropath.  Inquistor Kozilek’s voice is a whip cord, irascible and wheezing. His aides watch him with a deep wariness, even as his eyes meet yours balefully. “Ohone. One of my acolytes has pursued a cell of cultists to your ship, but as you know it better than she does, I’m assigning you to deal with them. I had her leave some supplies for you at the attached location, but it’s time to stop watching and start doing. You’ve wasted enough time already. Kozilek out.” A) Your Family lies. Choose one to investigate. B) Screw you guys Im going home. Back to Between C) Kill a cultist for … multist. D) Something else. Loel fucked around with this message at 17:46 on Feb 14, 2015 |
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Sep 10, 2014 12:30
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Hmm... I think we can deal with a couple of cultists, particularly if our beloved murderbuddies come along. C e: They're all lying. I'm sure we'll run into one of them if we pursue the cultist. my dad fucked around with this message at 12:52 on Sep 10, 2014 |
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Sep 10, 2014 12:50
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| # ? Apr 16, 2024 18:13 |
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my dad posted:e: You're not far wrong. C it is.
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#
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Sep 10, 2014 14:10
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