41K RPG : Into the Eye

[SirNitram]

"A technique is only truly obselete when it is replaced with something superior. True, it may be less effective than it was, but have you seen the state of most technology these days? Having the capability to dull the voices of taint even a little would be useful in defending the everyday from the depredations of the Warp, if it's genetics can be passed on once implanted in a population." Malkamar shrugged. "Then again, I'm the crazy heretic who can't fathom how one could use that.. stuff.. for Humanity's good."

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

"Of course it's genetic," the iron man pronounced with exxagerated exaperation, "how do you think whole races are psychic? Why do you think it creates so many mutants? It's not purely genetic, and appears to occur fairly randomly."

[Cynical Cat]

"If I start going mad," Jolan said with a smile, "I might reconsider. Until then, I'll keep my abilities very much intact. I rather like having the option to psychicly incinerate bioengineered xenos warrior breeds."

[Caz]

As the Thunderhawk rested idly in the bay, Cantor was busy with preparations. She carried a sealed message meant only for Inquisitor Novum's eyes, and that was one of the few things that made her slightly nervous. Being sent to Ophilia was a fair bit of travel, and to travel that whole way without knowing why...

But if Lord Ronathal was going to set her up for any reason, he could have done so long ago. And she had no bad blood with the man...

But the circumstances were worrisome. She was by no means a messenger, and by no means the type sent to contact an Inquisitor: fresh out of the Schola, having never been tested in real combat.

It wasn't as though Ronathal was stupid; he wouldn't send her to fight.

Then why?

[SirNitram]

"My studies do not include a great deal about the arts immaterial." Malkamar replied to the ancient machine; for better or worse, he now had a rapport with it. Granted, it was mostly one of being talked down to, but that had been his position since exile. "Pardon the interruption, then." He fell silent again; the data crystal with schematics would be a welcome respite from trying to socialize, but these inquisitors were likely going to be the closest thing to Battle-Brothers he would have in his final missions. The approaching Thunderhawks would not be anyone sympathetic to his plight or heretical views on technology.

[Cynical Cat]

"Not at all," said Jolan Gix. "We will be embarking on a very long and perilous journey together. We should aclimatize to each other's presence. Whatever else we are, we are all loyal servants of the God-Emperor."

[SirNitram]

"Astartes are not social creatures, Lord Inquisitor. We say no more than required. It is among the great sacrifices we make for the preservation of Humanity. What is one life against thousands?" The Marine shrugged a bit. "Of course.. I am an aberration. A few years on a feral world with nothing but Eldar Exodites and the Ork Cult of Speed for company and anyone goes a little odd. I don't suppose there are many mad Space Marines, not ones that live through more than one battle."

[Cynical Cat]

"In a galaxy at war, where the innocent must be slaughtered, what is sanity? We are those who do what must be done and endure to do it again."

[SirNitram]

"Sanity is the truth of Humanity against everything else. That our Emperor died and lives again through his chosen ones to defend us from the depradations of excess and the Xeno." Malkamar said with reverence. "Insanity.. Is not considering hesitation when you must kill an innocent. Not caring after you incinerate every one of them before you because sometimes you must cut out the infection." These words.. Twinged with doubt. "But perhaps I speak out of turn."

[Cynical Cat]

"It is not heresy to regret the necessity of such terrible actions. I do. It is heresy to doom millions by not doing what must be done, no matter how terrible. We take a terrible weight on our shoulders, but one that must be taken. To us falls the task of mustering our strength to do what must be done, no matter the cost."

He paused. "But that does not make the cost less real."

[SirNitram]

"The scales work in our favor. Humanity persists." Malkamar said simply, with an air of finality. "We mourn. We mourn for the innocents purged. We mourn for those who breaks the rules and indulge in excess, and must be destroyed. We even mourn the Fallen, who were not strong enough against the Warp. But in mourning them.. We must work all the harder to annihilate the parodies and false replicas that wear their shape. For they can only find the Emperor's truth in eternal sleep of death." A sigh.

"My apologies. We are headed for the Eye. I will be staring down Marines, I expect, before we are done. And not ones that serve the Emperor. In my heart I am torn apart with sadness at the task before me: Annihilating each and every one of them that dares stand against any of this group. But sadness cannot let us become weak against the corruption. Such would only lead us to the same doom."

[Cynical Cat]

"I have faced Traitor Legionnaires before. Without the aid of Astartes. It was not pleasant, but we were victorious. My powers and weapons have improved since that day. But only a fool would not fear a trip into the Eye."

[SirNitram]

"I do not.. Truly fear it." Malkamar admitted, ruminating on the thoughts in his head. "Fear implies I worry about if I'm coming back. I'm not. It's as simple as that. If I serve the Emperor well, if we succeed, he will not be shamed by me anymore. A father's shame is hard to deal with; I cannot have both my sires think ill of me when I die."

[Cynical Cat]

"Death is far less terrible than damnation. To die en route would be a sacrifice we are all prepared to make. To fall into apostacy at the end, corrupted by the forces of the Ruinous Powers into betraying our great Crusade, that is worth fearing."

[Pcm979]

Pater strode onto the Thunderhawk's landing pad, a black-clad trooper at either side and a Servo-Skull hovering over his left shoulder. He looked up at the Thunderhawk calculatingly.

Among his peers and immediate subordinates in the Fleet, he had been compared to a shark, with the shark coming in second place. This would have pleased him, if he admitted to himself that he was still capable of pleasure. Sharks, even after 20,000 years, remained basically unchanged in any environment they were transplanted to; The undisputed masters of the seas. The inhabitants of the shuttle might not recognise him, but the image of his obsidian faceplate and his admittedly exaggerated reputation preceeded him. He understood they still talked about the purging of the Convent on Relatius, a decade after the fact. And so they should.

[Pcm979]

One of the runners approached her with a light clearing of his throat. The psyker had lowered her visor, making her eyes almost indistinguishable behind the dark glass. It made him nervous.

"Ahem... Inquisitor Novum is outside, ma'am," he said, not quite sure whether or not "ma'am" really fit the situation. Théo stood and nodded to him, grabbing the data crystal from Ronathal and tucking it carefully within a pocket.

"Lower the ramps. I do not require company; I'll meet him alone."

As she exited the vessel, the first thing Pater and his men would notice would be her childlike appearance. It was off-putting: she resembled a girl of fifteen or sixteen, the mirage offset only by the armour she wore.

"Inquisitor Novum," she addressed with a respectful nod.

"You have me at a disadvantage." He replied calmly. There was something subtly wrong about the Inquisitor; He didn't give off those little, subconscious indicators that you were speaking to a human being. Even Servitors retained some indications of their former sapience.

"I assure you I would not have travelled all this way were it not for a matter of importance, sir," she said. Her tone was even, her words clipped and short, as though she were unused to speaking at all.
"However," she said, glancing around the landing bay, "such matters cannot be discussed in open air."

Pater nodded. "Follow me." He commanded, turning around and leading the way back to his quarters. The guards fell into lockstep behind him, one in front of and one behind the girl.

For someone so small, Cantor took long strides. The gait of someone used to an amount of respect. Or possibly fear. She followed wordlessly.

A few minutes later they arrived, the gigantic doors sliding soundlessly before they reached their destination. As they crossed the threshold, Cantor would feel the suffocating buzz of Psy suppression fields descend upon her. It hit the most powerful psykers the hardest, having one of their six senses stripped from them suddenly.

And despite both her reputation as expressionless and the truth behind it--no one at the Schola nor back at her estate had ever seen her bleed or cry--she gasped sharply. She'd never encountered any suppression fields before, a sign of her lack of experience, and it hit her like a blast to the chest.

Her hands flew to the visor, ripped it from her eyes so she wouldn't run into anything.

"Inquisitor--" she said with a sharp breath, "--what--" it felt like she was going to throw up.

He turned around and regarded her. You only saw the true person when they were surprised, in shock. At a disadvantage.

"On your feet." He said as the girl clutched her chest. He walked backwards a few paces, clear of the field, and summoned a blue fireball. It danced lazily along his arm. "The suppression field only covers the room's boundaries."

She hurriedly walked back to where he stood, letting out a long exhale. With her visor off, the girl appeared somehow younger still. Her eyes were large and glossy, almost like those of a blind man, a common defect amongst some psychics on Holy Terra. Her hand remained upon her chest as though she feared her heart would suddenly cease to beat.

A mechanical finger pushed her chin up firmly yet gently, forcing her to stand fully upright. Pater inspected her. "One of Tyran's disciples." He concluded. "Tell me, my unnamed guest, what brings you here?" He continued, not unkindly, as the doors clicked shut behind them.

[Caz]

"Not even I am privy to its contents, sir," Cantor admitted as she removed the data crystal, offered it to him. But Lord Ronathal was not required by any means to inform her, not even if it was something that could be made light of. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath. It felt as though a cold, jagged hand had squeezed her heart and lungs, its fingers still leaving tracks through her even as they'd left the field's area.

As she finally removed her hands from herself and let them rest at her sides, her robes shifted, revealing the heavy limiter collar she wore about her neck.

[Pcm979]

Pater accepted the crystal with a nod, walking away from her and affording her the first real view she'd had of the room.

It had already been impressive before the Inquisitor had been granted it, with a heavy chandelier dangling from a high, vaulted ceiling, spilling yellow light onto the rich red-carpeted walls and floors. Various priceless paintings hung from said walls, and multiple rich, deep brown doors led to adjoining chambers. However, the Inquisitor had made himself at home in the short time he had been there. Numerous strange, black and grey mechanical devices lined the walls, coloured diodes winking and data scolling in midair from miniature holoprojectors. Dominating the room was the main holoprojector, with a gigantic, blue-tinged hologram of the galaxy floating in midair.

The guards dispersed, merging into the semi-crowd attending to the technosorcery filling the chamber. Pater and Théo were essentially left alone in the cavernous room.

He walked over to the projector and slid the crystal into an apature. His hand rested on a control, obviously waiting for her to approach.

[Caz]

Théo followed him, a quiet reverence in her movements. The pain from the surpressor fields was beginning to subside to a low tingle, but that didn't change the fact that she was still disoriented. For a few brief moments, she'd been so utterly... human. It was something she'd forgotten how to be.

She stood at his side, eyeing the controls.

"Shall I leave you in private, Inquisitor?" she asked.

[Pcm979]

"No." He said shortly, and pressed a button.

A smaller projection flickered infront of them, a harsh noise spitting from the speakers as the machine decoded the message. Finally, Ronathal's face coalesced infront of them.

"Pater." The thin, vaguely-ill looking man said. "I realise this is unexpected, and I hope you do not judge me too harshly for it." The man paused and wetted his permanently chapped lips.

"Shortly after you left, I consulted the Emperor's Tarot. You have great trials ahead of you, Pater, and this young lady will help see you through them." He apparently knew enough about Pater's habits to judge that he would have her watch it with him.

"Théo Cantor is one of my most promising Explicators, and she has learned all I can teach her. I am hereby promoting her to Interrogator under your charge, Pater. I am confident that you will mold her into a fine Inquisitor." He concluded, smiling slightly.

"I am transmitting her case files now." Ronathal said, followed by a warbling, screeching sound that lasted almost ten seconds. The image fizzled and the crystal popped out again, smoking slightly. One use only; The laser which read it also fried it beyond repair.

[Caz]

Cantor paled visibly.

"Interrogator," she repeated, then said, "sir, I can't--I've not been trained for the position..."

Her right hand clenched into a fist as the dull, thudding ache in her sternum returned.

[Pcm979]

"You were not trained for birth. You were not trained for the Black Ships. I was not trained to lose my arm, my face. We are never truly trained for the important things in life." He said softly, briefly showing the charisma and binding presence that had vaulted him to the position of Fleet Commander far ahead of more traditional candidates.

"If you walk the path of the Inquisitor, Interrogator Théo Cantor," he stressed her new title slightly, "you will rarely be trained for what you see. All Tyran Ronathal I can do is train you... To not require training." He finished with the faintest shadow of a smile.

[Caz]

So that's why he hadn't told her. That rat-bastard. She cursed Ronathal inside her head while outwardly retaining the same mask she'd always worn. Except for the fact that already, Novum knew that it could be shifted.

She cursed him, too.

But despite her misgivings, she lowered her head.

"As you wish, sir," she said. "My training at the Schola has guided me to serve the Emperor, and if this is what is intended for me, then I cannot refuse."

[Pcm979]

"That is the correct answer." Pater said, his tone hinting that the correct answer was not the one he wished to hear.

Best not push the girl much further yet. He thought. The same pressure that, at first, forces her out of her shell, will merely push her in deeper with continued application.

"Ronathal was correct." He said, turning and walking towards a set of chairs and tables in one of the corners of the room. "There are, indeed, trying times ahead. But not immediately ahead. There is ample time to settle you into your role." He took a seat in the least-outrageously-upholstered chair, placing his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers.

[Caz]

I wonder, she thought, what Ronathal would have thought had I refused?

She took a seat a respectful distance away, and after an extended period of staring at the floor, she spoke up:

"Sir, what of the others?" Inquisitor Ristani and the woman were the only two she'd seen, but even then, that was enough. "This isn't proper procedure..."

In other words, she didn't want Tyran to fry, as callous as she presented herself.