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CAA
Let Chaos run free. We need to repair our relations with Nurgle and Brotox. Anyway, the ones who survive the blood sports AND the plague will be nothing but the best of the best. The weak are expendable. Always expendable.
We'll just get more slaves or build robots. Maybe use artificial wombs to breed multiple offspring off our champion troops, use Detox's l337 g3|\|3 5k1LLZ to offset defects through inbreeding.
C D: Alter them. Make them either an honor for the worthiest crew members, or a punishment for the unworthy, where they can be assured of a clean death if they prevail against, with extreme handicaps. B
D: Quarantine them in escape pods or similar things from where we can launch them at our enemies if need be. I'm sure they'll be happy to spread the gifts of Papa Nurgle.
D: Alter them. Make them either an honor for the worthiest crew members, or a punishment for the unworthy, where they can be assured of a clean death if they prevail against, with extreme handicaps.
B.
It looks like we're getting a Space Marine/little Primarch-esque super-mutant as a son. Yay!
D: Have them rounded up and quarantined, penned in the gutters of the space-faring leviathan. However, spare some of the enemy prisoners you make for their entertainment. Allow them to join said battles as well by boarding torpedoes. D: Alter them. Make them either an honor for the worthiest crew members, or a punishment for the unworthy, where they can be assured of a clean death if they prevail against, with extreme handicaps. Nevertheless, make exceptions for important events such as important victories and the like. Naturally, should you be able to get some prisoners, the crew is allowed to play with these with no penalties. A. We need to gear up these killer-servitors. Slaaneshi troopers are too busy getting a grip to be able to fight.
C D: Alter them. Make them either an honor for the worthiest crew members, or a punishment for the unworthy, where they can be assured of a clean death if they prevail against, with extreme handicaps. B
Also having the Nurglites in the escape pods is a bad idea if we need to, you know, escape, and they get pissed at us putting them there. Cue Detox and cia escaping and leaving us to die.
D: Alter them. Make them either an honor for the worthiest crew members, or a punishment for the unworthy, where they can be assured of a clean death if they prevail against, with extreme handicaps.
B. Talk to Hooker, in regards to the soldiers, training, and the policing of the Sodom.
The pox-ridden degenerates are, by your command, not to be molested. Though many were unsure of your decision, most of whom were unwilling to embrace Nurgle's gifts, the plagued mutants keep to themselves, writhing and rotting in their dens in the deeps of the ship.
Detox might not have thanked you directly, but when you pass by him working on the arcane womb, you hear him hum a happy tune each time.
You arrive at Hooker's barracks by the time the Sodom had fully translated into Warpspace. The walls melt, doors vanish, and echoes speak words originally unspoken. The voices in your mind, in all the minds aboard the Sodom, grow from whispers to screams. It is a fine day for all.
From a balcony, you overlook Hooker drilling her men hard, and from the looks of it she is driving them into the ground. Down the range, she will not accept anything but a solid, center hit. In close-combat, the winner is allowed a brief rest, while the loser continues fighting his comrades one-by-one, until he wins or loses to the last fighter. Then, he is taken by a beastman, to do as the beast wills, much to his shame and to the joy of his squad.
You have your presence announced by a simpering slave. The whole barracks stand at attention, with Hooker at the forefront. You climb down the stairs from the balcony to greet her.
"We are honored, mistress."
You nod and smile, face still veiled behind ensorcelled silk. "Come, master-sergeant. Let's speak."
With a curt motion and a clipped command, Hooker sends her men back to training. The two of your go to Hooker's quarters: a spartan room, with the only decoration being a Chaos Star fashioned from melted-down bullets. She sleeps on a thin rag, with a thinner blanket. Her desk is plain and hard, and her chairs harder. Tucked in a corner is her chamberpot, with her sleeping robes folded neatly beside.
You simply must teach her the latest Slaaneshi fashions. Perhaps award her a slave or two, if she'd only accept.
You sit on one of Hooker's hard chairs, without a back or cushions. You clap your hands and summon your footstool. The broken man crawls under your feet.
"Would you like one, master-sergeant?" You clap your hands again, and another slave is ushered into the room.
She waves it off. "No, but thank you, Mistress." She drinks from a mug of recaf and offers you one. "What do you need of me?"
You take a sip. It is utterly disgusting, but almost everything is to you. "I'd like a report on the men, their training, and the policing of the Sodom."
"Of course, mistress." She takes out papers from neatly-organized files. "There are two hundred men under my command, excluding the mutant militia and non-combatants. They are Undivided, like I am."
Aboard the Sodom, the majority is tied for Slaaneshi and Undivided warriors. Khorne-worshippers are a smaller portion, making up most of the blood sport's volunteers. Nurglish mutants are either lurking in the deep fens, or Detox's apprentices. Only a handful Tzeentchian psykers are aboard, and hide with the Sorcerer. There is also a small Mechanicus cult revolving around Entek.
"The training is going well," she continues. "We're making progress every day."
As you saw from the training, you reply:
A. "I agree. Continue with your work, master-sergeant." B. "You go too hard on them. Lighten their load, and they'll be gladder to take the burden." C. "You should extend training to the mutant militia. I've witnessed their unruliness, but I have faith in you." D. "You go too easy on them. Work them all to death, and let the gods find their favored." E. Say something else.
"As for policing, the mutants don't care for it. They do as they please, like the animals they are. We can only solve the problems they cause, not prevent them. I assign soldiers to guard duty as punishment, even."
You reply:
A. "Assign more men, then. The wretches respect strength. Show them yours." B. "Assign less men, then. It isn't worth the danger to our fighting force. Let's keep infighting to the blood sports." C. "Conscript mutants to the guard force. Chain them, train them, use them like work animals. They will behold the price of disobedience." D. "Replace your guards with servitors. Entek won't be happy, but he never is." E. Say something else.
You chew on a morsel of mutant flesh to quell the abiding hunger. "I also wanted to ask you about the blood sports."
"Do you want to host one, mistress?"
You shake your head, face unveiled. Hooker is one of the few worthy to view you. "I spoke to the apothecary. The sports take their toll on the Sodom, and we need to change it."
"What do you suggest?"
"Alter them. Make them either an honor for the worthiest crew members, or a punishment for the unworthy, where the wretches can be assured a clean death if they prevail against their would-be killers, with extreme handicaps of course."
"I'll keep that in mind for the next games." She finishes her recaf. "Anything else, mistress?"
You shake your head, kick your footstool away, and veil your face once more. "That's all, master-sergeant."
You leave the barracks, intending to:
A. Talk to Entek, in regards to the Sodom's machinery, the servitors and servo-skulls, and the armory. B. Talk to the Sorcerer, in regards to the future and the will of the gods. C. Talk with someone or do something else.
You have time enough to meet with one of them properly until you arrive near Arcturus IV.
Known Characters:
Detox, apothecary - Caring
Hooker, sergeant - Devoted
Entek, tech-priest - Indifferent
Sorcerer - Devoted
The Boy - Unknown
Tempestus, chaplain - Dead?
The Captain - Dead
Forces:
Cruiser Crew - 62,000? - Devoted
Items:
Artificer Bodyglove
Laspistol
Synthesiser:
*Stimms (All-purpose combat drugs, designed to suppress fear and lessen stress and trauma.) [ACTIVE]
*Frenzon (Rage-inducing chemicals that throw the user into a violent fit. It bolsters strength, increases violent urges, and reduces self control.)
*Kalma (Euphoria-inducing painkillers used by medicae to subdue restless patients. This automatically releases when the user is nearing dangerous levels of pain.)
*Onslaught (Heightens awareness and improves reaction time, and allows the body to move abnormally fast. Prolonged use has a high risk of brain damage.)
*Spook (Spook temporarily awakens the user's psychic abilities, and in higher doses opens a channel between the body, the soul, and the Warp. Requires consuming a psyker to manufacture.) [UNAVAILABLE]
Location:
The Sodom, Dauntless-class Light Cruiser
C. "You should extend training to the mutant militia. I've witnessed their unruliness, but I have faith in you." C. "Conscript mutants to the guard force. Chain them, train them, use them like work animals. They will behold the price of disobedience." A. Talk to Entek, in regards to the Sodom's machinery, the servitors and servo-skulls, and the armory.
We need to have the guy who keeps our shit running happy. Also, good update, Cheesecake! Can't wait to see how everything goes to hell and back.
B. Talk to the Sorcerer, in regards to the future and the will of the gods.
The barrack's choir of las-fire and war-shouts has a new addition - the hooting and howling of mutant conscripts. From Hooker's reports, which are much shorter and curter than usual, the mutant militia are a handful. Through hearsay, you've learned she's coaxed Entek into constructing her a new recaf machine.
On the bright side, she's resorting to more realistic methods. Instead of dog-tags, the mutants will wear chains. You have a feeling they'll be broken in a week. If your master-sergeant isn't broken first.
----
The cabal hums and undulates, praying in weird tongues. They have no rhythm, no sense, and even to you it is disturbing. Their rags, torn to shreds by their dark rituals, cling to their scarred flesh w only with dried blood.
Whose blood, even you wouldn't care to know.
They gather in a semi-circle, staring at a shattered mirror on the cold floor. Heeding the Sorcerer's warning, you don't look into the broken glass. You see the cultists' gouged eyes, and you doubt that human hands tore them out.
The Sorcerer, the weedy scribe who toured you aboard the Scourge of Wealth, reads from a flat stone slab, void of any words. Void, at least, to your eyes.
"Come, mistress," he says, his voice echoing, his echoes whispering. "This is not the place to talk."
You follow him to a dark room, utterly empty, and utterly cold. You can't even see your hands. Yet, in the blackness, you can feel his leering face.
"I'm yours, mistress. What would you have of me?"
You cut to the chase. You don't wish to linger here too long. "What is the will of the Ruinous Powers? What is the will of Slaanesh?"
You feel his grin grow wider. "Their will is not mine to know, mistress. Nor is it yours. It is not theirs to know either. No one knows."
"I thought they spoke to you."
"They do."
"What do they say, then?"
He pauses. "Many things. But of you, very little."
You feel sweat fall from your face. "Have I lost their favor?"
"No, my mistress, nothing like that. To be completely honest, I'd abandon you as soon as they told me to."
"Reassuring."
He laughs. Other voices laugh with him - inhuman voices. "Nothing is assured in this world, mistress." You hear the snap of a finger, and a dim light reveals his face, a table, and a pack of cards atop it.
"Yet, we can guess." He shuffles the deck. "What would you like to know, mistress? Choose wisely. The living cannot linger here for long."
You say:
A. "Show me the future of my son." B. "Show me the events of Arcturus." C. "Show me the fate of my ship." D. "Show me my death."
----
A siren rings, off in the distance. The Sodom has reentered realspace, and Arcturus IV looms near. You are glad to be off, away from his cabal. From your viewing deck, seated in your command-throne, you see the paradise world - green, lush, and alive. Its populace equally beautiful, and just as rotten.
Your master-sergeant stands faithfully by your side.
"What are your orders, mistress?"
"We'll infiltrate this world. Myself and my retainers. We'll need a disguise."
"And I suggest not taking all of us, mistress. Someone will need to maintain order."
Known Characters:
Detox, apothecary - Caring
Hooker, sergeant - Devoted
Entek, tech-priest - Indifferent
Sorcerer - Devoted
The Boy - Unknown
Tempestus, chaplain - Dead?
The Captain - Dead
Forces:
Cruiser Crew - 62,000? - Devoted
Items:
Artificer Bodyglove
Laspistol
Synthesiser:
*Stimms (All-purpose combat drugs, designed to suppress fear and lessen stress and trauma.) [ACTIVE]
*Frenzon (Rage-inducing chemicals that throw the user into a violent fit. It bolsters strength, increases violent urges, and reduces self control.)
*Kalma (Euphoria-inducing painkillers used by medicae to subdue restless patients. This automatically releases when the user is nearing dangerous levels of pain.)
*Onslaught (Heightens awareness and improves reaction time, and allows the body to move abnormally fast. Prolonged use has a high risk of brain damage.)
*Spook (Spook temporarily awakens the user's psychic abilities, and in higher doses opens a channel between the body, the soul, and the Warp. Requires consuming a psyker to manufacture.) [UNAVAILABLE]
Location:
The Sodom, Dauntless-class Light Cruiser
(Sorry for the poor quality, I'm not in a very private environment, and it's hard to write with someone peering over your shoulder. )
)
