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miss-peanut-butter-cups · 3 months

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i also found you through catboybiologist :3

can you tell me about warhammer 40k lore please maam

So.

Warhammer 40k is a table top miniature game, set in a semi-satirical, grimdark sci-fi universe. For reasons lost to mankind, people decided to write 500+ books about it.

It takes place in the year 40,000-ish.

The Imperium of Man, encompasses a million worlds spread across the galaxy. United in worship of the Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind, who has ruled from the Golden Throne of Terra (Earth) for 10,000 years, humanity has claimed the stars as their own.

It is the cruelest and bloodiest regime imaginable.

It is a fascist, totalitarian empire, that worships a corpse, kept barely alive by the sacrifice of 1000 souls a day. It strives to kill every alien, mutant, or critic out there. It does not care for the individual, who toils their whole existence to feed the hungry beast that is the Imperium. After all, the cheapest and most abundant resource in the 41st millennium, is a human life.

Mighty battle fleets cross the stars, carrying the endless regiments of the Astra Militarum, the rank and file soldiers of humanity. The bioengineered super warriors of the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines lead every counter offensive and spearhead. Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanics uncover lost secrets from the dark age of technology, in reverant praise of the Machine God. Inquisitors carry the authority of the Emperor to root out heresies and conspiracies that threaten the Imperium in secret. Ultimately, everything is in service to war. Only war.

For all that, there is worse.

The Imperium is besieged on a thousand fronts every day. Orks coalesce in ravaging, warmongering hordes, intent on fighting purely for the enjoyment of it. The more they fight, the stronger, smarter, and more well equipped they get. Ancient Aeldari use their natural psychic might to cling to the last vestiges of their fallen empire. Their dark mirror, the Drukhari inflict unimaginable tortures on moral souls to sustain their own. Hive-minded Tyranids arrive in the galaxy in greater and greater numbers every year, each of their nightmarish bioforms fashioned by an immeasurably vast intelligence to strip the galaxy of all biomatter, and feed its hunger. The Necrons, the undisputed synthetic masters of science and technology, awaken for the first time since the War in Heaven (a 65-million year old conflict that shook reality to its firmament), intent on reclaiming their place as rightful rules of the galaxy. The T'au, a young upstart empire, seeks cooperation and unity among species. They're actually ok, but they're naive.

And then there's even worse.

Let's talk about FTL travel. Most ships in 40k achieve this by taking a shortcut through a dimension where time doesn't flow normally called The Warp. While the galaxy exists in a material universe, The Warp is an immaterial one. It's a realm of emotions, ontology, ideas, that sort of stuff, all of which are a reflection of the souls in the material universe. Enough people feel strongly enough about something? It might just exist in the Warp. Naturally this proves challenging for ships travelling through the Warp. Firstly, it will drive a mortal to insanity. Secondly, it's full of Daemons.

The Warp is Hell

Quite literally. Negative emotions tend to have a stronger presence in the Warp, and can form into living entities. These entities grow in strength as their feed off more emotions/souls, eventually being able to influence the Materium (the physical universe). This creates a feedback loop, where Warp entities (Daemons) corrupt people into doing more and more things that empower them. This is usually some form of murder/violence/betrayal/ritual. This malevolent Daemon-Warp synergy is called Chaos, and is often considered the arch-enemy of mankind.

And if that wasn't bad enough, there are gods in the Warp. Supremely powerful aspects of Chaos, they are in a state of near-perpetual conflict with each other. Most Daemons are also a part of one of the Chaos Gods. There are some minor gods, but I'm only gonna talk about the main 4. Briefly, Khorne is the god of blood and skulls. Nurgle is the god of disease and decay. Tzeentch is the god of change and fate. And Slaanesh is the god of excess and pleasure in all things.

As long as humanity will exist, the threat of Chaos will remain present. Chaos cults are extremely common across the Imperium, and it's not uncommon for entire planets and subsectors to fall to Chaos corruption and turn Traitor. The last and most persistent of all the Imperium's enemies.

How did things get this bad?

In the year 30,000-ish, the Emperor of Mankind wasn't dead yet. Humanity had crashed and burned into a 5,000 year long galaxy wide apocalypse called the Age of Strife, caused by the birth of the Chaos God Slaanesh. Having been around since the dawn of civilization, the Emperor decided to take the reigns of humanity and lead it Himself.

After unifying Terra, and reuniting with Mars, He launched the Great Crusade. A multi-century endeavour to reconquer the galaxy, reunite the scattered remnants of humanity, and kill all Aliens, Mutants, and people who politely declined.

To achieve this, the Emperor created 20 incredibly powerful sons (in a lab), called Primarchs. They each lead a legion of Space Marines, which were also invented at the time, to conquer the galaxy with. All was going well that The Emperor decided to put his favourite son, Horus, in charge of the entire crusade, while He went back to Terra to work on a secret project.

Unfortunately, the powers of Chaos corrupted Horus, inciting him to turn against The Emperor along with half of the other Primarchs and legions. This caused a 7 year civil war known as The Horus Heresy, and culminated in Horus dying in a duel with The Emperor. The duel practically killed the Emperor too, forcing him to be interred on The Golden Throne, an arcane mechanism capable of sustaining Him in a state between death and life. With the Emperor silent, the ideals of rationality and science he instilled in the early Imperium faded away, in favour of paranoia and theocratic rule that would define the Imperium for the next 10,000 years.

The Emperor's dream was dead, damning humanity to an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

=========================

And now you know about Warhammer! I feel like I've barely scratched the surface though. Each of the bold topics could easily have their own essay, but I am not well informed enough to write about all of them.

#warhammer #warhammer 40k #i can be normal about 40k i promise #196

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asklordcaptaincastronova · 8 months

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And now the most difficult one. Anastasia wouldn't take things personally. Watkyn. Was Watkyn.

But Honoria was the one who would take it personally.

And she'd turned out to be useful, in her own way, unlike Watkyn. Not irreplacable, but useful. And this could well… it was a concern.

She floated in, curtsied, and drawing the dress around her, seated herself in the chair. "You called for me?"

"Yes." he replied briefly, and mimicked a sigh. "Honoria, I know Watkyn has been. A wandering husband."

She sniffed. There was a single tear running down her cheek. That was an impressive level of augmentation. "Yes." She leaned in, sniffling a few times.

"And in the process." he removed and passed over a kercheif, "he has fathered children out of wedlock."

She picked up the kercheif and made a sobbing noise into it, more tears now. "I know."

She'd had 28 of her husband's mistresses killed, dissappeared, or jailed. Of course she knew.

"I try, so hard." she wailed, "To remind myself that such things can happen and to try and find out why." tears dripped down her face and onto her chest.

"I'm sure." he replied. "But it provides, in a fashion, a resource."

The sniffling stopped abruptly. "What."

He wrung his gloved hands together. "They are an emergency source of heirs should a disaster happen."

Honoria's face contorted, eyes flashed, teeth snarled. Then she settled on a grimace. "You can't be serious."

"I have no children, and limited ability to bear them." she cocked her head at that. "You have no children." Her lip twitched. "Anastasia…"

Honoria snorted. "So due to your failings you're going to make me deal with a parade of walking, living, breathing." the hand with a kercheif balled into a fist. "Insults and remainders of his transgressions."

"No."

"What do you mean no? Are you going to arrange a divorce, cast me out into the void? Freeze me again?" Drukhari would have paid for the venom in her voice.

"No. I am not going to force you to divorce Watkyn. I'm not going to freeze you, unless you give me a good reason." he tapped his fingers on the desk.

"Oh thank you so much Amadeus truely you are so kind." she spat back.

"In fact I'd greatly prefer it if you never interacted with the bastards in anyway." her eyes narrowed.

"Then why. In the Emperor's Holy Name, did you tell me." she glared.

"Consider it an. Incentive if you will. That if you produce a child of your own that looks like either you or your husband, preferably both of course, that would be enough. And of course the… wild oats are dead last in the line of inheritence."

Would that be enough.

"Huh." she studied her hands. "And if you should sire a child?"

"There's only a few chances at that left, even if I remained unmarried."

Honoria raised an eyebrow. "I see." she was still sneering. "What a wonderful situation we all find ourselves in."

"I'll admit it's not ideal."

"It's your fault." she shot back. "Your… fucking fault. Literally."

That stung. "Yes it is. Most things are."

She flung the kercheif back at him. "I'm not going to forget this Amadeus. You'd better fucking." she grinned. "Make it up to me."

"I'm sure you'll think of something you want."

"Oh I will." that smile would have made him shudder if he'd still been flesh and blood. "You might even get a kick out of it."

"Indeed."

She stood up, curtsied again, still with a wintery smile, and walked out, heels slamming into the floor.

After a moment, he poured himself a glass of raenka, and drained it.

"Well that could have gone worse I suppose."

#Honoria #drabble #advancing the story i guess #and then nothing bad happened #I wonder what she could want #effort post #the divorce

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nemossubmarine · 3 years

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Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #34

The party is planning on leaving to Llosie to meet up with Chazaqiel, but before they can do so, there’s a few things they have to do. First Larry asks if Iris is willing to accompany Ada to the paradise world. She is quite happy to, and Jaycie(?) picks them both up. Ferrus asks if Izarak should contact Roberto about Ada being alive, which Izarak agrees to do (not explaining entirely what’s going on, but letting him know that the efforts to get Ada back continue).

Before the party can head for Llose, they also need to decide what to do with the T’au ship, as they can’t take it into Warp. Larry brings this up with La’awali and Tirak, who eventually agree that it best that it is destroyed, as the chance of it ending up into human hands is too great. They begin grabbi ng personal stuff from the ship, and while they do, Larry and Alice sneak the Inquisition symbol on board (Ferrus distracts Izarak and Coco and the rest of the crew by making sure everyone is ready for Warp travel), and weld it into their gun flap, so it can be displayed if need be.

Then it’s warp travel time, Ferrus lets Larry and Coco, who will be acting as co-pilot, know that the conditions are good and the travel should be easy. It would take some 30-ish hours. For the most part the Warp travel goes fine. There is some spooky ghost ships that they don’t manage to entirely avoid, and Alice gets quite a frightening experience when a ghost grabs onto her. But other than that, all goes well.

Upon reaching Llosie, they are contacted by someone checking out incoming ships. Larry lies and says that they’re from the Mechanicus-Space Wolves joint operation, which the person seems to buy wholesale. She lets him know that she’ll let the Wolves know they’ve arrived.

They land the ship into a quaint little town. It appears that the planet is quite old-fashioned, mostly focused on food and lumber production. There’s not much technology about, but the party can spy a castle rising above a nearby forest. There’s also a Space Wolves’ ship on the landing area. Pretty soon they are approached by a familiar-looking man, the Martian sergeant Vivek, although he is sporting considerably more furs and other Wolves-adjacent decorations than the last time they met.

He greets them warmly, and the party goes with him to a tavern for a talk. Vivek is here with Dark Angels and Space Wolves looking for the buyer of the datadisk. The party tells to him that they suspect of a drukhari wanting to get her hands on it. This worries Vivek, as they had found no signs of xenos influence about this. He sort of explains what’s in the data disk, mentioning an ancient Martian civil war, where some bad Mechanicus created something called a scrap code that could be used to control Mechanicus, a chaos-adjacent thing (not that anyone but Izarak really knows what Chaos even is). Vivek also complains about the Dark Angels in his party acting kind of suspicious. Larry says he thinks he knows the reason, that being the visage of Lion’el Johnson inside the datadisk, which apparently Vivek is familiar with. The party tells Vivek they’re going to meet a person that may be able to help them with the Countess, but they don’t really mention who it is.

Larry and Vivek go outside for a smoke. Vivek mentions that he hadn’t put together who’s kid Larry was before. He mentions having met his mother once, at a party (Larry was being babysat by Sable Swords at the time). Apparently Vivek thought she was a rather sad person and mentions hoping she was feeling better now. Larry agrees, though mentions not having seen his mother in a while. Vivek explains to Larry that Uffe has located his sister, and that she is stationed not far from here. To arrange a meeting, Larry should talk with Uffe first. Larry says he’ll do just that when he has the time. He wonders how exactly is Vivek connected with the Space Wolves, since he thought he worked with Mars, but the whole get-up is a bit (and not even a bit) wolf-y. Vivek says that while he indeed is here working for Mars, he is first and foremost a Mechanicus assistant to the Wolves. He’s hoping that once he’s done here he can go back to Fenris. Larry asks how he likes Fenris. Vivek says he doesn’t really have any other place to go. Nevertheless, he likes Fenris a lot and considers it his home. Larry mentions it being super cold when he visited, making it hard for him to imagine anyone liking Fenris, and Vivek says he should visit during summer next time.

Coco and Larry decide to go take a nap, having not slept much during warp travel. Meanwhile, Izarak and Alice go visit the local leader, Countess Elodia, who turns out to be a young, aristocratic woman, which makes Alice get a bit flustered. They introduce themselves as being part of the Space Wolves retinue. They express interest in the castle, which Countess Elodia explains is haunted. No one has lived there for years. She would be quite thankful if Izarak, as a priest, would check it out. Alice, putting on a brave face, says she isn’t afraid of no ghosts. Countess Elodia also tells that there are strange beasts in the forest, and some lumberjacks have gone missing, so any assistance on that front is appreciated. Alice flexes and says the Countess need not worry, she’ll have it under control. Countess Elodia seems pleased by this. She also lends them an ox-cart dragged by an ox named Ned.

With napping done, the party grabs Michael and Ferrus and heads off into the forest. There are strange sounds all around, and Coco hears some wolves howling (she’s quite certain it is their old pal Rodorn doing the howling). As they approach the castle, they come across some ruins, where they find what they presume to be the missing lumberjacks, impaled on sticks and quite heavily ripped apart.

Izarak goes to investigate and gets a facefull of a creature that seems to be made out of teeth and claws and flesh. A brief battle ensues where Izarak and Larry take some damage, Ferrus takes a lot of damage. Alice punches one of the creatures down very cool and fancy.

After the battle, they decide to send Ferrus back with Michael as its clear that Ferrus is not doing great. As soon as Michael gets Ferrus into caring hands, he should come back to pick them up. With that done, the party approaches the castle. They knock on the door, and soon they hear approaching footsteps, and come face to face with Chazaqiel, in black power armor and white robes, his countenance made quite spooky by some blue glow and bells hanging from his belt. He invites them inside. The party comments on his nice castle, to which Chazaqiel says that it is not his, he just finds it easy to visit. There is some movement in the castle, which Chazaqiel explains to be ghosts, sort of, apparently something bad happened in the castle some time ago, hence the haunting.

Well, now that they get to see Chazaqiel, they don’t exactly find him a comforting presence, especially since he refuses to give much information about himself. Alice calls him out, saying that he looks an awful lot like a Dark Angel. Chazaqiel counters that the Dark Angels the party knows would not call him a brother. He warns about telling the Dark Angels about himself, as it would cause deep trouble. He also says his presence should not be talked about to the Wolves, as they are deeply mistrustful of “sourcerers”. Chazaqiel eventually cops out to being from a planet (where Dark Angels were originally from, which has also been destroyed for thousands of years). Chazaqiel is clearly getting frustrated that this isn’t enough. The party asks to see his face, so he takes off his helmet. Beneath is a quite regular (for an Astartes at least) looking face, though scarred and blind in one eye. The party eventually asks if they hand over the data disk to Chazaqiel, would he kill the Countess and free Ada and Coco’s family. He says yes, and by all accounts he seems to be telling the truth. The party agrees to meet him on Jonah’s World so they can hand over the datadisk.

With that they leave. They walk some time before the ox cart comes by to pick them up. Riding on top of it is Fafnik the Space Wolf.

#nemo roleplays #long post #wag rp s2 #wag rp writeup #more tags later cos #i want to go to bed :p

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garleansecretary · 4 years

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Warhammer 40k Aesthetics described BADLY

Imperial Citizens/Guard/Royalty: 1800s European Facist Knights in Bondage gear.

Ultramarines: Smurfs but they are Roman Facists

Salamanders: Scalie convention all year round.

Drukhari: Watched LotR once and believe that Sauron is the peak of Fashion.

Night Lords: Batwoman fucked Nosferatu and the offspring stole Fallouts powerarmor.

Black Templars: Someone watched too much Crusader Memes.

Space Wolves: shitty off-brand vikings.

Iron Warriors: Angry Construction Equipment.

Dark Angels: Watched Avengers once and began stabbing each other because Loki wears Green.

Thousand Sons: the dream of every middle aged white woman, obsessed with Egypt.

White Scars: Mongolia just got even more badass.

Death Korps of Krieg: WW2 reenactment gone wrong.

Catachan Jungle fighters: What happens when you show your 6 year old Rambo amd Predator

Khorne: Saw a WW1 Docu once and thinks the Red Baron is the peak of Fashion.

Slaanesh: your cumsock became sentient and started a cult.

Nurgle: When the comic con regular stops using deo.

Tzeentch: Sherlock Holmes but it's the fly.

Iron Hands: Jacking off just got difficult.

Imperial Fists: The Wall (Mark Henrys WWE intro song)

Custodians: Depressed Super Hornets.

Word Bearers: Bible Camp was mixed up with Wrestle Camp.

Tyranids: Cant decide if they prefer Alien or Starship troopers

Eldar: Spacecraft Legolas

Necrons: Arnold Schwarzenegger without flesh

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icarus-the-eternal · 4 years

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The Raid

Archon Braessath of the Kabal of the Black Fang laughed as the prey ran, animal terror pushing them further and faster in hopes of escape. Standing on the prow of his Raider, he lifted a splinter rifle and fired, dropping one of the beasts in a howl of anguish. A cruel smile danced across his lips as his warriors laughed and jeered at the display, jetbikes swooping past to herd the prey on. This had been a pleasurable excursion so far, no rivals to dispute his claim and plenty of fodder for both the slave pens and torture racks. “Such a nice time for a hunt, eh Ahlseth?” His Dracon barely looked up from where she was sharpening her flensing knives. “Perhaps my lord but they are rather poor sport, no fight in them at all.” Braessath chuckled to himself, lowering the rifle and accepting a cup from one of his waiting attendants, enjoying the pleasant burn of the hallucinogenic liquid down his throat. “Where’s the fun in prey who fights back? The easier the better I say.” Ahlseth simply shrugged, irritating in her indifference, so the Archon turned his attention back to the hunt. These mon-keigh were even more primitive than the rest of their simple race, barely above animals, but he did enjoy them so. Perhaps when they returned to Commorragh he wouldn’t sell all of them but would establish his own private reserve. He liked that idea for surely many would pay for the pleasure of hunting without leaving the comforts of home. His revelries were interrupted by a blaring alert on the communications channel. Irritation returning he opened it, swearing to skin the one responsible for disturbing his pleasure. “What is it?” The panicked voice of Bezial, his distant cousin and second Dracon, came through. “My lord- attack- can’t- by the dark o- AAAAGH!” The channel cut out in a harsh static and gunfire, no response afterwards. Braessath cursed and turned about, fur cloak billowing in the breeze. “Turn is about! Call back the hunting parties! We have uninvited guests!”

Jaego broke the extended arm, ignoring the pained screams of the Kabalite warrior as it dropped the knife intended for his eye lens. He rapped it across it’s androgynous features, feeling the crunch of bone and cartilage beneath his knuckles before he tossed it to his waiting retinue. The slavering mutants fell upon the injured xenos with hungry claws and teeth, Jaego chuckling as it’s screams faded beneath snarls and growls. “Eat my lovelies! Eat your fill!” He moves on through the ruined camp, humming softly as he paused here and there to examine a corpse or extract a sample. This particular breed of Eldar was fascinating, having adapted to sustain themselves on the pain and anguish of other beings. He hoped to take a few alive for future study, his fingers itching with the desire to peel apart their secrets layer by layer beneath his scalpels. He’d been surprised when his presence had been requested but this raid had already provided him with plenty of useful data and a chance to test his newest experiments. The xenos had dared to trespass upon a world considered valuable by the goddess, it’s Stone Age human population worshipping her in some fashion. His Gland Hounds were gone, given permission to hunt and kill as they saw fit, so he strode through the ruined camp alone. The sounds of gunfire and battle persisted somewhere nearby accompanied by the shouts of mortals and howls of mutants. The first batch of enhanced fodder had performed within expected parameters so far, though he could already see the improvements he would make next time. A feral roar tore through the air and he barely sidestepped as an armored body crashed to the dirt just past him. The drukhari in charge of the camp was barely recognizable from the strutting, gilded peacock he’d been. His armor was cracked and broken, his beautiful sword broken in half, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. Drogon strode after, the giant Astartes radiating primal fury. Every breath through his vox gril was a snarl, fists clenching and unclenching, the sharpened horns and arm blades of bone coated in blood from use. The xenos tried to crawl away but it was no use. The daemonically strengthened warrior seized his helpless foe and with a guttural snarl wrenched it’s head free in a crack of bone and wet tearing of meat. Jaego felt his twin hearts beat faster, his mouth go dry in the presence of such beauty. He had met all the champions of his new patron and his feelings ranged from indifference to respect in the case of fellow Apothecary Furio. But only the renegade Black Dragon made his blood race this way. He was a monster, a magnificent being of gene-crafted death and fury. Oh how he longed to put him on the table, to explore every nook of bone, knot of muscle, and twisted genetic strand. The wonders he could work with but a loving touch, surely it would be his finest work! He’d carefully secured a few samples of blood and tissue but it was not enough, barely a drop to wet his insatiable thirst for more. Drogon looked from where he had dropped the head, fixing his red gaze on the Apothecary. “The rest will come. We prepare. You fight with me this time.” Jaego felts his blood sing as he set about his work.

Braessath has expected a raid from another kabal, perhaps a few dead and the slave stock stolen, but nothing like this. The camp was in ruins, structures toppled and burned or burning. The slaves we’re gonna, their pens pried open and empty. The bodies of his warriors were scattered around in various states of dismemberment, some barely recognizable pieces of ragged meat and gnawed bone. The attackers had left a sign of their handiwork, the corpse and severed head of Bezial held aloft by his own tendons like a macabre puppet for all to see. Archon surveyed the wreckage over the lip of his raider. He’d dressed in finest Wargear to greet these guests, a necessity among the extravagant Archon’s always seeking to outdo one another. A crystalline mesh of purple and emerald armor beneath a new cloak of shimmering metallic feathers and a gunbelt of infant leather slung low in fashion. Fingers rapped upon the gilded shuriken pistols in their holsters as he considered what do next. “Fan out! Find me some tracks! And someone take that damn thing down!” Warriors moved to obey, tugging at the corpse on display. The corpse began to shake and buzz, vomiting a swarm of chittering insects. The warriors cursed and swatted was the cloud enveloped them, rising into agonized screams as the insects found gaps in their armor and burrowed into the inviting flesh. They danced spastically, muscles seizing in pain as the bugs sought the delicious meat of organs and brain matter. Braessath felt himself revolted and fascinated by the sight as the warriors collapsed and their killers settled to feed. Jaego had spent decades cultivating and breeding this particular species of beetle to use against the Craftworld Eldar. He hasn’t been sure thwy would work on the dark cousins of the species but would be very satisfied with the results.

Every step through the camp uncovered more and more booby traps. The Black Fang lost warriors to more hungry beetles, buried landmines, filth coated spike-traps, even a vat-muscled slab of aggression amplified mutant. As he forces were whittled down so did the Archon’s temper flare till he was boiling with only a third of his original force left. As he raged and ranted only then did they make their appearance. Drogan and Jaego emerged from the surrounding woodlands, approaching the eldar at an easy pace. “How did you like our gifts?” Braessath stepped to meet them with hands on his pistols and Ahlseth at his back. “How about you come taste my appreciation mon-keigh?” Drogon snarled, the vox amplifiers making his voice sound even more guttural. “You have trespassed on ground sacred to the goddess, hunted her people. These affronts have been paid for in blood. Leave now and perhaps we shall let you keep your miserable lives!” With his words the rest of the force revealed themselves from under the psychic illusions hiding them, a bristling force of mortals, mutants, and Astartes all hungry for more xenos blood. The Kabalites seemed to be co side red their odds as their leader merely sneered. “Come on then filth! I’m going to make myself a new pair of boots for your face as the slave pis-urk..” Braessath never finished his sentence, eyes going wide with surprise as the air rushed from his lungs. Ahlseth twisted the knife in his spine and drew it out, letting her former master stumbling a few steps and collapsing in the mud. None of the other Kabalites moved to stop her, rather watching with interest as she removed the gunbelt and buckled it about her own waist. Then she waved cheerfully to the pair of astartes. “As Archon of the Black Fang, I humbly accept your terms though I think that we could be of use to each other. Perhaps we could work out some manner of a deal?”

Upon return to the Vaults, Jaego immersed himself in his work once more. He was no warlord and preferred to leave the glories and distribution of loot to others as he’d already claimed the samples and specimens he desired. He was gazing at such specimens now, the mash of machinery and wraithbone the one called Ahlseth had provided him for future contact, when a feminine voice tickled in his ear. “Keeping busy I see.” He turned to find Fuuko in her mortal form standing nearby, gazing into a large tank bobbing with organic matter and nutrient fluid. “Ah my lady! If you had told me you were coming I would have tidied up or prepared refreshments!” The goddess laughed and shook her head. “I prefer my visits to be spontaneous I’m afraid. How goes your work?” Jaego brightened and launched excitedly into his theories based on data from the raid and the possibilities it opened. The goddess played the good guest, listing intently and nodding where appropriate. As he began to branch into the increased growth cycles of hybridized cells, she interrupted him. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself in my service. I shall leave you to your work and I look forward to more results.” Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of incense in her wake. Jaego turned back to tank she’d initially been watching. It was barely an embryo right now, a splice of stolen cells and gleaned samples but he could envision it’s future form. Humming to himself, Jaego stepped away from the Drogon clone and returned to work.

@fuukonomiko

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