Ahhm.. errhmm.... go conquer a planet or something... I'll call you back okay?
By the pen or the sword thy will be done, your conquering banner will blot out the sun. Which world will fall remains to be seen,
for so many targets float the empyrean.
r1d100 = 81 =
QUARANTINED WORLD.
r1d80 = 55 =
FERAL WORLD.
r1d10 = 9 =
LATE IRON AGE.
r1d100 = 94 =
HUGE STAR.
r1d100 = 23 =
SMALL PLANETr1d100 = 58 =
MODERATE AXIAL TILT/SEASONAL CYCLEr1d100-10 = 36 = 4d10 =
EACH DAY LASTS 23 HOURSr1d100-10 = 11 =
NO SATELITESr1d100 = 2 =
OK TO BREATHE THE AIRr1d100 = 51 =
A RATHER TERRAN-LIKE DISTRIBUTION OF OCEANS, LAKES AND RIVERS, WITH A FAIR SHARE OF INLAND DESERTSr1d100-10 = 87 = 1d5B = 1 =
THE PLANET CONTAINS 1 BILLION SOULSr1d100 = 92 =
THE PLANET IS RUN BY AN OLIGARCHYThe inquisition's fear was never felt so dear, except by a world balanced on the brink of death. We all know something terrible happened or will happen here, yet the planet here will still hold breath...
...For now.
Before and after the corpse-God's servants threw up their walls, this world was an ignorant place of dismal gall. Savages and survivors from a long failed past, they warred wanton for glory with an unwashed arse. Whether you were to look on the plateaus of Sounzeng or the Fertin valley below, you would see the same scene of atavistic living by sword and bow. Rough riders atop sturdier xenomounts with their living by the lance, scouting for weakness of the drunken cities full of Lombarchesi dance. The gale-winds pick up the sails of a ghostly Anvelin carrack; she speeds to meet the Singmappon galley's attack, where slavers and psylo spicers do meet in the great middle sea, the world stands frozen on the brink of change in unnatural guarantee. Above all the glaring watch of a red supergiant does our lovely world revolve, caught in a state of splendid isolation we intend to resolve. Of Imperial watchdogs few remain, most abstain, all that is left is a mechanicus stain, an inquisitorial pain, and a munistorum campaign. Our world is small but it stands tall in the cosmos of man, for in its tiny stature it contains 1 billion souls mixed betwixt the damned.
This world is now Baal's World, though it knows it not. How now our invasion commences, or will commence, or already has commenced, time knows it now... Or not.
Plant memes inside our skulls!
UNTIL IT KNOWS YES! Yes we are blessed to bless! We know now the quarantine was put in place to stop our memetic invasion, but too late already to stop, the mind-merchants of Baal's World will rot, as one by one we seize the mind's nation. They have let us into their mind-fuzz rent-free, and now we shall multiply from mind to mind with each meme the door-killing key!
WE ARE A MIND-VIRUS OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN & ANTI-IMPERIAL INTENT. ARE WE:
-Xenos in origin
-A sentient pathogen
-Nanomachines (son)
-Chaos
-Rogue psyker mind
-Eldar being dickheads
-Inquisition being dickheads
-Our planet being dragged into the immaterium
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Topic: WH40K discussion thread: from Tyran's heart I stab at thee. (Read 952155 times)