- Apr 23, 2019
In the 41st millennium, the state of the galaxy is an absolutely hopeless dystopia. It is an apocalyptic age where trillions of human lives are on the verge of extinction under the threat of xenos, mutants, heretics and worse. There only bastion of hope, a rotting corpse they call The God Emperor. For millennia, the revered carcass has sat slowly deteriorating kept preserved only by the sacrifice of thousands of souls every day. He is a writhing cadaver guiding his Imperium with mysterious powers from a forgotten age.
Though just a corpse on the Golden Throne, the Emperor remains a beacon of vigilance in his undead state. His mighty voidships cross the chaotic miasma of the warp. The only means of travel between light years. Their only manner of navigation through the hellish dimension is the Astronomicon, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will.
His armies battle in his name on countless worlds, dying themselves in a hopeless cycle trying to keep their species alive. Amongst his countless troops, the soldiers of the Astra Militarum, the marines of the Adeptus Astartes, the engineers of the Adeptus Mecanicus, the priests of the Adeptus Ministorum and the secretive operatives of the Inquisition.
To be a human in this time is to be a mote of dust amongst untold trillions, it is to live in the most fanatical and cruelest regime imaginable. Progress, science, understanding are no longer a object of hope for mankind. In this dark grim future, there is only war and in feasting upon all the savagery, debauchery and hopelessness are the ever powerful and ever hungry gods.
In a star system lost in the distant outer rim of the galaxy, a massive metropolis sized vessel hangs like a rotting corpse in ruin amongst a field of debris. The titan, a relic of a dark age of technology rests peacefully in a dark and lonely region of space. The closest star is just a point of light in the distance.
However, the dead voidship is not alone. Upon an Imperial Starhawk, operated by a minimal crew moves silently away from the hulk's remains. As the vessel awaits for its mothership to return, on the bridge Iesus Praedo, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus and from a mysterious divining faction known as the Ocularians, stood looking over his charges. The Sisters of Battle, Castimonia, Adrielle and Katia, were on their knees before him in shame; returned from their assignment on the lumbering space hulk, empty handed. Their mission was a disaster. The relic he had sent them to retrieve, the Crystalline Dawnstar, had been destroyed. The relic was a seal. A powerful piece of ancient technology that had created a warp pocket, where a multitude of chaotic forces where banished away for centuries. Yet, with the destruction of the delicate artifact, the evil it held inside was no longer bound, it vanished into the warp only just after it had taken 10 of the 13 Sisters along with them.
The giant man's voice spoke through the bizarre breathing aparatus he wore on his face. It warped it in a fashion that could chill the heart strip joy from the soul, "What do you have to say for yourself, Sister Adrielle? What is my course of action? What amount of discipline or punishment is enough for your utter failure? Were Sisters Castimonia and Katina not faithful or competent enough to sacrifice their lives in an attempt to thwart these heretical demons? Where do you belong after such a display of poor judgement, tactless leadership and utter incompetence upon one of our Emperor's own holy vessels? Tell me exactly what happened so I may justify not sacrificing you and your Sisters to the void. I am no Mistress of Repentence, I am merely an object of our God Emperor's will. What must I do to make this heretical deed right? Tell me, Sister, how will you repent and how will you prove to your lost Sisters that you are still worthy of the title and armor you bear?" He held up his hand before any of them could reply, "Actually, no. Let my words sink in and decide along with your sisters the appropriate form of punishment. I am disheartened, but I am not cruel and now that you are returned, your execution would not serve the Emperor best. I'll be in my quarters. Mira," He spoke to his Chief Engineer, the Martian Tech Priestess stood by as he scolded the dregs of what was once a proud squad of Battle Sisters. "Take command while I muse over this turn of events." He turned on his heel and with the clank of his metal soled boots against the deck, he wandered off the bay. All that was left was the hum of the vessel as it slowly made its way away from the wreckage. The voidship that was scheduled to pick them up was arriving soon and the Inquisitor would have to report their failure to their superiors.
The voidship coming for them, was not their homeship, however. They had been sent quite a distance from the region they were active in at the request of the Inquisition. The Ocularian Sanctioned Psyker had sent a requisition order from the Ecclesiarcy for an advanced squad and they were what was sent to him. His mission was of the highest secrecy and minimal information was likely to be transmitted to their Sisters, only of the heavy loss and failure to complete their mission.