41K RPG : Primitive Beginnings

[Bratty]

On a netherworld in the midsts of the Naskian Sub-Sector, a little planet's moon is completely oblivious to the rest of the galaxy.

For them, the inhabitants of Cyran, survival is a way of life. Each clan cares for only their own. Survival of the fittest is the law of the land.

The only thing that draws the clans together is their common belief in Yar, the god of the three suns. Ancient prophecy handed down from seer to seer through word of mouth leaves no room for interpretation.

And when it is least expected, and the law of the land becomes complacent and fat with harvest, Yar will send his descendant to speak of his word. And his word will bring strength and resilence forth, and with be birthed in blood. Only then, will the strong overcome the weak, and peace be maintained through a just fist.

Once a year, at the time of the Harvest of the Third Sun, all the inhabitants in every corner of Cyran held a festival called Riberach. Riberach was a very deadly but very productive affair. The seers would call upon the blessing of Yar to show his servants' who possessed the strength and will. Those who were left wanting would not survive the rituals.

It was on a Riberach some 5 Harvests ago, that the Stranger came.

[Josh]

The stranger had spoken of Yar the great God and Divine Light of mankind, who ruled from a Golden Throne on a far away light in the sky. Yar had sacrificed for all mankind, that his people could hold all the lights of the sky in their hands, for His glory.

The stranger moved from clan to clan, his magicks and guardians making him untouchable to the primitive tools of metal and stone that the clansmen used as weapons. This by itself served as proof of his touch of the divine. He told them of the great clan of the sky, the Imperium, a million lights all moving toward the same purpose, conquest of all that Yar saw.

For five years, he spoke of this, and for five years he warned against the servants of darkness, the foul creatures that strove futilely against great Yar.

[Bratty]

The time of the great Harvest approached, and the Stranger did not show himself. For days, the festival continued as the people prayed to Yar for the divine Stranger's return. However hard they prayed, the Stranger did not show.

At the end of two week's time, the seers held council to determine why the prophet of Yar was absent. It was determined that this was a test of strength. The Yar saw weakness in his people. In order to prove their loyalty to Yar, blood must be spilt in abundance.

Thus began the year of the sacrifices. This year women cried out and children fled in fear. This year any were subject to being seen as enemies of the Yar - subject to death at the hands of the seers for his absence. The evil ones were seen in all things, and no one was safe from the hysteria that followed.

[Josh]

And at the height of the bloodletting, the Stranger returned.

But his message had changed, a new tale he told now of being touched by Yar. No, not touched, descended from Yar.

He ordered the old idols smashed, for there was a new vision of Yar, a vision of a glorious and terrifying being possessed of four arms, with vicious claws at the end of each arm...

[Bratty]

The seers bowed and prayed to the descendant of Yar, grateful for the return of their god. Many of them patted themselves on the back with one hand, while melting down the idols with the other. New temples with new images emerged brandishing new fear in the people who inhabited the planet.

In the midsts of this religious fervor, an underground group formed calling themselves Yarov. It was their belief that the strength of Yar was not found in the destruction of the old ways, nor the mutilation of women and children for the sake of multilation. They believed that this stranger was false, and should be removed at all costs.

[Josh]

Before long, the countercult was discovered, and ruthless retaliation began. Followers of the Stranger struck down the faithful with their weapons of light and fury. What few prisoners were taken were subjected to grotesque public punishments...

[Bratty]

The public punishments only strengthened the resolve and stalwartness of the loyal. Soldiers trained and combatted. Weapons were stolen. Civil War began, as did the slaughter.

[Josh]

Prius Ristani absorbed the information dispassionately. The refugee Genestealer cult had fled to some obscure, useless moon in order to lick its wounds and rebuild.

The moon itself had no intrinsic value, its puny population base making it valueless even for a recruiting center.

However, it fit the pattern of operations he engaged in. In between the larger operations and affairs that concerned his Ordo, when given the opportunity he would find obscure conflicts in which to deploy his retinue, to continue the integration of the new weapons and wares into those who followed him, away from the vigilant eyes of the Adeptes Mechanicus.

On this world, he would once more take the Deathwatch into battle. They would slay the xenos, then withdraw and assess the results.

"Brother Sergeant," he said. "Plase prepare the Thunderhawk for deployment. We will locate a suitable location to perform a combat drop."

The moon, for a short while, would actually serve the good of the Imperium.

[Bratty]

The remaining rag tag battalion of the Loyalist Yarov met with in a key struggle with the new followers of Yar at a village which housed the main place of worship in all of the moon.

The Last Battle was staged, and it was a massacre. The stone and blade were no match for the power of the light. Only three remain to be compromised in ritualistic sacrifice. The leader of the Yarov - Taralog Citidal - was one of them. As was his right hand man - Chaset Larof. His daughter, Zala Citidal, was the last. Somehow she had escaped the rays of the light, and surprised the Stranger with a blade to the throat without him knowing it. A shame that the others were there to disarm her before she could continue her mission.

[Josh]

The Thunderhawk soared from the sky, weapons blazing. Warriors of the Deathwatch chapter descended from its sides on pillars of fire, their guns spewing death into the assembled ranks of the enemy. The human among them fell with almost casual ease, as the discipline troops grounded and began moving with their impossible speed, their fire unbelievably accurate.

Enclosed in their armor, they did not appear to be human at all. The only tell-tale of their origins was the double-headed eagle enblazoned on the breast of their armor, the same symbol that the Stranger had originally introduced to the followers of Yar, the symbol of the sky clan, the Imperium.

With them was one more, a head shorter than the giants of the sky. In one hand he bore a strange and terrible weapon with a blade that whirred and tore into those he faced, in the other one of the light-guns like the others possessed.

It was into the midst of this that the true nature of the followers of the stranger was revealed. Emerging from hidden places and dark shadows, terrible creatures leapt out, four-armed monstrosities that moved with phenomenal speed, their claws tearing through even the armor of the Imperium-giants. The two of the giants fell before their claws, but the rest responded with a vicious counterattack.

Six minutes, forty-four seconds from the moment the Thunderhawk had flown overhead, the battle was finished. A nightmare whirling maelstrom of explosions and terror had descended upon the village.

Now all were slain, followers of the false idol Yar and the Yarov alike had been crushed. With the same relentless precision, the sky giants made for their craft...

[Bratty]

Not all. Just one remained. Zala moves with the crew as the weak fall behind like cattle. She is justified in serving the true god of Yar, and knows her place is with them, as she is the last one standing. She alone is strong enough to join her place in Yar's army.

Your will be known, Yar. And there will be blood for those who have fallen unjustly. The evil will be smitted for their transgressions against thee

She yells after them in the language of the moon, "Wait! Wait for me!"

[Josh]

Four weapons snap up with lightning speed, all centering upon her. The other four remaining warriors assumed a defensive position, covering the other approaches to their position. One of the lascannons on the Thunderhawk also pivoted to target her.

The smaller man turned, giving her the first clear view of him. His face was human, albeit a ragged, scarred ruin. One eye glowed red, augmetic, a concept which she of course could not comprehend.

Fingers rested on triggers, ready to blast her to a fine red mist.

"Brother-Sergeant, that one was a prisoner of the cultists," Prius remarked as the woman gabbled at them.

"Indeed, Inquisitor," the marine replied, his voice flat and mechanical from his suit's external voxcaster.

One human life, on a world that would be scorched upon their departure to prevent any further spread of Genestealer taint. She didn't matter, not in the slightest.

The unblinking red regarded her for a moment longer. "Live capture, please, Brother-Sergeant."

The giant blurred into action, advancing on her with terrifying speed. The gauntlet lashed out almost faster than the human eye could follow.

It wasn't mercy, it was economy. The Emperor himself counseled against waste.

And if she bore the taint of the Genestealers, then her remains would be properly examined at a later date.

[Bratty]

Everything grew dark before she knew what was happening.

Yar, your will be done

[Bratty]

Sometime later, much after the annialation of the moon, the doctor approached the Inquisitor, Marine, and others on deck. He carried with him a small box, metallic and closed from peering eyes.

His diagnosis was clear. "She is clean" But then he leaned over to talk to the Inquisitor directly.

"She was clear that she wanted to give us this." He hands the box to them, and quickly leaves. His duty has been done.

Inside the box is a human tongue.

[Josh]

He studied the contents of the box dispassionately. Such rituals of obesiance were not uncommon on primitive worlds. Feral rights of binding were often encouraged by agents of the Ecclesiarchy, to instill the proper sense of self-sacrifice that the common mass of the Imperium must continually have cultivated within.

He triggered his internal vox, summoning his savant. Narris would access the files the Administratum maintained on this world, and enable them to communicate with the woman.

He didn't observe the results of his order for the world to be scoured. The moon had been filed away the moment he'd left it, simply another piece of data, a world visited, a service done to the God-Emperor.

[Bratty]

Nerris was summoned and upon arrival, went directly to work.

After assessing the girl had no tongue, it was not difficult to fall into the primitive motion language that the various clans would use to speak with each other for the rituals.

Within an hour or two, subtle hand and body gestures fell back and forth with ease. Unlike sign language on ancient earth, this form of communication was more primal, using more subtle interpretation of all different forms of movements from the blinking of an eye, to the posturing of a leg.

[Josh]

Prius entered after a while, having observed the encounter via remote pict-caster.

Out of battle, he had removed his power armor, but was hardly less daunting for the fact, with his obviously mechanical arms and ever-present chainsword.

"I see that you've found a way to communicate," he told Nerris.

"They have a silent form of speech, likely derived from hunting communication," she informed him. "It is primitive and only communicates a limited range of concepts, but it serves."

[Bratty]

Zala watched the two of them back and forth in a language she does not understand. She does not move her head, but her eyes as she follows back and forth.

She does not know what is being said, but she observes with a cunning indicative of a scout or hunter. She has an idea of what is being conveyed.

[Josh]

"Ask her about her offering," Prius ordered. Neriss turned and began gesturing the query across.

[Bratty]

Her motions are subtle, save for a sweeping motion against the sky which moves her hand to the might of muscle well formed in her arm. Her eyes look one way, a blink, a gesture, a small twitch. It would take years for someone native to learn, let alone an outsider.

The Message is clear to Neriss:

It is a gift to the True Prophet of Yar. I am your servant in the fight against the false prophets. This is the debt I pay until my life blood flows as I am strongest of Yar's children - the only one to remain.

[Josh]

Nerriss rendered the direct translation, annotating as necessary.

"Yar, of course, being the local deity of worship, a vestigial form of Emperor-worship left over from the colonization of the moon in M32, and reinforced by the Ecclesiarchy representative upon his arrival five local years ago, until such time as he was corrupted by Genestealer taint."

Prius nodded at that. He'd studied the dataslate coming in, and was familiar with the basics of the local variation on the Imperial Cult. While it was not ideal, it did maintain the basic integrity of the message of the Ecclesiarchy- the reverence of all things human, the abhorrence of that which lay outside the realm of propriety, the dogmatic warrior ethos.

"Is she a warrior, then?"

Nerriss began signing again.

[Bratty]

She looks confused as it is translated to her. And begins making gestures:

I am whatever the Yar requires of me. I have experience in the way of strength but have been called 'Silent Whisper' during the trials of Riberach. I am at your service.

[Josh]

He absorbed this response in silence, then rose to his feet, turning his back on her.

Then, with a speed similar to the Deathwatch Marines, the chainsword was in his hand, the teeth whirring to life as he whirled, aiming a perfect strike toward her neck...

[Bratty]

She doesn't blink at all. Her life is unimportant. She does not fear death. She just looks directly at him, unexpressive. As the blade stops at her neck, nicking her, she does not move her eyes from him. The blood drips down her neck to his blade, christening his blade with the blood of the True Follower of Yar.

[Josh]

He withdrew the chainsword, flicking it automatically to clear away any driplets of blood. He turned to Nerriss. "Educate her in Gothic, and schedule a daily training session for me in this signal language of hers."

How trained the woman was was a question, but that sort of unflinching devotion could be put to use somehow.