[M] Warhammer 40,000: Welcome to Hydra Minoris

[Spess Mehreen]

Hear me, Ozvedat, Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons.

An echoing call echoes through the hollow halls of battle-barge. Like the winding hallways of Prospero, reality seems to shift in and out of focus, seemingly at will, as the call grow louder and louder in one's mind. This, however, was no mere whisper from a lesser horror, for within its voice carries enough power to damn an entire planet to Oblivion, should it desire.

The Changer has heard - will hear of - did hear - of your deeds, and we are pleased with your actions, but I come to you with an even greater task.

Slowly shimmering into existence, an immense bird-like creature started to take form before the sorcerer's very eyes. Impossible arrays of colors assailed mortal senses, driving lesser beings mad. Nearby thralls of the battle-barge, realizing the magnanimous occasion of its visit, began fervently chanting praise to Tzeentch -

As if Tzeentch could not open their paltry mind. The creature seemed to scoff as its razor-sharp beak, curved like a vulture, shook slightly in disapproval as a thrall cried out in terror, its soul too weak to handle the strain of such a glorious sight. The sixteen Grey Knight helmets that it wore as a necklace jingled as it gently floated forward. Its cold, beady eyes seem to stare into the Thousand Son's soul as the Lord of Change nodded.

You have had your visions, have you not? You see - as I do - that our master desires the Star of Isha. While its powers are beyond even my own understanding, such a wondrous object is wasted in the hands of simple Nurgle, who uses it to create slobbering simple-tons rather than seeing it for its true potential.

A pause. A simple gesture, and an image of a glowing object is conjured effortlessly. Appearing to be no more than an inch in radius, a spherical cloud of bright mist covered what seemed to be a single rune of the hated Eldar. The single rune - that of a crying eye - is surrounded by a multitude of chains rapidly rotating around its apex. The nearest thrall ceased its howling and stared at the vision in wonder -

The Star of Isha, or Tel'salaasaith as it is known in their tongue, is an artifact of enormous significance to the Eldar. And it would have remained lost for all of eternity, too, were it not for a ...fortuitous turn of events.

The Lord of Change paused briefly, as if savoring the moment.

Ah, yes. The servants of the corpse-god. Always, always meddling in things they cannot understand, powers that they could not hope to harness. They thought it was a mere alien bauble to be destroyed, but what they did not realize was the fact that it would draw the attention of every psychic entity - including that of fat, sloven, Nurgle.

With another wave of its claw, the image suddenly began flying past. The Star of Isha became a speck of light as it disappeared behind the stone walls of some cathedral-like building, the cathedral gave away to streets, then city blocks of an Imperial hive world. Soon, continents - hidden partially by clouds - vanished, replaced by that of a massive planet.

Nurgle does not yet realize the significance of the Star. He makes no attempt to study it, but instead, delight in the plague and suffering it brings. The Changer have decided that it would be imprudent for us - any of us - to carry out this task, as it draws unnecessary attention. We have decided that a mortal servant would be ... better suited for the task.

Its eyes seem to wink at you as its wings beat slightly, puffing out the age-old robes that dangled loosely on its thin frame.

Now, then, Sorcerer. It is your turn to inquire. Speak if you wish.

[Atrum Daemon]

Ozvedat stood from his throne-like chair on the bridge. The talismans on his robe jangled together slightly and the great illusion kept around the ship vanished. The façade of the battle barge melted away and left a grand ship comprised of a strange, glass-like material. The entirety of the bridge could easily gaze out into the void of space beyond.

“I now know the identity of the object from my visions as well as the location,” Ozvedat said. “But just how deeply seeded in this world is Nurgle’s influence?”

The sorcerer did not expect a straight answer from the Lord of Change, but he figured it would not hurt to ask a question all the same. As always, the visions he had were never clear on the exact state of the world he was going to. But, if the last few were a precedent to go by, he suspected the world would be anything but peaceful. “It also strikes me,” Ozvedat said, beginning to pace back and forth in front of his chair, “as a bit odd that a daemon as renowned as yourself would be the one delivering this message. It gives me pause to wonder what warrants such…prestige. I would assume that it is due to the nature of the relic in question.”

Ozvedat stopped pacing and stared up at the beaked face above him. His hands clasped behind his back as his impassive helmet looked up at the Lord of Change, briefly eyeing the Grey Knight helmets worn as trophies. Beneath the helm, Ozvedat smiled pleasantly. After all, he could not help feeling prided with himself that his efforts had been noticed in such a way.

[Spess Mehreen]

Ozvedat stood from his throne-like chair on the bridge. The talismans on his robe jangled together slightly and the great illusion kept around the ship vanished. The façade of the battle barge melted away and left a grand ship comprised of a strange, glass-like material. The entirety of the bridge could easily gaze out into the void of space beyond.

If the Lord of Change was at all surprised by your choice of vessel, it gave no indication of such. Servants of Tzeentch are oftentimes themselves mired in strange and wondrous sights, though you couldn't help but to notice a - sign, symbol, gesture, perhaps - of approval in the daemon's body language as it shifted slightly.

“I now know the identity of the object from my visions as well as the location,” Ozvedat said. “But just how deeply seeded in this world is Nurgle’s influence?”

With another sweep of its clawed hands, the galaxy map floating before the sorcerer disappeared. Like a meteor hurling through space, the eagle-like vision swept through the continents of Hydra Minoris. Dimly, you could see Imperial defensive structures of all types - some Imperial, some glowing a ghastly green - dotting the landscape. Hordes of gibbering shambles wandered aimlessly, their nonsensical moaning a praise of Nurgle's gift. Here and there, the watcher could catch glimpses of the Dusk Raiders. Their putrid, cyst-like green armor contrasted dully with the crimson-washed streets. There is power there - power of an ancient sort much like his own.

And abruptly, the vision vanished.

Nurgle's hold on the planet is powerful, and save for Tzeentch, none know what his machinations may be. Even the Fateweaver struggles to break through the mighty veil his lieutenants have placed. This is all I know, and all I can show you.

The Lord of Change does not seem at all honest when it smoothly finished its sentence.

The sorcerer did not expect a straight answer from the Lord of Change, but he figured it would not hurt to ask a question all the same. As always, the visions he had were never clear on the exact state of the world he was going to. But, if the last few were a precedent to go by, he suspected the world would be anything but peaceful.

Indeed. After some time conversing with M'Kachen, the sorcerer learned that the scattered elements of the Imperium still held out stubbornly, many refusing to give into death, Nurgle, or some other force. Nonetheless, the number of the living shrinks by day, and the walking dead swell in rank with each passing of the moon.

Because Hydra Minoris was an important hive-world within the system, there are numerous guard elements coordinating with the local PDF forces. Several convents of the Sisters are present, as well as the Eccelesiarchy. Last, but not least, are members of the Silver Talon, an Astartes chapter who answered the summons. Information shows that they are just as trapped as their comrades in arms.

M'Kachen seem to believe that it is best to strike now while Nurgle must still wrestle for control of the planet. It is its opinion that it is infinitely easier to complete the task at hand under the masque of chaos rather than waiting for the planet to fall completely to Nurgle.

“It also strikes me,” Ozvedat said, beginning to pace back and forth in front of his chair, “as a bit odd that a daemon as renowned as yourself would be the one delivering this message. It gives me pause to wonder what warrants such…prestige. I would assume that it is due to the nature of the relic in question.”

Your question has great merit, and were I in your position, mortal, I would ask the same.

The Lord of Change shrugged, as if amused by the query.

Your humility is touching, but the Master knows all and see all. He sees your zeal in his service, and is pleased by it. I simply try to further Tzeentch's Great plan. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Suddenly, a sharp crack - the sound of residual warp energy, usually used for FTL travel - can be heard, echoing in the far distance. The Lord of Change became still for a second as its eyes narrowed dangerously, its hawklike visage twisted in annoyance.

Sufficient to say that I have chose you myself for my own purposes. It appears that I am not the only one who is interested in pleasing our Master. You will need to go quickly towards the destination.

Waving another taloned claw, the Lord of Change begin to fade. You could sense that it felt that the situation has been sufficiently explained.

My servants have uploaded the necessary details to your shipmaster should you take a more mundane approach. I now leave you with two gifts from Tzeentch himself.

Two glowing blue sigils, appearing impossibly complex, appeared before the sorcerer. While they appear to be nothing more than simple decorative motifs (often painted badly by the cultists themselves), each faintly thrummed with power. It seemed that with a single touch, one could affix such blessings onto wherever they wish, as their powers are invoked with the empyreal senses.

One is a portal, designed to fling you as close as it would be unnoticed into the heart of Nurgle's newest garden. The other...

The Lord of Change winked. An extremely uncharacteristic move, though you dimly recall from conversing with the Primarch that M'Kachen has an appraising eye for what it considers to be talent.

Is a secret known to only the three currently present. A gift, if you wish to consider it as such. Use it well.

Spoiler: Additional considerations: 

You should consider which pathway in which you would like to take. There may be adverse consequences in which M'kachen is not telling you. Furthermore, the fact that you cannot simply teleport yourself onto the planet should be a matter of concern, especially for a Sorcerer such as yourself.

Should you try it, you will discover that much of Hydra Minoris has been dulled to the warp. The great ocean there is sluggish and unperceptive at best, and downright disconnected at worst. If it is your wish to teleport onto the planet, Tzeentch's spell should be the only way.

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Trade district, Inner Hive Section 12

While the trade district's streets have never been particularly wide, this section of the hive was downright claustrophobic, with enough space to allow maybe two supply convoys to move next to each other with some careful manipulation of space and paint. A huge makeshift barricade, about six feet in height, stood imposingly before you, its thorny walls comprised of broken Imperial vehicles who have given up their machine spirits for the Emperor.

Crates of las-cells, drinking water, and rations lie scattered around within reach. A lone vox-caster stood on top of the barricade, its power source hastily assembled from a fallen Silver Talon marine's power pack. The lone Astartes was this sector's protector until he, too, was overwhelmed in the end. His battle brothers came a few days ago to extract his gene-seed, promising to you and the others that help will soon come.

And so, those who are still living here clung onto that promise. Right now, this barricade is the only thing standing before the living of Sector 12, and oblivion. Only a dozen or so men and women - those who are still capable of holding a lasgun - manned the walls. The last attack has claimed both the PDF sergeant and three of his deputies, leaving you as the sole source of trained combatants.

Bodies, some decaying, others still barely twitching with un-life, filled the killzone, forming a second wall of corpses that divided the living from the dead. Some are twisted and broken - contortions that are clearly recognizable from the death-throes of the Unbelief. Others are living - some, allies that you once recognized.

"We ain't gonna hold out against another one like dat, Magis'tate. What do we do?"

A nearby voice, tired and battered, broke the silence. It was one of the administrators of the local munitorium. His thin, bespectacled face was grim, and you could see the lasgun shake in his weak hands. Behind him, the others glanced at you. A few had the audacity to wish for hope, but those who's managed to see a few winters -

You know the look all too well. They were no different than those of the walking dead. The small group of survivors stared at each other for a few minutes in complete silence, listening to the cacophony of horror that had become this planet.

Beneath you, you could hear the loud groaning of the Cursed. Soon, they were ready for another round.

"Hans, go fetch another crate of las-cells. We're running dry up here, and the Magistrate have enough to worry about. If the Emperor wills it none of us will fall today."

Another voice - that of a youth - spoke. What was her name? It was not something that you remembered. Nonetheless -

To whoever can hear this broadcast. This is sister Aquilia of the White Rose. I have a code-red-gamma level situation here. Please. Someone, anyone! Respond.

[dakkagor]

Arbitrator Erwin Stauffenberg looked out over the parapet, his face contorted into a grimace. He looked down at the shuffling dead, and the twitching corpses, and thought briefly about all those he had lost over the last few months of hell. Good friends and colleagues, innocents and loyal citizens of the Imperium.

"We ain't gonna hold out against another one like dat, Magis'tate. What do we do?"

He looked at the men behind him. He had to hide the weariness in his actions, the bone tired nature. He hadn't stepped from the barricade for days, and the last push had been a desperate close thing.

"Hans, go fetch another crate of las-cells. We're running dry up here, and the Magistrate have enough to worry about. If the Emperor wills it none of us will fall today."

"The Emperor wills it." He muttered under his breath. He doubted if anything that happened on Hydra Minoris was willed by the Emperor.

He looked back at the shuffling dead, and frowned. More and more seemed to be gathering from side streets with every passing minute. Soon, they would reach a kind of critical mass. And then the barricade would fall. They simply didn't have enough able bodied souls to man it anymore, never mind luxuries like heavy weapons or grenades.

"Davin." he shouted, as he turned and climbed down the barricade. "Its time for us to condense this perimeter."
Davin, a younger man from a local steel mill, looked at him. He had chosen Davin as a second in command of sorts, as he was an educated man and well lettered, an ex administratum tithe proculator. He had organised the civilians, and Erwin had led them.

"Condense the perimeter? But how? You can't mean using our fuel reserves?" Davin slung his lasrifle, a weapon he had developed some skill with over his shoulder and walked up the arbitrator as he finished climbing down the barricade.

"I do. We'll have to find something else to burn, and ration anything else left over. We can't hold that barricade any longer. We need to fall back all the way to the block."

Erwin and Davin had been directing their civilians who could not fight to construct 'the block'. If section 12 was a fortress, The Block was the unassailable keep. Their remaining food and water was stored there, along with scrounged weapons, ammunition and medical supplies. It had been a administratum counting house, and its small windows had been easy to quickly brick up. With only one way in or out at street level, the Block was the last hope of everyone in Trade district, Inner hive section 12. Erwin prayed it would be enough.

"The pews in that small chapel might do, those are good hard wood, you could even make charcoal out of them I'd wager."

Erwin nodded. "Then its time to uproot Father Michaelus. Have him move his reliquaries to the Block and set up a chapel there, and then have everyone strip the surrounding area for wood, paper, anything that can burn for the winter, and any supplies we might have missed. They have 3 hours" He turned to his small fighting unit. "Post sentries on the wall, the rest of you, start bringing up the promethium. Those monsters will feel the wrath of the Emperor this day."

There was a cheer from his men, something he hadn't expected. He supposed it felt good to be doing something at last, even if it was giving up ground.

To whoever can hear this broadcast. This is sister Aquilia of the White Rose. I have a code-red-gamma level situation here. Please. Someone, anyone! Respond.

He paused, and thumbed his helmet mic to receive.

"This arbitrator Erwin Sister. What is your situation and location?"