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You startled awake. The taste of ash clogged your throat, fire raced through the air, your body screaming a litany of pain. You blinked away tears your eyes raw and burning, a slow throb of pain built in the base of your skull. You have to remain in control. Following your teachings you use the rising pain to center yourself and your thoughts. You blink again, banishing the dark spots from your vision the smog filled burning atmosphere of Terra filled your sight.

Fire chocked the sky, spires stretching into the polluted heavens burned endlessly from dozens of conflicts fought by hundreds of factions. The architecture was a riot of pock-marks and gaping hoes rent asunder by firefights, generations of decay, and the acid rains that tortured Terra. There were many things wrong with Terra but you forced those thoughts back again, crushed them beneath reality.

Your rebreather was broken. A wheezing gasp escaped your mouth that brought with it the oppressively filthy air of Terra. It was only then that you realized you were being dragged. Carefully craning your neck you saw two men dragging you. One a visible mutant, a single arm massively bloated with muscles that lent him a simian limp, his touch caused your skin to crawl. Disgust fighting with apathy in equal parts. Again you followed your teachings and used the sensations of your emotions to center yourself.

Emotions were powerful, and lent you great strength. But it was a double edged blade for your kind. Your sensitivity to the immaterium was intrinsically linked to your emotions and the state of which. To tap into the deepest reserves of your power would require a force of malignant will to break through the wards on your soul and body. But it would be trivial for you. The Damocles Sword ready to render the emperor’s judgement on your existence as a Psyker. There was only one line between damnation and martyrdom, control.
>>
You looked to the other man, he walked aside the mutant with a casual strut that spoke of degenerate familiarity. Or authority. Both probabilities disturbed you. The mutant wore the tattered uniform of a miner, his overalls were a patchwork of torn prayer notes weaved into ragged holes while his jacket was predictably torn to accommodate his freakish figure. The man had no outwardly marking appearance. A dirty tunic stuffed into torn cargo pants. He was of an average build. On Terra he would have been just another one of the billions of lost souls. But the stolen boots, helmet, and las-pistol of your now dead Pilot would have given him a wide berth among the fearful masses.

Your back slams into a hard surface, your choked grunt drowned out by the sound of the mutant dragging you bodily up a hill. “Careful now.” The man laughed. The mutant simply lets out a whoop in response. Both continuing to drag you form through the streets.

Pain filled your body. You didn’t take the crash well, you were certain a rib was broken, you felt a sticky wetness as your clothes pressed closely against the skin of your leg, and a splitting pain in your head threatened to steal consciousness from you again all the while the micro bead in your ear chirped with constant static. You could try to call upon your powers. In your current state it would be a task to summon the warp and free yourself, doable but a task. Hopefully in dealing with one the other would lose heart facing a Psyker. You doubt they knew what the markings on your vestments meant. You could also try to enforce your will on both, you’d lose the element of surprise but you could converse energy while being cautious. Assuming you succeed in either case.

>Pretend to be unconscious. See where they take you while you gather your strength
>Let them know you’re awake and see what they want
>Call on the Warp and try to dominate them
>Call on the Warp and attack one (which?)

unfortunately posting on mobile during scarecrow shift expect delays
>>
>>4665548
I miss boy alpha psyker adventures
>>
>>4665548
>>4665548
dominate them
>>
>>4665548
>Call on the Warp and try to dominate them
>>
>>4665574
>>4665588
>Dominate them
Writan

Roll 3d10+1 vs DC 13
>>
Rolled 9, 4, 7 + 1 = 21 (3d10 + 1)

>>4665614
Glory be to he on his throne.
>>
Rolled 5, 1, 2 + 1 = 9 (3d10 + 1)

>>4665614
I CAN FEEL THE WARP OVERTAKING ME
>>
Rolled 10, 3, 4 + 1 = 18 (3d10 + 1)

>>4665614

>>4665648
THIS IS A GOOD PAIN
>>
>>4665637
>>4665648
>>4665658
>Two Successes

You took a deep breathe, cautious to not alert the two you try to jolt your body into wakefulness. Seizing onto the pain of breathing, of existing, you fashioned it into a weapon. The immaterium was a reflection of the world around you and as you worked in silence, mouthing the litanies of channeling. You could taste the warp on your tongue, raw and bloody. Billions of pinpricks of lights ignited in your vision, distant souls being extinguished and burning with the intensity of a galaxy. A susurrus of voices drifted into hearing rising in intensity by the second. Cries and shouts of pain, fury, love, despair, hope, rage, dea-

You slam shut the wards in your mind, the voices retreating to a nondescript whisper as you work. Terra was filled pain and thus so was the warp and luckily enough so were you. You used your own pain to ease yourself into the warp, shielding yourself as you plunged into the immaterium. False-winds blew debris in opposite directions as your breath chilled in the hot air. Within your Witch-Sight a thought form spear of golden red light was forming, gaining fuel from the atmosphere of pain enveloping Terra, tempered by your will and shared pain.

Sheer confidence and ease radiated from the two men. The mutant was confident in the presence of the other man. It’s aura was minuscule, reflective of a life of pain and obedience. It’s shape and taste all too familiar a sight in the Scholastia. The mutant’s aura was leashed to his fellows and in turn Inflating and increased the potency in which his burned. Their relationship was parasitic, you were right in your initial observation. The man controlled this mutant, no doubt being one of the few to show it compassion, if the adulation the mutant received from any attention signaled.

You could work with this. Two birds one stone.
>>
You willed the spear into the aura of the man. Piercing it with ease you grab hold of his aura, he stops in his tracks with a grunt. The mutant skids to a halt, its unbalanced movement nearly causes your arm to become dislodged. You grit your teeth, ignoring the pain and pouring it instead into your work. You break down his defenses with haste. Annoyance replaced with contentment, caution replaced with ease, fear replaced with joy. You quickly snatched emotions from the warp, channeling them through yourself and into him with the connection you formed.

The mutant began to sniff at the man. His hands held to his head as he muttered to himself underneath his breath. A chill wind rose and the mutant began to patter with consternation.

Stop. Lean him up.

“Stop.” The man slurs. “Lean that bastard over there.” He throws his hand to the side, the mutant quickly following and pushing you up against an overturned shuttle.

He’s injured.

“I know he’s injured throne! Shut up!” The man grips his head harder, nails digging into his temple. You give up subtlety. You force your will into his own. Eyes opening with a witch light you stare into his own. Your grasp on his aura tightens, the confidence and power he felt in his control over the mutant gutters like a flame in the face of your own. You smother his thoughts and goals, pushing his consciousness into the recesses of his mind turning him into a blank slate to work with. In your normal vision you see the man on his knees, the mutants pounding it’s chest in impotence and worry. The man slowly rising to his feet with a glassy look in his eyes. You feel
Your control over him settling, his mind at the far corners briefly aware of your presence but constantly distracted by the emotions you flood into him

>Order the man to kill the Mutant
>Order the man to kill himself
>Order him to find you Medical Care
>Ask him where he was taking you
>>
>>4665760
>Order the man to kill himself
>>
>>4665760
>Where were you taking me?
>Give me medical care

Kill him after he has no use to us.
>>
>>4665760
>Order the man to kill the Mutant
>>
>>4665760
>>Where were you taking me?
>>Give me medical care
>>Order the man to kill the Mutant
>>
We need medical care
>>
>>4665945
>>4665920
>>4665873
>>4665820
>>4665817
He’s hurt. He needs help. No use dead.

The man seemingly shakes off his malaise, the mutant watching in stunted confusion before limping behind him in simian fashion. The mutants eyes roam between you and him. The man crouches besides you, your eyes lock on the laspistol holstered by his waist. Careful for any signs that your mental hold is faltering. You could feel your grip on him as tight and clear as ever but caution is the way of the Psyker.

He clumsily checks over you. Your head sings with the pain of a hasty summoning of the warp but it’s clear of the shock from the crash. He touches dirty fingers to your ribs and you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood as sharp pain explodes into life. Finally, he lifts your leg up, and turns it around. You see a length of plasteel impaled through your leg, a steady trickle of blood falling to the ground.

You nearly shred his mind in panic when you see him take out a knife. Keeping yourself calm and your control tight you watch carefully as he cuts a string of cloth from the mutants overalls.

“Bite this.” He says, his eyes still distant and filled with a half-light. “Or don’t and scream. Fuck if I care.” You accept the cloth, stuffing it into your mouth and doing your best to ignore the taste, and bite down. “I’m going to count to three... One-“

He pulls the plasteel out abruptly in a smooth motion and you immediately bite down on the cloth. Tears full your eyes as you try to fight the pain and endure. Catechisms of endurance and piety spill from your lips as instinct and years of training take over.

“Barely moved?” He says with a raised eyebrow, that distant look still present. “Tough bastard.” He laughs.

It seems you weren’t thorough enough to completely dominate his will. Even with your control his personality still remains dominate. Most Psykers are only capable of simple charms and geas, forget-me-nots the most commonly displayed power. Only those of sufficient will and character are trained in the arts. You wonder how your instructors would react if they could see you know. Adjutant Volos would have you scarred for a failure such as this. The Electro-scourge focused the will like none other he would say.

“Where were you taking me?” You ask, lending a small measure of your will to your voice.
>>
“To the boss.” The man responds matter of factly as he uses another piece of cloth to wrap your leg. “Words got out that them shamans were coming this way.”

“Shaman?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. The average populace had an incredibly difficult time distinguishing Psykers. An untrained and untested youth might as well be the same thing as a Primaris to them.

“Yeah. Them witch-light cunts. Y’know. Sparkly fingers, turning you into a frog, climbing into your dreams at night. The works. Who told the boss again? Was it Keller? Anyway we tell him the word on the street and he says he already knows. He saw it. So he sent me and the boys to watch the skies. Sure enough, we see those witch-light’s flyers in the air. And as fast as we see them they came down, just started shaking in the sky before dropping like rocks.

You search your memory for events leading up to the crash. You remember your briefing in the Temple. Communications had been established with an isolated holding pen, you were being sent to assist with the purge of any malicious elements and the capture of any escaped Psykers, if they yet lived of course. You remember doing your meditations, preparing for your first mission, climbing into the flyer, the hounds of the Scholastia who you were attached to, takeoff, and... and...

Why couldn’t you remember?

“-Then me and Vodolrev found you and that pilot of yours. Poor bastard was missing arms, luckily his legs were just fine.” He says tapping his new boots with a smile.

You ignore the repulsion you feel again. Mind racing to accept this new information. Somehow their boss supposedly knew you were coming this way, and were going to crash. The way the man talks you don’t suppose his boss would be one of these “witch-lights” but would he tell them? If he wasn’t who would’ve had access to Psykana communications? And if he is?

You push aside those thoughts. Your primary worry should be reestablishing connection to the temple. You try your micro bead again, only receiving static in return. You look to the sky, destroyed spires stretching into the horizon. Another literal dead one, one in which the law of the Arbites and command of the God-Emperor has failed.

“Where is this boss of yours?”

The man dusts his hands and stands.

“We should be there in another twenty or so minutes.” He shrugs.

>I’m going to need a real doctor
>Fine let’s go
>Order the Man to kill himself
>Order the Man to kill the mutant
>Write-in
>>
>>4666001
>I’m going to need a real doctor
While we've got control we should play for time and build up our strength before any future confrontations.

Awesome quest so far.
>>
>>4666299
Support
>>
>>4666000
>I’m going to need a real doctor
>>
>>4666001
doctor
>>
>>4666001
>>I’m going to need a real doctor
Make him kill the mutant if the mutant doesn't agree with us
>>
>>4666001
>I’m going to need a real doctor
Don't we have control over both of them?
>>
>>4667334
We control the man and the man commands the mutant
>>
Died after work and was pretty busy gonna try to get two or three updates out today around 4 or 5 PM EST assuming I don’t die again
>>
gee, i hope we find ourselves back with other fellow imperials soon.
>>
Surely that merry band of mutants and criminals includes some sort of sawbones?





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