The Force of Heresy: Prologue

Excerpt from Inquisitor Wynd's private diary

Unpublished, declared Damnatio Memoria by order of Lord Inquisitor Schuld

…The Warp defies explanation. Although we, especially those of us in the Inquisition, like to believe we have corralled even a small segment of its powers, beaten it into submission, and now can harness its use, such beliefs are fallacious to the core. Should the majority of the Imperial citizens ever comprehend how little we understand of Warp travel, and how loosely deciphered the Geller phenomenon is. Should such understanding ever surface, we could bid farewell to the notion of any sane Imperial citizen ever stepping foot off his homeward.

With that said, anyone who ventures into the Void certainly understands the risks of Warp travel: the possibility to arrive centuries later, to be thrown off-course by magnitudes difficult to comprehend, and of course the possibility of losing all-hands to some unmentionable horror that had been patiently salivating at the very edge of the Field (if such fields can be said to truly have edges, which is another point entirely). However, such instances are usually caulked up to the vagaries of the Warp rather than our understanding of Warp travel, but any brief introspection upon this notion rapidly reveals the core flaw. 

The important point that anyone seeking to research the Warp and its related phenomena must understand is that nothing is impossible when it is involved. Full stop. If there is indeed an exception to every rule, that exception is to be found in the Warp. Nothing forbids an individual from amassing power greater than the sum of all armies currently fighting in the galaxy. Nothing stops an entire Segmentum from suddenly flowing directly into the Warp. Nothing stops the laws of the universe as we know them from suddenly becoming outdated.

Why, I wouldn't be surprised if some extraordinary Warp-related events happen on a near-daily basis. Take, for instance, the common occurrence of ships disappearing into the Warp. Various theories exist, of course, the most common being time-delay, and the other being total destruction. However, both are hard to prove conclusively, so chances of something else happening are, well, possible. Perhaps the ships are sent back in time, or to an alternate dimension. Perhaps they reform to a new shape, utterly unrecognizable from its prior form. Or perhaps some are nearly misplaced, thrown far enough away that they are good as lost. If the Warp is capable of ejecting a vessel on the entire opposite side of the galaxy, what is there to stop it from hurling it to another galaxy, much as the Tyranids are known to have made their way to ours? Perhaps some ships declared missing in action still exist, fighting for their lives on alien soil, in some galaxy far, far away…

Please Do Not Switch Off The Console

Real life, you say to me with a smirk on your face, should be more like video games.

The goals should be clearer, the tutorial shouldn't last so long, and character interactions should be more clear. Most of all though, you should be able to save and reload a checkpoint.

You laugh, equally at your own cleverness and at how you think you could organize life much more neatly. You get up and leave, but I stay and think.

Would it be three save slots? If it was, how would you choose what to save? Would you choose that one perfect day, where everything seemed to go right and you wished it would last forever? Would you save that day and make that wish a reality?

Or would you simply save your youth, far away from the aches and pains both physical and otherwise?

Or perhaps you'd save that moment before the final argument that tore her away from you, right before you uttered those words that seem foolish and immature in retrospect.

When I ask you later, you seem confused that I haven't moved on from your simple joke. Don't be foolish, you tell me, we've way past having limited saves. You can save whatever and whenever you want, you say, and focus back on your meal. But I continue to think.

If you can save whenever you want, where do you draw the line? Do you save right before every hug, never sure if you'll look back one day and realize it was the last she ever gave you? Do you save as soon as the fractures appear, foretelling an end that you never suspected or believed would arrive? Do you save at the first kiss, back when the possibilities seemed as endless as your joy? Or do you save at the very beginning: right back at the first clumsy, confusing relationship that set the tone for all to follow? Do you use that to save yourself from all the mistakes and bad habits you would later pick up?

Do you reload endlessly? Do you search for the perfect words, the one gesture, the glowing chance that perhaps could reverse her decision? Do you keep trying, over and over, as each attempt proves as futile as the last? And when you finally abandon hope of that moment, do you go back five minutes? 5 days? 5 months? Where do you stop?

You thought that nothing could compare to the heartache that would follow you, polite guests in the corner of your awareness who nonetheless refused to ever truly depart. But perhaps you never considered the pain and suffering that awareness of true futility could bring about, the biting truth that there was truly nothing to be done, a truth that burns right to your core, eating away all the self-deception and what-ifs. Perhaps there was some comfort in uncertainty, the belief that maybe next time you'll get it right. You wouldn't want to face the alternative.

I try to bring this up with you later, only to face your annoyance that I haven't let this topic drop. Leave it alone, you say. It was just a joke. It wasn't anything serious. I wish I could reload and never have said it, ha ha. You give me a look.

But I can't move on from the thought, and suspect it's a deeper question than you're willing to admit: you don't believe your own lie.

What would you save?

(-HTMC)
[first draft]

The Crafting of Worlds: Addolorata

So I'm currently in the beginning stages of planning for a winter Black Crusade campaign of 3-5 sessions in length, which naturally means a lot of background, character, and rules creation, some of which is sharable to the general public. The following is the setting details for the players, who have already seen it but I figured I'd post as well because, well, why not? Feel free to give feedback. :-D

The Crafting of Worlds: The Free Cities of Bann, Pt. 1

[As some of you may know, I am currently working with Matt on creating the world on which our fall D&D4e campaign will occur. We're still roughly in the initial stages, but making excellent progress, and I would naturally like feedback when possible. However, given the semi-public nature of this blog, I can only post things that would be potentially be ok if the PCs saw. Hopefully you will enjoy what I do post though, and I'd love any kind of feedback you can give. 

The world is a tidal-locked, low magic world, more in the style of GRRM than Tolkien. There are 3 major countries, and 3 major religions (those three sets don't necessarily map onto one another). 

The following is two of the 5 major cities on the continent-state of Bann, known collectively as the Free Cities. As usual, any feedback is most welcome!]

The Cycle of Fate: Decisions

His office seemed exactly as he'd left it; doubtless the servitors had cleaned it daily in his absence. None of the security systems seemed tripped, and the data terminal didn't seem to contain any urgent messages, for once. The inbox also seemed to have messages slowly trickling in as his retinue reported in their status.

All actually seemed calm, or as calm as any sector of the Imperium was. Naturally countless minor threats, cults, and conspiracies, but nothing too urgent, and more importantly nothing he needed to handle personally. He sat himself down at his desk, and withdrew the small data disks from him pocket and inserted them into the concealed ports.

Ghostly letters and symbols hovered above his desk. To anyone else it would look a confusing mess, but he read it easily enough: it was his personal cipher, which included not just substitution but also multiple languages. No cipher was perfect, but it was secure enough for the short time he had been transporting the documents.

He had transcribed the papers on the long journey through the Warp. One of them would have to be discarded utterly and forgotten, while the survivor would be submitted to the Ordo libraries as the official record of the mission. It would also serve as the template for his official report, a report he would have to submit soon; the Ordo officials were already hounding him, especially after the Astartes and the Assassin refused to speak of the matter. He sighed.

He brought one into focus. The paper spoke of a normal landing on a seemingly peaceful planet, only to be assaulted by huge, ferocious beasts that slaughtered the Guardsmen by the score and were immune to most of the weaponry on hand. It went on about the ordered retreat from the massed beasts, abandoning the transports to their ruin as they sought safer ground, and the seemingly endless march as the group quickly lost member after member with few kills in return. It spoke of the leadership of the Marines, as they controlled the frantic rabble of the terrified Guardsmen and attempted to still finish their mission; it spoke of the Assassin Veer being the first one to discover the weak points of the giant reptiles.

It went on at length about the various deadly flora and fauna the group encountered as they trekked across the planet, losing fewer and fewer Guardsmen as they became more adept with dealing with the various predators. It described when they finally found the crashed Imperial vessel that had likely been lost in the Warp thousands of years ago, and had impacted the planet, exploding its Warp drive and triggering the event. Satisfied, the group returned to their transports, only to find them wrecked by their beasts in the absence. The report explained the horrible slaughter as the group attempted to hold off the seemingly endless wave of beasts as they waited for the final transport to arrive, losing almost every Guardsmen in the process, with the rest dying of their wounds while leaving orbit, including the Librarian Oblinius, whose mighty psychic shield gave them enough time to escape.

It continued for several pages, describing the feats of heroism performed by all present, and recommending several commendations for the survivors, particularly Vindicare Veer for his tireless protection.

The report said many, many things, and in terms of specifics they were all completely false.

A knock at the door. A messenger entered, and politely but firmly informed him that the council was expecting his presence. The boy stood there, obviously expecting him to stand up and follow to the chambers. Instead he received a stark stare and an arched eyebrow; the page took the hint and left quietly. He would surely inform the council, which meant there wasn't much more time.

He tabbed over to the other report, which described the actual events of the mission. He had naturally been present for most of them, although was only dimly aware of what had occurred in the mountain towards the end. The Space Marines had been reluctant to speak at length about it, and while Veer had been quite pleased to relay the events to him (saying he was happy to talk about it before he forgot) the young man's enthusiasm was matched by his erratic story-telling ability, and discerning the proper narrative was somewhat difficult. Regardless of the clarity, the implications of the report were clear to him, and would be to the council as well.

He shut down the system, and extracted the two disks, taking one in each hand. It was a hard decision, to be sure. On the one hand, as prescribed by the Ordo regulations, his course was clear, and his duty more so. On the other hand, he had technically sworn an oath. In addition, while the Eldar activities were surely dangerous, he questioned whether it was a bigger threat than the myriad menaces that currently threatened the realm. Every ship, every soldier, every weapon was precious to the Imperium, and even the relatively small task force that would be required to eradicate the threat on the planet could be of invaluable assistance in half a dozen theaters he could think of off the top of his head. Then again, while he was an Inquisitor, technically the decision was not his alone to make.

His mind raced, calculating, analyzing, and doing everything but coming to a decision. He didn't have long, though: the page would be back soon, and likely with an armed "escort."

He opened a drawer and withdrew a small pistol and a pair of tongs. He grabbed the disk with the tongs, and held it out far away from him. With his other hand he pulled the trigger, and looked away as the searing heat disintegrated the data drive and melted the ends of the tongs.

For better or for worse, he had made his decision.

He exited his chambers, opening the door only to see the page's fist swing foolishly through the air as it missed the door that was no longer there. He made eye contact with the guard sergeant.

"Shall we?"

They took off in a brisk pace, walking towards a chamber that would ultimately decide the fate of a world. But really, he thought, what was one world amongst the thousands of thousands in the galaxy?

Perhaps nothing, he thought. Perhaps everything. Only time would tell what fate would bring.

(-HTMC)

The Crafting of Worlds: The Shinto-esque Religion

I should be busy in the wilderness playing Ultimate, far away from the internet. However, I made a promise to myself about posting, so if all goes well the scheduler should be posting this at noon on Sunday, and hopefully it works


[As some of you may know, I am currently working with Matt on creating the world on which our fall D&D4e campaign will occur. We're still roughly in the initial stages, but making excellent progress, and I would naturally like feedback when possible. However, given the semi-public nature of this blog, I can only post things that would be potentially be ok if the PCs saw. Hopefully you will enjoy what I do post though, and I'd love any kind of feedback you can give. 


The world is a tidal-locked, low magic world, more in the style of GRRM than Tolkien. There are 3 major countries, and 3 major religions (those three sets don't necessarily map onto one another). 


The following is one of the three religions, the one modeled roughly after Shinto, with some various other elements thrown in. As before, feel free to respond in any way!]

The Crafting of Worlds: The Neo-Pagan Religion

First off, Happy Birthday to my Blog! You've come a long way, and picked up a name. But now on to Serious Business™.


[As some of you may know, I am currently working with Matt on creating the world on which our fall D&D4e campaign will occur. We're still roughly in the initial stages, but making excellent progress, and I would naturally like feedback when possible. However, given the semi-public nature of this blog, I can only post things that would be potentially be ok if the PCs saw. Hopefully you will enjoy what I do post though, and I'd love any kind of feedback you can give. 


The world is a tidal-locked, low magic world, more in the style of GRRM than Tolkien. There are 3 major countries, and 3 major religions (those three sets don't necessarily map onto one another). 


The following is one of the three religions, the one modeled roughly after neo-paganism, with a decently strong Greek influence. The others are a Shinto-like nature focused religion, and a monotheistic one in the style of Old Testament brimstone and fire.]

The Cycle of Fate: The Second

He could appreciate the irony, at least. Not seconds before he had downed the third one, and had begun to feel confident he could take down the rest. It had taken several hours of careful stalking and patience, and things were looking promising, and then it turned out he might as well have stayed on the hill.

He dissolved back into the shadows and watched the orks practically disintegrate under the withering assault of the Marines; the dumb brutes likely didn't have time to even register the threat before meeting their demise. He also spotted the assassin sneaking towards the Stormraven, and was momentarily baffled. A closer glance revealed he was apparently without his Exitus weaponry: that would definitely explain it.

He grimaced. The temple operatives had a reputation of being fiercely attached to their tools, and Veer's were probably being hauled off to Emperor-knew-where by one of the dozens of orks who had made off with the transport's innards. Veer had seemed fairly stable, so perhaps he could still be used, but then again countless tales bounced through the ordo houses of psychotic assassins. He'd have to keep an eye on the young killer.

The Astartes seemed to be finishing up, and to his eyes seemed unharmed. Only one wearing armor though, and the rest seemed to only have one of two pieces of the wargear. More bad news. He knew that the Marines also set high store by their armaments and armor, and while he doubted they would do anything but their best, he was sure the loss would be weighing on their minds.

One problem at a time, though.

No sooner had the last ork been downed when the team rushed into the Stormraven, presumably to find their equipment. A grimace crossed his face; maybe the Emperor would smile and they would find something, but based off the amount of boxes that the orks had hauled off, he suspected not much was left within the transport. As he stalked forwards, he offered up a small prayer; they could use every bit of help they could get, if the ork presence was as large as he feared.

He briefly considered going in to help, but ultimately decided he probably couldn't do anything that the Astartes couldn't. Instead, he seated himself on a nearby log, and began mentally reviewing all of the facts and knowledge on orks he had accumulated over the years. One of the expired orks lay a stone's throw from his seat, and he blinked once. The now magnified corpse was easy to examine, and after some mental cross-referencing came to some conclusions that confused him. The skull formation and clan trappings suggested feral orks, as did the blade of the "choppa" and the fraternal interaction he had observed earlier. However, the slugthrowers they had employed looked startlingly more advanced than were typical of the feral subtype, and looked closer to the more traditional firearm employed by the "modern" ork.

An intriguing puzzle. Perhaps some genetic leap, or just genuine advancement? Maybe some spacehulk had crashed on the planet in the distant past, or conceivably there was another, more advanced culture on the planet... Earlier he would have discounted the possibility, but the Imperial survey team had stated there was no sentient life on the planet. While it was possible the orks had somehow arrived after the survey had been conducted, that seemed unlikely.

He had been unsettled by the limited amount of information at the start of the mission, but it was only now he realized how deep the well of ignorance went.

The Space Marines were finally exiting the wreckage, and he was pleased to note that they seem to have found a few items. He approached Veer, who turned around at the last second and greeted him. He stayed on the periphery while the Astartes discussed what to do next, unsure of whether he should interject. Eventually one of them asked his opinion, and he stated what little he could; he was as in the dark as them, for the most part.

Eventually they settled on a plan, and the Marines seemed confident enough, although he had a hard time imagining such warriors being unconfident. They struck off, and he trailed behind, hoping against hope that no more surprises were waiting in their immediate future. His mind turned back to the information he had absorbed over the past few hours, and his analytically-trained mind set to work. The stealthy movement came naturally, and only someone who knew him well could tell his thoughts were far, far away...

The Cycle of Fate: The Crash

Wait.

That was something he could do. Stillness was far easier to achieve, especially compared to the wretchedness of escaping the sizzling hulk of metal that had minutes prior been a transport.

Observe.

That was another thing he could do, something he had honed in his profession. He tried to take everything in: the cackle of flames and its associated stench were hard to ignore, but his training allowed him to do just that and focus on other aspects of his surrounding.

Analyze.

Obviously some kind of a sparse forest with large, thick trees on a slightly rolling valley. He thought that he could even make out some kind of reptile in some of the trees, although the wind and rain made him slightly less than certain. Although the smoldering promethium masked practically everything else, with his face close to the dirt he could take in the earthy perfume, and noted the slight differences that set it apart from other, similar worlds he had visited. The scans had indicated that the atmosphere and environment were not dangerous, and he had taken the usual cocktail of preventative medicines, but it was always reassuring to breath the air and not feel his lungs constrict, as had happened on Pneunym IV back--

Concentrate.

Slipping like that was unlike him. Perhaps the crash had disoriented him more than he had realized. He began to take a mental stockpile of himself. His weapons and equipment were miraculously intact; that had been the first thing he checked. Likewise he didn't sense any broken bones or ruptured organs, and his bio-signatures seemed to confirm this. Bruises and cuts everywhere, naturally, but he was long since past noticing or caring about such trivial wounds. After all, compared to the pain that cursed xenotech blade Inquisitor Bianchi had shoved up his--

Concentrate!

Now he was truly worried. This was entirely unlike him, to get so distracted in an emergency. He was supposed to be calm, supposed to be rational, supposed to be an observer, and one cannot truly observe when one's inner eye is someplace else entirely.

Focus.

That's what he needed to do. He drew his pistol and quickly checked it over before arming it, and likewise flexed his glove and was pleased to see it bend smoothly. He rechecked his surroundings, and was pleased to note that his survival instincts seemed to have functioned correctly despite the crash, as he was situated in the ideal viewpoint to observe his surroundings. He tested his mic again, but either his vox was completely broken or his allies were not currently in a condition to respond. Both thoughts were troubling.

Wait.

He pulled off his cloak to ensure the fires had not damaged it, and was satisfied to see that the cameleoline was undamaged. He flung the smooth, water-like material over himself as he laid back down, and felt it naturally flow to cover and conceal him. Unfortunately, the rest of his equipment would require a tech-priest to determine whether it still functioned; perhaps the one known as Ceros would deign to inspect the pieces. Something was missing, though, although he couldn't quite--

React.

The sudden movement would have made a less-experienced man jump, but he was trained in concealment by some of the best his ordo had to offer. Instead, he flicked only his eyes over to observe whatever had suddenly appeared, and only as he was pleasantly surprised to see his loyal familiar flapping towards him did he realize what had been missing. The crash had been fortunate indeed, and Kwoth quietly settled besides him and then held perfectly still. Some of the others questioned his choice of the psyber-raven, fearing it might prove too much of a conspicuous characteristic, but if they had seen how invaluable the little creature had been in coordinating the action that had resulted in such a decisive diplomatic victory over the Uwanäri they undoubtably would--

Concentrate!


His familiar flared its wings in response to the sudden surge of emotion, but he managed to eventually quell the feelings, although it was swiftly replaced with the unbearable weight of an emotion he rarely felt: uncertainty. The planning had not even considered such a catastrophe so early into the mission, and he never would have imagined being so completely cut off from the team. What the Marines would do in such a situation was unclear to him; his dealings with the Astartes prior to this endeavor had been marginal.

Observe.

With nothing else to do, he reverted to his base state. The fierce storm that had brought down the impressive bulk of the Stormraven seemed to be dying down and he noticed tendrils of smoke seemed to be rising from the wreckage. He felt a faint glimmer of his usual confidence begin to reassert itself; with such an obvious trail, he was certain the Astartes would be able to locate the crash site, and then things would be much clearer.

Analyze.

Of course, that meant anything else with even a remote amount of intelligence would also likely be honing in on his location. Although the survey stated no intelligent lifeforms had been detected, the storm that had created this predicament seemed thoroughly unnatural, and he was utterly certain that this remainder of this mission would be anything like he had expected. He would just have to wait, and hope his team appeared before anything else.

Wait.

That was something he could do.

Campaign Endings: Another Perspective

I remember.

I remember the swirl of the cosmos as they formed, flaming and freezing. I remember the initial thrill of excitement and fear as my brothers and I formed, the initial few seconds of discovery and the quick development of our society.

I remember as we quickly learned the rules of this existence, how to twist and turn the strands of space-time to bend to our will. We learned about unlimited power, but we also quickly learned about its elasticity, and we were quickly ejected for our tampering.

Seeds of Heresy: A Review of Horus Rising

Visiting a oft-mentioned but never described thoroughly time period in a series if always a risky maneuver. Perhaps the most notable example would be the Clone Wars in Star Wars; a series of battles that seems to be on everyone's minds and seems to have had extreme consequences, but for the longest time Star Wars fans could only guess as to what exactly happened. Eventually though, as we all know, Episode 2 and associated content came out and described the setting in detail, and naturally many people were disappointed. As is often the case, leaving something amazing to a viewer's/reader's imagination is often better than anything that could actually be made.

With this in mind, after hearing about the Horus Heresy series being produced by the Black Library, despite popular praise I was somewhat wary of starting it. I didn't want to get my hopes up in case it turned out badly, but nonetheless I ordered the first trilogy and started on Horus Rising by Dan Abnett.

Tales from the Imperium: The Tale of the Three Inquisitors

[Editor's Note: This is the second in what will hopefully be a long series of fables, classical stories, and legends (in both unabridged and summarized form) from the Warhammer 40,000 universe, collaboratively written by myself and Stormshrug. We hope you find them enjoyable, and encourage you to contribute yourself to the collection if you feel so inclined.]


Long, long ago, the almighty Emperor in his infinite wisdom created the Inquisition, His Holy right hand to preserve the peace and sanctity of His mighty Imperium. However, as it began, it was but a single institution filled with a multitude of Inquisitors, all seeking to do His Holy work as best as he was able.


During this time there was a band of three Inquisitors who often worked together, although each had a very different approach as how to best serve Him. While traveling to a distant star to do His work, their ship suffered a horrible Warp accident, and were it not for the Emperor's watchful eye upon His most trusted servant all 3 would have perished. They were returned to real-space when suddenly the 4 Chaos Gods appeared before them. And they spoke to them.

Tales from the Imperium: The Inquisitor and the Three Xenos

[Editor's Note: This is the first in what will hopefully be a long series of fables, classical stories, and legends (in both unabridged and summarized form) from the Warhammer 40,000 universe, collaboratively written by myself and Stormshrug. We hope you find them enjoyable, and encourage you to contribute yourself to the collection if you feel so inclined.]


Once, long long ago, an Inquisitor served the Emperor of Mankind faithfully and strongly. Although his name is now lost to the sands of history, he is remembered for his long, golden hair and his sterling record of service to the Imperium. He fought tirelessly against the xenos, the witch, and the heretic for many centuries, and slowly but surely the years began to weigh upon him. He found himself questioning his faith, being tempted by the radical, and in short suffering doubt, an inquisitorial sin.