[Game Update #1 - CCC (Character Creation Complete)]Your name is Solaria "SCT" Volzak, pale-skinned akward 26-year-old woman who towers over most of mankind, possibly meeting the height of a few (unarmored) Space Marines.
Your life played out before your mind's eye, starting from your earliest memories of your father and mother on the fiftieth floor of the main continent's hive structure. There they had purchased a small apartment using the reproductive credits they'd earned with you and your sister's birth. Like you, they were factory workers from adolescence onwards, toiling away for meager pay and tolerating horrid work conditions that wouldn't have been possible without the aid of stimpacks and other chemical pick-me-ups to get them through the harsher days when your unseen employers at the top-most levels of the hive needed quotas met for their Munitorum contracts.
For you a hardship of youth was your uncommon height, as you grew to the size of most adults by the time you were 10 years old and then kept growing until you arrived at your current vertical length at 221 centimeters (roughly 7' 3") by your 17th birthday. While it was useful for reaching jars on the highest shelves, it didn't make you any friends and drew considerable suspicion towards your genetic purity. You were often outright reviled by the other children and their parents alike, and thus spent most of your developing years alone. You're still terrified by memories at the age of 9 when a priest decided you were close enough to mutant that he raised a mob, including most of your neighbors, to drive you out of the district. Fortunately, the Adeptus Arbites disagreed with the priest and called in the local police forces to help them disperse his band. The home that your parents had worked so hard for was sold to escape the latent hostility, and while they didn't blame you directly you still felt a resentment towards you whenever the difficulties of your new home on an even lower floor started to effect everyone. It was easy to internalize the blame, and you've often avoided contact with your family even today due to the shame you feel about the problems you've caused them due to being a freak.
It wasn't all terrible though. The time you spent alone gave you the opportunity to pursue your hobby, where you'd take junked devices and deconstruct them just to see what their insides were like. Eventually you started to get a sense for what went where to make the machine spirit happy. It was a glorious day when your first Vox unit began receiving the civilian stations from the upper levels and you spent many a night falling asleep to the songs of Midgard VI's most celebrated performers. You'd often dream of becoming a star like then, playing some kind of instrument (you could never really decide on which) with daringly dyed blue hair and a pigmented green eye instead of your natural brown. You could even go for something really wild, like surgically altering your teeth into fangs. Biomods were all the rage those days. Such images seemed glamorous compared to the good little girl you tried to be in reality. In fact, you could be almost obsessed in making yourself not stand out, abandoning a cool scrap metal earring you once wore after another teenager had called it 'dumb'.
Somewhere along the line you became a woman, and the demands of the world were increased manyfold. You moved out on your own by the time you were 16. In part because you couldn't handle being a burden on your parents any longer, in part because that floor of the hive structure had a lot of really short ceilings and you'd often hit your head when walking around. You managed to move up a few floors but the work demands were even greater than the place your parents labored, and you could only afford to live in a 'Work Coffin' with the payment you received. If you had been born to the Adeptus Mechanicus you'd probably have earned some recognition for your electronics aptitude but here you were content merely putting together the more complicated machinery that other lower-hive workers, much less servitors, could piece together on the assembly lines. It's just as well since you'd probably have been "re-educated" due to tech heresy. During your young adulthood you also had the opportunity to discover that you were intensely agoraphobic, stumbling into an open part of the hive temporarily before you fainted and woke up without your credit chip and non-implanted identification tokens... Luckily open space was as rare as a hot shower down in the hive, and you carried on without encountering a trigger ever again.
Life was rough, but it could also be soothing in its simplicity. You had fallen into a routine after the first year and could run on autopilot most of the time. However you still were terrible when it came to interacting with other people, and along the way your abilities had gone to your head and you began acronymize words that didn't need it, because you thought doing so made you sound smarter. You had managed to saddle yourself with another bad habit when you found yourself hiding behind increasingly unnecessary acronyms whenever you were nervous or scared. Such behavior didn't make you many friends, and one time your fellow coworkers played a prank on you by placing a quill-furred 'Spike Cat' inside a large vox unit casing you were working. They began roaring with laughter after it sprayed needles at your face and you tossed the casing (and cat) clear across the room before curling in a ball underneath the table. You stayed there until you realized the threat was over and crawled out utterly embarassed. Your co-workers began to call your episode a case of "Spike Cat Trauma", said in an aloof pseudo-scholarly manner, and one of them had the bright idea to call it "SCT syndrome." That wasn't a good day, and the nickname had somehow managed to spread throughout the entire district. There was a time on the catwalk between work and home that a PDF soldier assigned to... wait. The catwalk. Darkness. Wind. BIRD THING. You snapped out of a recollection that lasted mere moments yet felt like several lifetimes.
"Caw! Wake. Yes. Caw!"
Your ears pratically ruptured as the creature screeched while looming over you, causing you to involuntarily hold your hands over them and curl into a ball as the massive vulture-like creature pulled its long snake-like neck away. It stood over you, to a size of two standing upright Solarias! In your world it was rare for all but ogryns to measure at even one Solaria.
Your vision no longer captivated by the monster's proximity you quickly scanned the room only to find no such thing, for you were floating through spa-OH EMPEROR you could fall in any directionwaitcouldyoufalldownsweetprimarchsatleasttherewasgroundohemperor...You began to rapidly breath from the panic attack, taking over a minute to calm yourself to the point you could think straight again. You looked back at the thing that probably brought you here, which you realize had been staring at you with its beady eyes, its bird head cocked askew, for your entire episode. It responded to your visual contact with another loud "Caw!" that frightened you back into ball-mode.
"Now wake." It called back your attention and pointed at your chest with a long talon while it kept its other talon..hand..thing wrapped around a viciously serrated scythe it carried under its left wing. "Servant." It announced. "Cheet's." It continued to glare into you. Was it expecting an affirmation? Yes, that seemed to be its goal.
"I..I.." you swallowed nervously due to just about everything involving this situation "don't know what you want from me, I'm merely a ..a..", your heartbeat increased threefold as you stuttered over your thoughts being cobbled together in regards to an impossible situation, "...merely a RPMD, please PLEASE LMG. I DWtW." While blurting out your terrified pleas for mercy you managed to blunder into yet another flurry of unintelligible letters. "This wasn't the time for that Solaria", you inwardly pleaded to yourself before tears began to erupt from your eyes. You were going to die to a bird monster and you couldn't even beg for your life correctly. At least that's what you thought. But the creature interrupted your break down with its screeching speech that, now that you reflected on it, seemed to be more mental than sonant: "You. Human. Not servant of man. Not servant of factory. Servant of Cheet. Servant of..." There was a menacing pause. "Chaos." The meaning played across your mind while most of the actual sounds coming from this thing were craws and screeches more suitable to its massive slightly curved beak. "Kay..kay..wha?" you shook your head, not understanding why the mental image associated a word signifying disorder with a concrete force, cults, the warp, and monsters like the thing before you. Cheet continued to stare at you with its void-like eyes as the telepathy answered your own question to some degree. Truth to be told, you had a lot of better ones to ask... but where to start?
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Event Tests:
Lore (Heresy/Religion) (UNTRAINED): Roll 1 - Failure.
Failed to recognize term 'Chaos' or its significance in forms of heresy, the Imperial Creed, or anything else Solaria might have familiarity with.
Author
Topic: (SG) A Chaotic Series of Events - Unsocialized Medicine (Read 3438 times)