Exactly 24 years, 288 months, 1,152 weeks, and 8,064 days have passed since the moment of your birth, each and every moment the same, each and every day identical to the last. You never had parents, as an infant you were found swaddled in a ragged blanket just outside the gates of a settlement, your mother or father left you there, presumably in the hopes they'd take you in and there you'd be safe from the horrors of the Underhive. Unfortunately for you, the settlers decided they didn't have the resources to care for an infant that wasn't theirs, and they sold you to the first slavers to come along. In turn, the slavers sold you to a hiver caravan, which, in turn, was pillaged by a swarm of gangers. Their leader, a stone-hearted man called Jericho, found you, and in a rare moment of altruism, took you in.
The gang raised you as one of their own, and taught you the ways of thievery, sneaking, watching, lying, by the time you were fourteen you'd mastered the art. By that time, only the shrewdest of settlements and caravans could hope to hide themselves from your peering eyes and curious fingers. On your fourteenth birthday, the gang made a fatal mistake in attacking a guilder caravan, Jericho, as hard a man he was, met his end in a hail of Lasfire, and the rest followed suit. With your skills, you managed to escape, but had to leave your adopted family behind. You heard their cries of agony and screams of terror as the guilder mercenaries tortured the few survivors, and as much as it pained you, you never looked back.
You spent the next decade utterly alone, struggling to scrape by. Many would've starved in your situation, but your skills are valuable, and while at times hunger gnawed, you never went a week without something to eat. Despite your relatively good fortune, it all started to get to you. The omnipresent darkness of the Underhive, the knowledge that your own family abandoned you, that the few willing to take you in were gone never to return, the soul-crushing despair weighed on you, and eventually, something snapped. You lost yourself to the madness, and purged all who wronged you with a vengeance. You were a shadow in the night, and in your wake, anarchy reigned.
Settlements reduced to ashes, the throats of gangers cut, all of it without a trace, without the slightest sign of your passing. At first, you did it out of nihilist hate, but as time went on, you began to take a sick pleasure in your work. The slashing of knives, the gushing of blood, the flicker of the torch, the rush of the danger, it was nice, yeah, but the aftermath, of that was the best. The exhilaration, the knowledge that you did as you pleased and they were powerless to prevent it, the panicked fear your efforts wrought, the twisted paranoia that began to grip the hearts of gangers everywhere,
that, was the best.
Eventually, you began to love the Chaos. You lashed out against the despair, against the mindless brutality of the Underhive, at your desire, every secret was yours, with every flash of your blade, order crumbled, and with time, you began to feel the pull of hope, that if you did enough, maybe things could change. You took to your work with a fanatical zeal, and it was only a matter of time until you attracted someone's notice. One night, as you slept in a cramped and concealed wall crevice, a voice spoke to you. Its voice was thunderous yet silent, it spoke of madness and with words such as you had never heard, yet you understood with unimaginable clarity. The voice revealed the Truth, it told of the Emperor, it showed you his lies, his weakness, his corruption, and you began to despair, for if the Emperor was false, who else was there?
The voice whispered with feverish intensity, and revealed the falsehood, it showed you that the Emperor was a tyrant, a cruel and merciless idol, a wretched corpse upon a gilded throne of lies. It spoke of a True God, The One bringing Hope and Change across the cosmos, it told you of a thousand thousands, each of them awakening to the Truth each passing moment, it told you of a glorious ever-shifting crystal citadel awaiting all who understood the God's power and worshiped Him as He desired, as He deserved. The voice spoke of how He had seen your works, about how He looked upon your works, and was satisfied with them. The voice spoke of how He had chosen YOU to fulfill His works, to spread His Truth to all the peoples the Hiveworld of Zobek Prime, to bring Hope and Change to the Hive, that the Corpse-Emperor's lies be stricken down, and the False Imperium ground to dust. Before you awakened, in a moment of silence, you asked a question of the voice, with complete and total submission, your soul taking on the words of madness, you asked for His Name, that you might worship It with all passion for all days until the end of time. The voice spoke, and its voice resonated with the power only the Divine can muster,
"CHILD, I AM TZEENTCH!"With a start you awakened and cried out in pain, a burning sensation wracked your very soul, and smoke poured from your chest. Tearing of your shirt in an effort to extinguish the flames, you found the Mark of Tzeentch branded upon your flesh just above your heart itself, and you knew then, that you had dreamed no dream. At the moment, you sit in the crevice, peering out at the unlit shadows, were it not for a lifetime of lurking, you'd be blind. You feel a burning urge to do something, anything, in the service of Tzeentch, but what? You could start by converting others, showing them The Way, but you've never been good with words. Worth a shot, though. You could try assassinating another gang leader, it'd be easy enough and every dead ganger brings a change closer and closer, but what good would killing do?
You're at a bit of an impasse, what do you do?A.) Go hunting gangers, at this hour there's surely some sleeping nearby, and it might do the Underhive some good
B.) Go to the nearest settlement, a village called Nint, and try to convince a few of the more destitute to worship Tzeentch
C.) Go to the nearest settlement, a village called Nint, and burn a house or two to the ground for the sake of Change,
D.) Go do something else entirely (Write-In)
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Favor: 0/5
Status: Unharmed
Traits:
Mark of Tzeentch: A mark branded on your left breast, it is more than a mark on your flesh, it's a brand upon your very soul. It signifies your eternal devotion to the glory of Tzeentch, but apart from that, confers no advantages.
Skills:
Sneaking: 5
Watching: 5
Lying: 5
Equipment:
Patchwork Rags
Steel Knife
15 Throne Gelt
Members:
Cult Leader: Gwynana
Resources:
N/A
Author
Topic: Underhive Chaos Cult [Warhammer 40k SG][1st Edition][Bad End] (Read 6038 times)