The Chronicles Of Soloss

Inquisitional Communique VII
Season VII Communique

+++++++"Pain is an illusion of the senses, despair an illusion of the mind"//+++++

++++ EnTr= + Callsign : CEPHRAS ++++
++++ ORDOS EYES ONLY ++++

Greetings Acolytes,

The Conclave and it’s brethren have welcomed the news of iNt::+ Callsign: CEPHRAS ++/:: ’continued successes in fulfilling their assigned duties unto the Golden Throne.

Your names have been noted within the High Council and as rightly-decorated agents of the Holy Ordos you are growing in renown. Glory and honour awaits for those who can follow this path without faltering.

And thus to your edict.

On Ferran within Hive Golgotha, a heretical cult named The Children Of The Abyss

:: We rain curses upon the abomination and may the Endless Lord Emperor of mankind strike it down in His Glory ::

++.. has arisen and now throngs in the underhive beneath the Manufactorums. It is likely to have mutant conspirators and sump scavengers among its foul ranks. Reports of missing workers have been noted for some time and the resulting damage to productivity threatens the war effort.

Purge this taint from the Hive, bring it’s leaders to justice publicly if at all possible and ensure that all citizenry know that the price of heresy shall be paid in the blood of traitors.

Arbites Suppression Squads have been ineffective at purging the taint. Ensure that the wheels of holy vengance begin to turn once again.

May the eternal light of the God Emperor, the fire of his will and sentinel of our faith, guide your path.

Inquisitor Thyne
Ordo Hereticus
Conclave Of Ferran
pro Imperator insquequo nex

ViDe: ///destroy original upon receipt and acknowledgement///+

/// Resource dictats and stipend requisition forms are attached to this document. Frugality is purity//++

++++++++ “Thought begets Heresy; Heresy begets Retribution” +++++++++//////
+++++++++ “Only the weak question” ++++ ///// ++++++++++

View
Mallear: Season Six Epilogue
From the journals of Drake Mallear

A Prisoner in my own temple…..the lunacy of it! There’s nothing wrong with
me….. my opposition of course just say that’s my way of denial. They’re Divinators
like myself, infinitely more powerful. But apparently I have a chance out of this
situation…

The situation. I’m me, here, now, newly promoted officer within the Inquisition, and
I am under lock and key, with my superior staring down his nose in my direction,
next to him, a specially flown in ‘acquaintance’ of his, with ‘fire’ in his eyes, and no doubt in that lance he holds at his side.

You see I have a problem, and to my credit both abilities and success in my tasks
have staid a ‘quick’ solution to all this. Fortunately my accomplishments have
brought honour to the Temple, and my brothers are not so quick to execute one of
their own if they can help it. Psykers aren’t Guard. We don’t need a Commissar
constantly pointing a gun at our heads in case we turn tail at the first sign of being
overpowered. For the Lords of the Tempus Occularis, there is a different ideology.
We go into our missions with our fingers poised on the possibilities of outcome, and
we do the best for our comrades as we can, trying to find the paths to succeed for
the Emperor. This I grant you is not common in Divinators. Many seclude
themselves, away from others, seeking solace away from the outside, where the
many webs of what come may is too much of a burden to behold – but they
recognise it – for the recluses of the order, this is best. These individuals still
function, but tend to be private advisors on a one to one level with the senior
echelons of other careers, Battle Masters, Benemperus Tactica, and Overlords. Some
try to turn inwards, and focus their abilities on themselves, directing their predictions purely to their own involvement in any situation. This means they master outside
divinatory chatter to stop any impediment to their own character. There are of
course those that fail. These sorry brothers eventually go insane, some at the
beginning, others as their power grows beyond their comprehension. Taints of
forbidden sight, Corrupted Augurs, and worst of all, the Warp Prisms who are the
negative conduits for everything that channels through them, with sometimes such
immense abandon, they cause the deaths of hundreds of their own. All of it in the
blind hope that their actions cause their own destruction. Many of these end up in
Chaos’s vast maw, but once there, most do not survive beyond a few years, seen
rather as an unstable weapon for the damned to let loose amongst the righteous for
the largest of battle fields. Imagine seeing your own death, but allowing it to twist
you in such a way that you do everything you can to bring it about, no matter what
the method, no matter how vast…this is frightening. These individuals at full
strength, can leave a scar in the warp that can take years to heal, so intense is the
expulsion of their power. They cannot accept their fat – they bring it forward in the
form of an insane death wish rather than just accepting it for what it is…Well, it
makes sense to me…..

…We all go to the Emperor in the end….I know this…..but I will not go until I know
I’ve a story to tell him, with a good ending, with my duty done.

So why do I find myself surprised at the fate that awaits me….? ‘Didn’t you see
this coming ? ‘ I hear you ask. No, I’ve been careless, I have a wound, and it goes
deeper than just flesh. As my sun rises and falls there are visible black spots on
the surface, and they’ve reached a point to cause concern. Over the last decade or
so I have grown more accustomed to my abilities, taken confidence in Inquisitorial
function, but what I didn’t always notice, was that every time I used the phenomena,
a small piece of me was being consumed. It’s not that I wasn’t aware of this
happening, it’s just an acceptance, or maybe a denial, but your mind puts it to one
side, and you get on with the Task at hand. Clearly I’ve been in denial a little too
long.

The last encounter left me broken…but I lived….duty still not done. Once again
Severas saved us from a situation almost bereft of hope. Those things came up out of the ground and slaughtered everything in sight. Somehow I survived a direct assault of this six limbed beast, and the gashes on the left hemisphere of my skull show how close I came. In this wounded state I attempted to help my comrades, I helped, but I brought forth a shadow that hit all of us. I shouldn’t have attempted it, but I couldn’t lie there and do nothing, I couldn’t watch and wait for them to join me…duty still not done.

I don’t remember a lot in the interim, the next thing I was aware of I was in a
medical bay. The first time I saw those gashes across my head, I knew there would
be questions. But, I needed to gain strength from them as well. A thought struck
me, maybe this needed to happen? And I don’t mean some lesson, that would in the
short term, teach me humility on a new level of understanding or any of that bullshit.
My instincts told me there would be repercussions.

There was another niggling feeling. The mission itself. My friends and I had once
again been put very much in harms way. This was starting to look deliberate; this
was starting to look like someone wanted us to die on a mission. If we were a threat,
a direct ‘make them disappear’ operation would be too obvious, possibly a last
desperate response, because if it could be done that easily, it would have already
happened. No, instead we keep almost dying against insurmountable odds. Not the
sort of jobs regularly issued to four investigators. There had also been the ‘garbled’
or ‘lost’ communication excuse. On the last two missions. I knew this couldn’t be
solved now, and certainly not quickly. But what needed to be done was for our
erstwhile antagonist to be wrong footed somehow. What would help us, is if they felt
they were being watched. That way they have to keep looking over their shoulder
as well as machinating against Cephras. So…..who could assist me in this….an
Inquisitorial Adept perhaps, who could start the ball rolling? Maybe by drawing up
the paper trail from Cephras to the communiqué destinations? The first one would
be a simple request, as if we were double checking something to increase accuracy
in our reports. That should appeal to their sense of procedure.

And so before I left for the Temple, a request was sent for assistance in pinpointing
the times when our communications were sent and received, just so the timelines of
the reports could be aligned.

I entered the antechamber of the Temple. My Lord, Primaris Zarkov, looked up from
his conversations with Remus Vlathorian and Vycar Sinidex, stared at me for not
more than four seconds, and said simply

‘Your shadow…is too long my friend’

His eyes glowed briefly, I blacked out there and then while collapsing to the floor.
The next thing I know is I’m in a chair, my head is caked in blood and ink, where fresh tattooing now adorned my scalp covering every inch of my recent wounds.

My Lord Zarkov explained that there were levels growing in me that needed to be curbed, and leaving my head wounds as they were, would not benefit me or the Order if left unchecked. But there was a chance for redemption. The tattoos were binding glyphs, to add protection to my mind, help fortify the skull,thus averting psykic overspill. They also added direction when it came to using my Divinatory nature, meaning that with increased experience I wouldn’t see them as just scars, but as part of me, three curved spears, running across my head. The beast that caused them wouldn’t be a source of fear, it would be the bearer of renewed focus! But in order to complete the ritual, metal inserts were needed for the spearheads, bindings that had to be crafted from a very rare ore, known as Omnisium. To show my worthiness, to tame my shadow, to move forward, I would
have to take The Endless Walk, a venture into the icy wastes to a ruined Chapel, once the site of a now forgotten pilgrimage, it lies half swallowed by a glacier. Rumour has it that an earthquake centuries ago brought up with it spires of the rock beneath, toppling the Chapel, but in the process housing fresh veins of Omnisium. If I reach the Chapel, and If I break the ore, then I can return to my brothers remade….then I can continue my story.

View
Strang Season Six epilogue.

With the help of the badly injured Thaddius, the assassin dispensed with the remaining four Genestealers. The Bantu and the party of riders who had made it to the outpost provided enough of a distraction to allow the keen eyed marksmen to pick off the last of the alien horror before they charged back up the hill desperate to erase all life.

As the sun pounded down through the day the weary three survivors make the slow, painful way back down the slope to the outpost and shelter in the shade of the porch nursing their wounds.

During part of this time Strang is seen by his weary colleagues inspecting the bodies of the fallen Genestealers.

As 1800 hours arrives the Lighter returns from the still shimmering horizon. Strang as the least injured gets up and limps out the greet the troops who pour out into the slaughter house carnage. The mission to support and identify the wider threat is swiftly abandoned in favour of saving the lives of Acolytes Mallear and Constantine and the aerial destruction of the alien intelligence.

Strang returns home largely solo; his companions being tended to by the medicae and the catatonic girl lost to the world. Strang wonders what will happen to her when she is returned to her people…

Upon touch down the two badly injured acolytes are whisked off to receive emergency treatment. Strang is summoned in front of Inquisitor Grattha to report on the events of the day.
Still limping heavily the assassin was escorted into the grand hall where she was busily consulting with scribes and reading reports (At this point it is worth remembering that whilst Strang is an acolyte and a highly decorated solider it has only been the duration of the last mission that he was deemed stable enough to be used again by the inquisition or indeed anyone and lets face it, it could have been widely expected that Cephras wouldn’t return. The continued persistence in living doesn’t negate the fact that not only is he considered extremely deadly, but also a massive loose cannon, or at least shuriken star). The captain of the escort halts him out of reach of the Inquisitor.
’Ma’am, we have the assassin’

Graitha does not even give a flicker of acknowledgement to this and carries on reading the data slate held in her hand. The silence is uncomfortable as the seconds tick by. The guards disciplined and trained to within an inch of their lives remain as statues, it is something Strang could do, having spent years perfecting the art of remaining motionless waiting for a kill, but he is weary and hurt.
He shifts almost unnoticeably on the spot and the Inquisitor snaps,
‘Severas! Would you mind telling me why the fuck I have members of the Lord Inquisitor Hiron’s staff pestering me for an update on your condition when you were under orders to report to me?’

The shock of this is like a slap to the face for the assassin; he was used to orders being barked on the battle field, but it was a long time since he had felt such a cutting tongue, yet alone been asked a question he had such inadequate an answer for.

“Your grace, I, I, believe Lord Hiron has a vested interest in the operations of call sign Cephras…’ he tailed off, the answer hanging weakly in the air.

‘Bullshit. I didn’t ask you about call sign Cephras, I’m asking you why his staff are bothering me about your well being?’

Strang starts to stutter out an answer-
‘Save it! I know that you served as his houseboy for a number of years – An interesting choice for someone who has been described to me as _’The Emperor’s Arrow’_".

The sarcasm in her words is practically dripping,
“And I know all about that stunt you pulled with Inquisitor Thyne… I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten how our Lord Hiron got his exulted position by stealing the very thunder from the person you were meant to be working for…”
Strang visibly blanched at this, ‘I am an assassin of the ordos, I cannot concern myself with the political machinations of the Imperium. My mission was to ensure the sanctity of the Patriarch. Our position meant we were willing to lay down our lives to protect that ship and it’s contents. In the event of this, our actions gave more of a guarantee that we could trust our communications having experienced several, inconsistencies with requests for support… I will not apologise for the aftermath of these events that is far beyond my control. I merely serve the Imperium."

This retort hangs in the air – glances are exchanged by the escort guard.

Graitha smiles slightly and looks hard at the assassin,
“So you have balls Severas… I respect that in a man. Too many of my colleagues are more concerned with the fripperies of court life to remember how to look someone in the eye and tell them the truth. Your past is colourful and people who do whatever it takes often run foul of what is considered etiquette.
Give me your report on what has just happened.”

Strang briefly outlines the events of the mission, producing several teeth from the fallen Xenos.
“The nature of the cause for the downed beacon was far beyond what was originally suspected and we were going to attempt to find the source of the intelligence behind it but we’re ambushed and lucky to escape with our lives.”

She grills him mercilessly on details for some time. Once he is done with his full report she turns her back on Strang and resumes her work.

The assassin is escorted from the hall and down to the medical bay where his wounds are tended to. Drake and Thaddius are sleeping whilst they are worked on.
By the time they wake Strang has been summoned to Ferran to report to the Elysian base. The command there informs him that Commander Havalok Dah is still smarting from the seemingly botched recovery of Vandire’s scroll. Despite the eventual recovery of the lost map the year where Strang was AWOL hurt Dah quite badly from a political stand point and the grudge borne against the assassin festered to the point where he originally objected to his release. Bitterly disappointed at Strang’s continued survival he has blacklisted him from official duties and the assassin is turned over to the Assassinorum for continued rehabilitation.
He returns to his quarters on Ferran to find it has been purged and his spartan personal effects have gone. Before shipping off world for Occul he makes his way down into the smoggy under world to where Xanthia’s dwelling is.
The gunsmith greets him like the long lost friend he has become since saving his life and tells him that he heard through the grapevine of Strang’s disappearance and disgrace. The tales of what had happened to them men sent after Xanthia had spread through the underworld and now no longer under the cosh of paying protection monies he had bribed members of the Hiron’s household to sneak out the assassin’s personal effects to keep them safe.
Strang in turn tells of his ordeal as best as he can, Xanthia remarks on the facial scarring – especially the wicked looking curved scar he gained in the cave he is sat in and once more thanks him profusely. He tries to give Strang the bullet from his necklace; the most important thing he owns. The assassin smiles and gently shakes his head. It will not be necessary he says and from under his gang leathers he pulls out his corpse hair necklace. Gleaming in the fire light of the smithy are three savage looking alien teeth.
He rummages through his thing and selects a few items he asks the gunsmith to hold for safe keeping and tries to re-emburse him for the bribe – Xanthia won’t hear of it. He outlines briefly where he is going and the two men share a drink before parting as brothers, vowing to keep and ear out for news on the other.

Strang reports to the spaceport and seemingly vanishes from view.
He spends the remaining time between now and the call up meditating and training – particularly in the physical aspect of his skills as part of the rehabilitation on his leg.

Strang driven by the stinging words of Graitha and the blacklisting by his commander (being held unfit for purpose by the Elysians striking a massive chord given the discarding of his father). That psychic gnawing in his brain left from both Drake and the Rogue Psyker spurring him onward to become better and more pure.
This period is very much like a Tibetan monk montage, maybe even a Kill Bill type hardship in order to tune himself finely to the art of being a Nihilator. He knows how much pain he can endure because frankly he has been through enough of it since he was last at the temple.
It is time he channelled his energies back into being one with the Ordos instead of trying to fit in with the Imperium. He has seen the power play of politics and being stung by it; he has become disassociated with so many of his Elysian brethren that he stands further away from the average drop trooper than he ever has.
Time (essentially) alone in the Eye, the perceived betrayal on Hill 604, reading forbidden secrets and knowing the forbidden lore stuff, plus the recent revelations from Graitha about the psyker, he is becoming a bit (more) of a paranoid case, pushing himself further and harder to prove himself worthy of working for Graitha in order to hunt down the man who chased him into the eye.
Allegiances are falling – he is becoming more and more singular in purpose, an assassin who is peerless (obviously not quite Vindicare by a long shot but that is the goal he is driving himself towards).

View
Abbatoir Blues
Season VI Epilogue

Bantu corpses gather insects in the desert heat. Carcasses of men and deep-space horrors litter the slopes of the Algar Mountains.

From the edge of Sabirah’s atmosphere a hail of bright streaks shaft downward towards the scene of horrid carnage. The swarm of missiles seek the destruction of the creature’s home nest but will devastate many square miles of the landscape along with it.

A crater that shall be visible from space for millennia to come is all that will mark the events that transpired here.

Drake Mallear
Wound to scalp – horrid scarring.
Fractured skull, blood loss.
New Talents:

  • Jaded 100
  • Resistance (fear) 100
  • Blademaster 100
  • Disarm 100
  • Furious Assault 100
  • Minor Psychic Power (Healer) 100

Strang (Severas)
Wounded ankle.

  • AGL +5 = 51
  • Precise Blow 200

Thaddius Constantine -
Corruption Points = 45
Deformed Spine (Minor Mutation)
Horrid chest wound (caused by Genestealer claws)

  • WS +5 = 36
View
The smell of burning...
Season VI Episode IV

The bodies of six alien beasts lie in the ruins of the smoking compound. Truly only madness can come from staring at the corpses of the Zeno abominations for longer than a moment. The survivors of the battle do their best to look elsewhere.

The ashes of the torched settlement blow through the night air like fireflies. The smell of promethium and charred canvas stings the eyes.

The warning fires burn, all but the Easternmost one. The frosted lamplight around the trading post is a tiny oasis of illumination in the cool of the desert night.

There is a scant few hours till dawn.

The bodies of the fallen Guardsmen, mutilated and torn like rag dolls, litter the sand nearby. Their blood has soaked into the arrid ground, lying where they fell, struck down in an instant by monsters from nightmare.

(Cue noble military trumpet music – e.g: ‘The Last Post’)
Maddox – Recon Scout
Callidon – Navigator
Nova – Flame unit
Mordecai – Vox Officer

Quali – the gypsy girl clutches a IG lazgun, her dark eyes fearfully scanning the perimeter.

It is not yet dawn. The stars above hang in mind-numbing complexity, the lack of light pollution reveals the firmament in all it’s endless glory, soon the blue of another morning will come.

The Arvus Lighter transport is not due to retun until 18:00.

The Acolytes count their ammo and offer a prayer to the God Emperor in the faint hope that his grace goes with them.

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Inquisitional Communique VI
Season VI

Communique vi low res

Original piece created by Tim Seelig, all rights reserved. Please contact him for permission to use his work.

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Inquisitional Communique V
Season V

Inquisitional communique v

Original piece created by Tim Seelig, all rights reserved. Please contact him for permission to use his work.

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Inquisitional Communique IV
Season IV

Communique iv low res

Original piece created by Tim Seelig, all rights reserved. Please contact him for permission to use his work.

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Inquisitional Communique III
Season III

Communique iii low res

Original piece created by Tim Seelig, all rights reserved. Please contact him for permission to use his work.

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Inquisitional Communique II
Season II

Communique ii lo res

Original piece created by Tim Seelig, all rights reserved. Please contact him for permission to use his work.

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