Know that it is the year 2731 by the ancient reckoning.
My father rules over the civilized galaxy, and His will is law.
With the fall of New Empyrea our terms for unconditional surrender were accepted.
On the throneworld our victorious host was honored with laurels and splendor as never before seen.
A pyre was raised of the wicked standards of the vanquished, devouring too the gloves we used to carry them.
The Interstellar Coalition - our ancient foe, the eternal enemy - had finally been crushed.
After seven centuries, we had avenged our fallen forebears.
We had reclaimed the homeworld.
His homeworld.
Scatter.
Our puissant might reigns over the Garden and beyond as His fleets sail and thunder to every corner of the cosmos.
Across the stars His sable legions, the Landwรคchter, enforce the rule of Tannhรคuser with fire and steel.
The Seraphim, armored angels of His most divine gospel, ensure the purity of hatred for the defeatist and the demonic.
But there are some who resist.
Defiant Coalite states, refusing the Federate's surrender, continue a forlorn campaign of insurgency on the fringes of the Garden.
The Terrans, ever backwards, continue to wallow in the misery of their failed Commonwealth and the warlordism of a ruined Federation.
The Outer Soviet Republics, once our allies against Empyrean tyranny, mobilize against us as the only other claimant to Scatter's legacy.
And this is to say nothing of the extragalactic Collective, waiting silently since we repelled the horrors of their apocalyptic invasion three centuries ago.
Against such threats noble and common stand as legion, ready to lay down their lives for His - for our - vision.
Their sacred flames shall be smothered, never to be rekindled.
Their silvered promises shall tarnish, never to be restored.
Know that it is the year 683 by our reckoning.
They all will be made to understand:
We are inevitable.
So is He.
My father rules over the civilized galaxy, and His will is law.
With the fall of New Empyrea our terms for unconditional surrender were accepted.
On the throneworld our victorious host was honored with laurels and splendor as never before seen.
A pyre was raised of the wicked standards of the vanquished, devouring too the gloves we used to carry them.
The Interstellar Coalition - our ancient foe, the eternal enemy - had finally been crushed.
After seven centuries, we had avenged our fallen forebears.
We had reclaimed the homeworld.
His homeworld.
Scatter.
Our puissant might reigns over the Garden and beyond as His fleets sail and thunder to every corner of the cosmos.
Across the stars His sable legions, the Landwรคchter, enforce the rule of Tannhรคuser with fire and steel.
The Seraphim, armored angels of His most divine gospel, ensure the purity of hatred for the defeatist and the demonic.
But there are some who resist.
Defiant Coalite states, refusing the Federate's surrender, continue a forlorn campaign of insurgency on the fringes of the Garden.
The Terrans, ever backwards, continue to wallow in the misery of their failed Commonwealth and the warlordism of a ruined Federation.
The Outer Soviet Republics, once our allies against Empyrean tyranny, mobilize against us as the only other claimant to Scatter's legacy.
And this is to say nothing of the extragalactic Collective, waiting silently since we repelled the horrors of their apocalyptic invasion three centuries ago.
Against such threats noble and common stand as legion, ready to lay down their lives for His - for our - vision.
Their sacred flames shall be smothered, never to be rekindled.
Their silvered promises shall tarnish, never to be restored.
Know that it is the year 683 by our reckoning.
They all will be made to understand:
We are inevitable.
So is He.
ONLY THE WORTHY WILL LAST
It has been fifteen years since the Empress was assassinated, and a storm is brewing in the Assembly.
While many flutter and preen, their minds filled with fanciful thoughts of union with the House Imperial, you know that one can never win with wagers. While the title of Empress confers power and prestige unparalleled, such a laurel will be granted to one house alone - if it will even be granted at all - and the effort of all the rest left by the wayside.
Let the matchmakers and the matrons have their little โseasonโ - with all eyes on the Throneworld, few will look beyond. The ranks of the Home Armies stand ready for mortal contest on throne-sanctioned feud worlds, and the agents of the Houses work tirelessly amongst the court and the commons, listening, watching, and waiting for that most opportune moment.
And opportunity abounds.
Assassins and courtesans, blackmail and rumor, fire and sword - these are your tools.
Your path to POWER.
TO THE VICTOR, THE SPOILS
SARDAS - one name, ten-thousand faces.
No other part of the Supremacy is as labyrinthine - or as treacherous - as the Syndicate. Thousands of smaller bureaus vie for control over the industrial sectors on worlds in the outer reaches of the realm, but they are nothing compared to the might of the ancient powers of the Inner Empire. Founded before the name Kampf ever crossed the air, the bureaus of Rienzi and New Lumen are leviathans, not only in scope but in power, and forever at each otherโs throats.
While the masses watch and cheer as their house armies slaughter each other in sanctioned warfare, or the nation grieves for those who fell to foreign blades, none know the silent wars waged on their very doorstep - none but those who wage them. Disguised as maintenance personnel, Krohn strike teams destroyed the Brenig databanks in Al-Jilani tower, even after the firefights began. It was no small thing for Kรถppen Aerospace to accuse Rรคder Aeronautical of stealing the design of the Verbote, especially since Rรคderโs operatives left no trace of their presence, aside from three dead janitors.
The major bureaus do not concern themselves with the control of districts, but supplying the war machine of the Supremacy, vying for contracts worth hundreds of quintillions - if not more.
In such deadly contest, with such incredible stakes, there is but one choice when confronted:
LIQUIDATION.
THE NORTHERN FRONT BURNS
A Collective armada, designated โSURGATโ by Imperial Fleet Command, has struck through the DMZ and plunged into Solar Sector Himyar. The Sorukan Sphere stands ready to resist the onslaught, bolstered by local garrisons Landwรคcht, but with the planetary defense squadron shattered and the sector flotilla forced to withdraw, the full force of the Collective war machine is poised to descend upon the worlds of Sector Himyar.
Endless waves of men and machines advancing under shrouds of nerve toxin are but the least of the horror that awaits the defenders of Himyar VI. Yet, before all interplanetary communications were jammed, one final message came through from high command:
REINFORCEMENTS EN ROUTE
ETA 13 SOLAR CYCLES
Against the INCURSION, will Himyar VI even last three?
BRIGHT BEGINNINGS - NEON NIGHTMARES
New Lumen - the inner empire's vision of vice.
Easily the most alluring of all the Hellworlds within the Supremacy, its glitz and glamor hide the smog-choked horrors beneath. A cesspit of diseases not just of the body, but of the soul, Neu-Lumen takes the hopeful and grinds them into dust. Captain Corbett is one such man, eager to escape the demons of his past in the endless masses of the Supremacy's busiest port, he has become a jaded veteran of the ceaseless war waged upon the criminal syndicates of the ecumenopolis. Divorced, embittered, and inebriated, Otto Corbett is a man not long for the world, or his uniform - or so it was before the brutal slaughter of a Zivilwรคchter SWAT team on the floor of one of the city's hottest clubs.
The story? Downplayed. The evidence? Destroyed. The investigation? Dissuaded.
Nothing about it is right.
Pursuing the one lead he managed to secure from the scene, Otto and his comrades will confront grave danger, navigating a city more byzantine than the Imperial Assembly, and uncover terrible, world-shattering secrets - should they survive the UNDERWORLD.
MERCY IS FOR THE WEAK
The Verhรถr - the eyes and ears of the Emperor himself.
There are few organizations so ubiquitous, yet so unseen. Every day, the people of the Supremacy and beyond pass them on the street, sit beside them on transit, smile and chat with them at the grocer, and few are ever the wiser. The Verhรถrโs agents are as inconspicuous as they are capable, but that is to say nothing of the greatest amongst them - the Inquisitors.
Individuals granted nigh-on limitless power, judge, jury, and executioner - men and women tasked with the preservation of the imperial order by any means necessary. None are beyond their suspicion, and few - if any - are beyond their reach. Noble, common, and everything in between is subjected to their scrutiny, and many pray that they never meet the Inquisitrix Ehrt.
Hardened by her upbringing in the Psykorps and vindicated by the station granted to her as Inquisitrix, Sommer Ehrt is a woman - if she can even be called such - consumed with one, burning desire: to make the mundanes suffer as she has.
Indeed, her own retinue, even her own apprentices, must take care, for to be in the presence of the Inquisitrix is to be subject to the venom of VENDETTA.
WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW
ALCON, ALCON: GENERAL DISTRESS
ALL CIVILIAN VESSELS MAINTAIN SAFE DISTANCE, DO NOT APPROACH
CIVILIAN VESSELS WILL BE FIRED UPON
REQUESTING IMMEDIATE EVACUATION
CONTAINMENT BREACH CLASS OMEGA
COCYTUS STATION REQUESTING IMMEDIATE EVACUATION
GOD, DELIVER US
SIX CHECKS ENTER, ONE CHECK LEAVES
Hello and welcome to Black Dawn's group interest check. For what it's worth, I'm probably going to cap things at four players - assuming I get that much interest - as any more than that becomes very unruly, very fast. If you're interested in any of the plot hooks set up here, feel free to comment, and make sure to vote! I will let the poll stand for a week before the winner is decided. Everyone gets two votes - the most popular result moves forward!
If you have any questions, please let me know! 1x1 interest check to come soon.
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