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RP (18+) [Tsumi] Volume 1, chapter 2: Blessed are the damned


Game Master
RP Date
RP Location
Neshaten Territory
Blessed are the damned
Who are screaming for answers
Piled in a mass grave, buried in disasters

TFS Saweya's Light
1100 Local ship time
1 week after the events of With overwhelming force

The sound of leather lashing flesh resounded throughout the throne room, which was surprisingly vacant of anyone but the usual staff that were supposed to be present to fulfil their duties. Though there wasn't anyone to request the Sovereign's attention on court matters or deals. It was a calmth she wasn't at all used to. Another lash of the whip struck her back violently once more, after twenty years of daily flogging, the skin had become no more than marred and scarred flesh. Permamently ravaged due to the little time it had to heal before it was forced open once more. ANother lash caused a low, seething hiss to rise between her teeth. And yet another caused an audible growl. Though the cloaked figure didn't relent, for he knew Mithrandis wouldn't dare raise a hand against a priest of their divine order.

This was her penance, after all. And each day, she would suffer these floggings. The disgusting scar tissue would ache and sore even after her penance and remind all that even a Sovereign's decisions had consequences. The guards didn't seem too perturbed, however. Whenever court wasn't too busy, or desolate as it was now, the Sovereign had allowed them to chat and fraternize with one another. This is why a gaggle of four cloaked Tsumi sat in a circle, playing cards in hands whilst helmets and weaponry were left off to the side. Though they seemed to pay no mind to the rythmic lashing of a whip in the background. Outside the throneroom were another two guards, clad in the same crimson cloaks and wearing the same golden-crested armour. Their decorum more than obviously hinting that they were royal guards. "Seth, Maat," their names were called out by a third brother in arms who approached in a swift jog. "Brother Heqet," was offered to the guard who handed over a hastily scribbled scroll. "I need to see her Benevolence, now," he emphasized.

The two guards exchanged looks and nodded, one handing the parchment back before the large doors were swung open. And as he passed the guards that were just lounging about, he nodded in greeting before passing with a swift pace. Murmured greetings were offered in response before they focussed back on their game.

Heqet approached the massive flight of stairs that lead up to the throne, before taking a knee. His lower right pushing the cloak behind to avoid stepping or kneeling on the embroidered cloth. Inclining his head and waiting until he was spoken to. These were the subtle, though nescessary mannerisms of court. And that was one of the first lessons these honour guards recieved, manners and common courtesy. Another lash resounded as he waited, before Mithrandis raised a hand, causing the hooded figure that was carrying out her penance to cease, incline his head and take a step back. "Speak," was the command that was given. Curt, brief and surprisingly cold for someone who had just been whipped repeatedly.

Heqet nodded, before raising his head. "My Benevolence, I've recieved a concerning report of TRV Bameth-Trentra," a moment of pause to catch his breath before he continued. "The vessel was conducting research on anti-HVI measures and vaccines. They sounded their alarms but do not respond to communication hailing, only transmitting us an audio message. They detail a research breakthrough which they attempted to transmit, but failed because the ship has been contaminated. What are your orders, my Benevolence?"

A soft sigh came from Mithrandis as she glanced over to one of the waitstaff present, gesturing them over and whispering measures they had to arrange, before slowly getting to her feet. Another servant hurried over with her poleaxe and handed it before withdrawing with inclined head. The bottom spike thumped against the metal floor thrice, before she spoke; "Let it be known that court is closed. I will personally deal with this matter. Bring me to Marraken Ranna-ae Saweyal-Bren's purge."

The purge was called back immediately, by royal decree and informed of such. They had to make their way back to their barracks and drop whatever they were doing just like that. Informed through intercom that was not only spread ship-wide, but fleet-wide if they found themselves having traveled to another ship. Expressing that the Sovereign herself wished to see them immediately at their quarters. And thus, there was little choice for anyone to ignore the orders.

For any of the members that were already present, Marraken being one of them, the doors would swing open. Heqet stepping in first and scraping his throat before announcing; "our glorious leader, the Iron Sovereign herself." Which was followed by him stepping to the side and dropping to one knee. Flicking the cape behind him once again as the Sovereign herself entered the living quarters.
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Everything Is Magical
FM of Neshaten
Game Master
Jaytorr had already been in the living quarters when their, new and very important, summoning was requested, he didn't trust Kmza to leave her alone in his room for long period of time lest he wake up to some accursed Hayden ritual happening at the foot of his bed in the dead of night.

"Have we got a new mission already or is this just a social visit?" He asked to no one in particular as he wandered through the halls to where he assumed their Sovereign was, this would be the first time he'd gotten to see her up close in person and show his devotion at least so hopefully she would at least recognise her Zealot even if they'd never met prior. The warrior's chest pumped and puffed out slightly as he prepared to present himself for her inspection, he'd spent his life devoted to the cause and today would be the day where he was either acknowledged as a follower, or trod upon and thrown away, such an act would shatter his soul which is why it would never happen.

The sovereign was almighty, and he had no doubt she would see him as her faithful servant, it was what destiny willed.

Primitive Polygon

Well-Known Member
The heretic had a strange mental relationship with Mithrandis. On the one hand, they did not see them as an innately holy person, a position that would surely get them killed if they voiced such a thing... But on the other, in service of her holy and omnipresent death god Hayden, there were few others in Tsumi history that had accomplished so much in so little time. His crop had been reaped, regardless of what name it had been done under. Being in the presence of someone far greater in the service of the master of worms, it put butterflies in her stomach.

Kmza was rather happy about sitting on the nice, comfortable, rather clean floor at Jaytorr's side, too. She didn't even have to stand up straight, or look at such a scary person in the eye! Slightly less happy about the metal stocks holding her two upper arms uncomfortably up in line with her neck, with a chain dangling down the front that just about anyone could grab.

Hopefully the heavy bundle of presents they had brought, bundled to their back, would serve to give her some small level of appreciable value. They were blades, about five or six. Home-made and expertly crafted, honed to all sorts of uniquely murderous shapes that a mass produced weapon simply couldn't match. Her favorite was a coiling, flame-shaped blade of the copper colored reactor material neutrosium. The extra little spurs were brittle and designed to snap off, lodging the highly toxic material under the skin. The second was more practical, a jet black cleaver half the length of Kmza herself, curved backwards and bearing a serrated back edge. Another was basically a metal whip made from a oversized chain links that each were sharpened into individual sword edges.

The perfect armory for somebody who was either armoured from head to foot and had some fleshy underlings to suppress, or simply didn't care about the threat of slashing themselves to pieces.


Game Master
Rekkin faintly stank of burnt flesh, strong alcohol, other Tsumi and potent antiseptic, the greying bull having torn his stitches a little while ago when sparring though he looked no worse for it bar a bit of his own blood seeping through the berzerker's grey, padded vest - bruised and marred by countless sutured wounds by any other civilization you could say he looked like shit though the tall, tanned being was right as rain as far as any Tsumi was concerned.

He did grunt slightly as Rekkin forced his ragged flesh up off a nearby stool to stand tall, a few joints and bones popping and cracking into place beneath his skin as the bull stood at attention for their sovereign, for his sovereign - one hand behind his back curled into a fist though one that sought relief rather than balled up out of rage, the cartilage in his knuckles of that lower hand was wearing particularly thin as of late, it was more comfortable than trying to straighten the thing out.

Rather than speak or even make eye contact though Rekkin kept his head low and his lips sealed, hoping to ride out the meeting in silence on his behalf if possible, the less he spoke the less of a chance he had to offend the radiant being that was the Iron Sovereign.


Staff Member
Game Master
Sekhmet had kept to herself for a better part of the last week, drinking, working out and healing after the last battle. The only time she had spent in the actual room with the rest of the purge had been to sleep and relax at the end of the day. It was just one of the few times that she had been in the room otherwise, but as the Sovereign entered the room behind her escort, Sekhmet couldn't help but kneel before her. A hand to the floor and head bowed, Sekhmet revered the woman how she felt she deserved to be, as a avatar of Mithrandis. She prayed silently that the woman wouldn't recognize just what she was, that she was a noble, that she had been raised in privilege. But She kept her eyes and face down in hopes that the reverence she paid would be enough to be overlooked for the time being.

Primitive Polygon

Well-Known Member
It was silent. These brave Tsumi warriors were hushed and tamed, resigned to their holy ideas of Mithrandis and her own earthly goals... Was it really only Jaytorr, the sweet murderous zealot that he was, that felt the need to raise his voice and demand who must be crushed?

Kmza couldn't get the idea out of their head. The words she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs spun around and around, sending a surge of thunderous energy through her heart and audibly creaking at the stocks that bound her upper arms.

Wasn't this wrong? Wasn't this foolish? Wasn't it in the nature of the Tsumi to cleave and scream and kill without such pomposity?

This was the Sovereign! She brought about Hayden's will and cast a countless million souls into the maw of the death god! Surely, she was not so fragile!? She did not need need such protection from offence!... She needed blood!... She needed noise and energy!... She needed souls!

"...S-s-s-Sovereign M-M-Mithrandis!"
Kmza sputtered out, straining against their restraints so hard that they were clearly on the verge of breaking now. A great will possessed the one-horned thing's limbs, rising her to her feet, empowering her words to bellow out exactly what her darkest dreams wanted her to project into the world. A baleful desire to see this great idol morph and metamorphosize into her true form... She could taste it! It was so close! They only needed to make the Sovereign see the real truth of things, under the surface! "Your will and your s-s-soul is pure! More p-perfect th-than any! My fragile form is yours to cast aside, but you must complete your destiny! Release his gift again! Cleanse us all!... Sovereign, please repay this unforgivable meekness with a real deliverance!... I b-beg you!... I can see it in your eyes! It's what we all need! PLeaSE do it! PLEEeaSE!!!"
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Game Master
Marraken seemed to be more bedridden than the rest of them, having slept almost the majority of the past week. Then again, the wounds she was inflicted with due to the duel with Braxton, paired with the chip damage she had taken during the mission and not to mention the amount of radiation sickness she had been afflicted with fleeing the doomed ship. Not even Kmza's innescessant whining or Jaytorr's cussing out had managed to wake her up. She almost was part of the furniture, the purge's commander sleeping there with shallow breaths. Though one thing seemed rather obvious about the purge commander. She didn't really prefer clothes when sleeping, which clearly outlined the second thing their purge would've noticed - she was a tried and true warrior. Countless scars had already marred her flesh, though expertly patched up by skin grafters and tattood around to not show the hideous twisted flesh, but rather tell a story of the battles she was in. There were many, but few stood out. A lone soldier carrying out a fellow Tsumi at arms underneath a hellscape of fire and bullets, a frenzied woman with eyes that glared red staring down an entire purge on her own. And finally - a lone shieldwall with the blonde Tsumi in the middle against both an unstemmable and infinite wave of virulent flesh. The face of Hayden - patient zero, depicted so clearly, apparently howling as it was seconds away from crashing down against the shieldwall. Mostly Kalandras would take note, he was the one assigned to check her bandages and make sure she was healing properly.

But there she lay, stirring when the Sovereign made her entrance. One purple eye cracked open and she saw the infinite Grace that was the Sovereign, having left the throneroom in gods knew how long. Her heart caught in her throat and as she tried to get up - the countless amount of painkillers that were even now directly being pumped into her blood caused her to only shift and try to sit up. "Your-... Mffhn," she grunted faintly.

"Rest, Marraken," was the only thing she stated to dismiss her attempts and assure she wasn't offendign. The purge leader only nodded and laid back down - though she tried to fight off the pull of the medication. She wanted to know just exactly why the Sovereign of all people had just entered their barracks.

Diverting her attention back to the rest of the purge, she was met with silence. Only one piped up, namely Jaytorr. Though her eyes did befall Kmza, then the bag of weaponry on her back. In any case, she offered a curt sigh; "I'm sorry to disappoint. A mission," she stated, taking a deep breath to continue before Kmza suddenly interrupted her. Beginning to spout nonsense the slave hadn't the faintest off. Deliverance, cleansing, his true gift. The slave speaking out of turn was one thing, but calling the horror that had encroached upon their homeplanet, that which countless warriors that fought and died for it all to be in vain.

That which had them running like dogs now. It was no gift, it was a curse. One she let loose, one she paid for each and every day. The whiplashes that marred the skin of her back burned fiercely. And without even blinking, a sword was pulled from one of her guards and pressed against Kmza's throat. "Not a word," she hissed between her teeth. Though, it seemed the tech-thrall was particularily defiant. Her knuckles were seen going white in grip around the blade as Kmza cried out in desperation. Pleading to end them all then and there.

A single flash of the blade, not aimed at the throat, but rather, a clean slice across her unprotected belly. What would spill out, spilled out, though before Kmza managed to slump forward, the blade was stabbed forward through her chest, pinning her backwards against the floor. A disdainful look on her face; "Remember well, slave," the blade was dragged back, with sadistic deliberation. Making sure every inch was agony for Kmza. "Your god is not mine. You're eager to join him," she glanced over at the guards. "Make sure she doesn't. By any means nescessary."

The two of them were quick on the uptake, picking up what remained of Kmza off of the floor and hurrying off with her. The third one accepted his sword back with the inclination of his head, cleaning it on the crimson cloak before stowing it back into it's sheathe. "As I was saying," she snapped back to the purge; "A mission. You've faced a Warslave before. One of our research vessels had an outbreak," she explained, letting the statement hang in the air for a moment. "I'll be going in there myself alongside two flamethrowers. I want you to accompany me whilst the vessel is cleared. Any questions?"


It wasn't just the way the warning flashed across the wall, or how her heavy legs thunked against the ground, it was the source of the problem itself. Maybe urgency was important, or maybe it wasn't, all she knew was that the water had finally gone over her head and she was to tread carefully now, or be swept under the undertow of the problematic and sudden revulsion of her behavior.

So, she found footing, mentally and physically, and it didn't take her long to put it all in the right place. It wasn't just the writing on the wall, it wasn't just the lights, it's how she suddenly felt, how it poured into her and filled every crevice of her being like a clarion call to destiny.


So she moved as such. And thought in such a way that it made sense, and she played the words through her head, what she would say, how she would react, how she would act. Yet, the moment she arrived it was in a curious state, the variety of feelings that flit through the room, the subtle and yet overt tension, the words. The words were more a prophecy than they were direct response to the situation.

Urgent, the way they scrapped their horns to the ground of the feet of the one they served, urgently did they spill forth their desires which a wiser person would have kept secret, urgently did they offer their necks and bodies and limbs and the things that should have mattered to the blade.

She realized why she was, of all people, here now among so many.

She wasn't a lunatic. That much was obvious. Her height, her girth, her postier, she was a lot of things, but bowed was one that she was not. Maybe it was the way her form defied pain than accepted it, or how her ghostly ash skin reflected just enough light to make her seem like metal, or the way her face just did not move to betray any thought. There was one distinction, perhaps among many distinctions, that marred her as something different, something else, something to be wary of. It was how she did not bend, even if she absolutely should have. She cleared her throat, regardless of the consequences, and held her shield in the way all shield bearers did: up. It was a sign of respect, perhaps one of a deeper respect than people would otherwise admit, and then bowed her head curtly. "When do we leave?"
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