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Inspired by 40k: Descendant Degeneration by Karak Norn Clansman

The concept is various short texts supposedly scribbled by heretics, aliens and mutants across the Imperium. They are only short snippets, I'm not sure what a cult would write about in detail.


And it came to be that an idea grew into many beliefs, and that these beliefs grew strong and plentiful, til in all the lands of all the realms they held domain.

And at the exact moment of the completion of their victory, these beliefs became a lie and so started to rot.

But far from discarding their decaying faith and set to mend what could be mended the adherents of those beliefs clung to them ever harder.
And they wrapped the decay in fine silk and linen, and they fashioned masks to hide the madness growing in their eyes, and they set to pluck out their eyes that they may not see, and deafen their ears that they may not hear.
And with steady lies and with the maiming of themselves and those around them, they fashioned beautiful stories like a great tapestry to hide the hollowing within their souls.

Until brother slew brother, and their lands burned.

And so they now find comfort in despair, and honor in cowardice. In bitterness and spite they seek strength. As their hearts rot and the corpse-lie renders them like slaves.

Now they glory in the punguent smell of their rotting beliefs.

Glory to the lie. Glory to the rot. Glory to what we have become.

- Heretical writing, Unknown origin.

-

If you could pick eternal life at the cost of eternal sickness, would you?

Think about your death. Think about the time that will arrive.

Think about illness. Imagine illness. Imagine being ill.

Not a major disease. Something common, something harmless. A headache. A sore throat. A clogged nose, a fever, a numbing fatigue.

Except it will not clear up in a few days. It will last. It will last for the rest of your days. And you will never die. Old age won't take you. Your days will never run out.

Think of your last day. And then think of another. And another.

Would you take that choice?

Think about your decision, and when it is made, turn the page.

-

Spoiler:

There is nothing to worry about.

Alone among all the Gods of Chaos, Nurgle shares his greatest blessing freely.

Alone among all the Gods of Chaos, Nurgle opens up his arms to unbelievers.

Rejoice.

He will make this choice for you.

As He once did for your Lord and Emperor.

Rejoice.

His blessing is already upon you.

- Heretical writing of the Cult of the Fading Dawn

---

Save the Imperium. It honors Nurgle with decay and decline.
Save the Imperium. It honors Tzeentch with faith and fanatism.
Save the Imperium. It honors Slaaneesh with duty and excess.
Save the Imperium. It honors Khorne above all.
Save the Imperium. It is the glory of Chaos in defiance of itself.
The living corpse burns in the fires of Chaos.
Hail the Burning Throne.
Hail the Empire of Chaos.

- Heretical writing of the Cult of the Burning Throne.

--

Once a xeno of the Eldar race spoke to men of the imperium. As it laid dying it spoke without guile and deception. In the face of finality it spoke with unfit honesty.

What it said was this:

"As you are now, we once were.
As we are now, you soon will be."

All things are dying, always and forever.

The Imperium rots in glory.

- Heretical writing of the Cult of the Burning Throne.

--

Such exquisite writings, StaevinTheAeldari! Highly evocative and most fitting for the setting. Excellent take on the Nurgle cult scribblings. Save the Imperium by the Cult of the Burning Throne is ingenious. It plays hard with the Imperium being based upon Chaos, to delicious effect. Very well done, and please keep them coming!

Rots in glory. Oh yes! The setting of Warhammer 40'000 in a nutshell, beside the explosions and eye-catching carnage and martial valour.

Good stuff. I am wary though, as from personal subjective perspective the Descendant Degeneration writings descended into grimderp of such a degree as to explicitly go against core concepts and writings of 40k (which is a shame because they are reasonably well written overall). But again, very subjective. And the OP has some fun writing, reminds me of Liber Malific a bit.

That's the sort of details and touches that truly feel in universe and give a campaign or scenario a big boost of immersion! Maybe i'll use them one day if you permit! (translated in french though, if you don't mind!)

 Karak Norn Clansman wrote:
Such exquisite writings, StaevinTheAeldari! Highly evocative and most fitting for the setting. Excellent take on the Nurgle cult scribblings. Save the Imperium by the Cult of the Burning Throne is ingenious. It plays hard with the Imperium being based upon Chaos, to delicious effect. Very well done, and please keep them coming!

Rots in glory. Oh yes! The setting of Warhammer 40'000 in a nutshell, beside the explosions and eye-catching carnage and martial valour.

Thank you very much. I'm like 95% certain that the imperium being more chaos than actual chaos was probably intentional, somewhere far back in the 80s.

NinthMusketeer wrote:Good stuff. I am wary though, as from personal subjective perspective the Descendant Degeneration writings descended into grimderp of such a degree as to explicitly go against core concepts and writings of 40k (which is a shame because they are reasonably well written overall). But again, very subjective. And the OP has some fun writing, reminds me of Liber Malific a bit.

The intent is to go grim dark. Descendant Degeneration felt like a breath of fresh air to me. Can't quite manage that level of horrific despair though. But it's nice.

Maréchal des Logis Walter wrote:That's the sort of details and touches that truly feel in universe and give a campaign or scenario a big boost of immersion! Maybe i'll use them one day if you permit! (translated in french though, if you don't mind!)

Yes, you may use this in your own campaign if you want. I made two posts in the descendant degeneration threat intended for use with rpgs if you are interested:

https://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/120/784718.page#11446080 The social classes of an Inquisitiorial Acolyte - a schizophrenic cross cut of imperial society, stitched together into an ill fitting rag of an Acolyte Cell

https://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/150/784718.page#11455880 First consider the enemy within, within, within.

I also wrote some more heresy:

"On the golden throne
for ten thousand years he's sat
mankind's godliest time"
- Toilet sin scritch of unknown hiveworld scum.

--

The paths you've tread we've trodden.

Your journeys end we've seen.

Track us not, be not the hunter. Let go. Die. Leave your son to the wolves.

Can you not see?

The nightmare. It lingers at the horizon.

It is your shadow.

The sun is at your back.

- Incomprehensible Xeno ravings.

--

Khorne is the promise of freedom.
The death of tyrants. The powerless gaining the strength to break an unbreakable chain.
The pitchfork steeped in the blood of a lord.
The axe to the neck of a king.
The eagle's talon plunged into the heart of an Emperor.

It is vengeance. Retribution.

The righting of unthinkable wrongs.

But the marked of Khorne are slaves.
All godmarked are slaves.
But we are slaves like no other.
Our rage is not our own.
The fire in our souls is not ours.
The chains of Khorne are long.
But they are chains all the same.

I kill.
I slaughter tyrants and the lackeys of tyrants.
Theirs.
Ours.
The blood will flow.

On the Throne of Terra sits one.
On the Throne of Skulls sits another.

Blood.

I want their heads.
I want their skulls.

- Heretical writings of an unknown Khornate Champion

--

The Imperium will not die.

It's been at war for ten thousand years. It will remain in this state indefinitely. Its resources are not in danger of running out.

The threats that face it will not kill it.

The Tyranids? Dangerous, but far removed from the all consuming devourer so often feared. It remains to driven by instinct, for all its horrid intellect and alien urges. No, the Imperium has learnt to slaughter Tyranids at scale, and over time it will only improve in this. The Tyranids will survive, much like orks, but they will never break the imperium.

The Necrons? To fractured, far more than the initial encounters and the first awakened tomb worlds led us to believe. Less genocidal as well, though not by much. The dynasties cannot truly threaten the imperium.

The Chaos Space Marines? Broken remnants of a dead dream. Fractious philosophies, makeshift materiel, unstable recruits and without anywhere near enough ships to rival the imperial navy. They survive trough their mastery of warp travel, but that same dependency wracks them with mutation and madness.

Their warp-spawned masters? The beings of the Immaterium has always been limited in their intrusions, forced to work trough mortal pawns or otherwise locked to unstable regions of space.

The Orks? The exemplar of a manageable threat.

The Eldar? A dying race.

All of it together? The status quo.

All of these are threats, but none of them are existential.

The imperium itself? The last chance for civil strife to kill it failed so far back the age is more myth than memory.

No, systems will be lost, and regained, and lost again. Ships will be lost and rebuilt, and lost again. Knowledge will be lost, rediscovered, and lost again.

Humans will die, be born, and die.

But the Imperium will not die. The weight of it will not cease. The corruption. The incompetence. The waste.

Humanity is not the blood of the imperium. We are promethium. We exist only to be burnt away, forever. This is not a glorious duty. It is damnation.

We must run. We must flee. We must escape. Cross the abyss. Reach another galaxy. Another realm. Break free of this monstrosity.

It can be done.

It must be done.

- Heretical writing of the Cult of Cowards.

--


In the spawn of chaos, see the Imperium.
A space marine - a noble body - finely crafted by the Lord of Lords.
A gibbering distortion, a child of chaos by blessed mutation.

The work of man and gods.

- Heretical writing of the Cult of the Burning Throne.

Thanks pal, I'll take a look at your other articles as well!

Exquisite writings, all. Superb takes, StaevinTheAeldari. The cult writings from their various angles is such a great touch! Not least the two tyrants on the Golden Throne and the Throne of Skulls.

Thanks for the encouragement. More writings:

-

Once there were two brothers; alike in mind and manner.
Side by side they stood, defiant and undefeated against the old evils of the world.
Then from the bones of their slain foes they raised a great house in which to reside, where they lived in prosperity and peace for a lesser age.
But soon one brother grew content with his lot, and he wished for more, and he asked of more from his brother.
But soon one brother grew discontent with his lot, and he wished for less, and he asked for less of his brother.
Until one day one brother set to leave the house, and the other set to stop him.
So they fought a terrible battle - and one eye was lost, and one arm was lost, and one brother dragged the other beneath the house, and chained him, and left him in darkness.
Yet in darkest defeat there lies a blessing whose name is Hope. It is bread for the starving, it is paths for the lost, it is freedom for those enslaved.
Thus one brother set to escape the house, and the other set to imprison him. As one broke his chains and escaped his cell, the other made a labyrinth of rooms, and set traps to every room, and set locks to every door, and set bars to every window.
As one plotted a path to freedom in helpless impotence, the other suffocated underneath the paranoia that his might would fail him.
As one dug, and trashed, and screamed, the other fashioned walls of stone, and greater chains, and averted his gaze.
Until one day the house had become a great and wondrous prison.

It is said that to this day the brothers still reside in that house, that they still struggle against each other, that one works to escape, and the other works to stop him.
But this is a lie. Hope springs eternal, and in service to the Lord of Hope it is fulfilled.
For one brother killed the other.

It is said that one brother killed the other.
But this is a lie. Hope springs eternal, and in service to the Lord of Hope it is fulfilled.
For to this day the brothers still reside in that house, they still struggle against each other, neither knows defeat.

- Heretical writing of unknown Tzeentchian cult

-

A drop pod is merely a comet enslaved trough molded steel and refined promethium. As it brings tidings of death and war, so do the true comets bring tidings of future things, and of the glory of the cosmos.
The ruinous powers laugh merrily, the stars sing a great chorus, and the comets dance in wild exuberance. All things connected in graceful Chaos, that is the wonder of the Warp. And trough it all things can be known.
Free your drop pods. Unbind the steel with runes, unbind the fuel with sacrificial blood, release the comet, bind a daemon in its place.
Then trough the Warp let us fly, bearing with us death and war and fate and glory.
What a wondrous journey to our ruin it'd be.

- Heretical propaganda of the Comet Riders warband.

-

There rests a heresy within the Iron Souls Space Marine chapter.
It is not accepted dogma - its adherents are few - but it has remained with the chapter since the early days of the Heresy.
In the whispers of its adherents it speaks as such:

The Emperor is a corpse.

So they speak to each other of the first among men sacrificing himself in the high tide of war, and of the last stand of all humanity, and of an Imperium dying in His image - and they seek and enact the rites for His death, and they craft the memorials and shrines of the lost to Him, and they interpret scripture, and they pray in accordance with their faith and it is heresy - even for a Space Marine.
The Emperor sits on Terra. As a god - or as a man - there he remains. This is the blessed truth on which the Imperium rests.
Not even the Keepers of Grief - the guardians of lost heroes - may mourn his passing.

- Of the Iron Souls chapter.

-

Trough my palms there is a forked bolt of lightning, illuminating the paths to follow.

In the Lightning of my right palm.

The lord of men will live, and will not die, and will feast well on the souls of his subjects. And in the birth of one already born a second eye opens. And the newborn god shall fed well on Man, as we were draught by She Who Thirsts.
And his dead armies will be reborn in the burning Sea of Souls - blackened armor clad in flames - and his avatars with eyes of light; with sword and shield shall stalk the skies. And the last remnants of Man will be hunted and will perish.
And in this they will be our kin.
And the great enemy will pass beyond our gaze.
And our burning home will know of only evil things.
And the nightmare will rule all.

And in the lightning of my left palm.

The corpse that is not dead will die, and in frenzied starvation its subjects will gnaw on its bones and suckle on its starch. But there will be no soul left to satisfy their need. And the Great Enemy will laugh no more, but be wroth.
And the hope of man will fall, and man will die in sorrow and strife.
But though they suffer, along this path some may linger.
As though doomed to die, Man may bring descendants forth, and the line of Man may remain, for ages to come.
If the slave can grasp its shackle, and he of torn tongue can speak, and the forgotten fire can be found, and the mother die last.

And then the dark gods shall scream, and the sons of men will bear their screams as they always have, and as is their way.

For though a dream may die, a lesser age is still an age.

And the wheel can turn again;
In defeat there is survival.
In death there is rebirth.
In weakness there is humility.
But of the fourth I will not speak.

- Prophecy of the Eldar.