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I read this and started thinking about the Dark Heresy Rpg where you play as an acolyte - a team of operatives serving an Inquisitor - and how this level of pitch black grim darkness could be implemented in that game.
So I wrote up these social class categories people could pick at character creation. Even if it is just flavor, if you can tie it to your character you can play on it, decide how you felt about your class and what it meant before you became an acolyte, and what it meant afterwards. And the game masters could tie it to various expression of Grim Darkness.
I hope it's okay to post it here since it was inspired by these writings. Can't quite manage the degree of grim darkness outlined above but here's what I wrote:
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:
Fallen Noble
- This poor acolyte was once at the peak of power within his planetary sector. One of the upper houses, a rogue trader's family, the family or branch family of planetary governance, or a founder family of a hive world. But even the fraction of a fraction of the Imperial populace that stands above a world still stands only over a single world. They remain a multitude. And on occasion it happens that one among many are singled out for a more grievous duty. Exiled by their family, ripped away trough a power play, or drafted after their world fell Acolytes from this class have lost not only their power and wealth but also their connection to their own life. Their family will not hear of them. They are no longer a member of their house. No one at this level of power would dare tie themselves to an inquisitorial acolyte assuming they are even alive. For perhaps the first time in their life they stand alone, among a cell of their vast inferiors, now disgustingly turned into peers. They must learn quickly, or their despair and doom will overwhelm them.
Lowly Noble
- It is these that most other acolytes think of when they think nobility. Members of important houses yes, but keenly do they know their limitations. To many rivals, to many threats. Unlike the former high nobility that straddled the world, lower nobles have known struggle all their life. Their houses have had grand responsibilities to fulfill, responsibilities that they must not fail. And unlike their higher brethren their old connections may to some degree remain. Their family or old associates may not lift their nose entirely at an Inquisitorial official, though they'll never be trusted again.
Fallen Official
Higher officials are members of the imperial branches that managed over some amount of power before having it ripped away by their recruitment into the Inquisition's service. While their acolyte status represents a loss of power, their fall was not as great as nobility. A man on a hill, rather than a mountain. While the danger of their new position have drastically increased, there is a sudden, mind numbing potential to obtain power and treasure they previously could not even dream off. As such many Acolytes from this class react in equal measure with greed and a slowly increasing sense of ambition as they do despair at things they have lost.
- Examples of fallen officials include Clerics and Techpriests, as well as bureaucrats with some degree of power, such as the local tax collector of a segment of a hive world. ยด
Lowly Official
- Differentiated from the laborer in little but the increased demands that are put on them, the lowly official represents the vast throngs of personnel making up the corpus of Imperial branches.
Examples of Lowly Officials includes all grunt soldiers, local enforcers of law or security guards, the lowly paper pushers that fills every department of the Administratum or various planetary bureaucracies, tech-wrights that plug away on void ships or in manofactorums where tech priests are to few in supply, and many other human souls that have just about risen above the class of laborer.
Laborer - Those who toil endlessly for the Empire of man. Thrown into the Inquisition they find themselves in far above their head. Many become subservient to those around them, their long life of servitude to heavily ingrained to ever learn to think for themselves. Some grow mad from sudden access to powers far beyond their station, abusing it until it blows up in their face, though chances are they will simply be ignored, their petty delusions of grandeur to insignificant to be addressed.
Example of Laborers include: Hive Worlders locked to a single habitat, peasants toiling away at some agri world, salvagers and slaves.
Dregs - The bottom rung of society. Many times these people have already lived a life of violence, and will be well acquainted with many of the dangers of the life of an acolyte. But they will soon find the degree of that danger is far higher than anything they've faced before. Cautious and keenly aware, it is not a surprise why many of them are recruited.
Examples of Dregs include - Hiveworld scum, criminals, sanctioned psykers.
Lowly Dregs - The absolute bed rock of Imperial society. Why Inquisitors on occasion drags them into an Acolyte Cell is known only to them.
Examples of lowly dregs include: Mutants, the utterly destitute, unsanctioned psykers or those who have suffered deamonic possession or otherwise been irrevocable tainted, and those poor souls with enough augments bolted and embedded into them they are closer to servitor than they are to man.
Illumini wrote: Those are really good. I have not played any RPG, but they are inspiring character concepts, and seem really good to help guide how a character is motivated.
@StaevinTheAeldari: Wow, very nice work! I love your granular attention to detail and subtle nuances. I am sure it will help Inquisitorial RPG campaigns come alive better. This is exactly the kind of lifelike attention to detail and grounded stuff that I love to see more of. Have you read Matthew Farrer's Enforcer trilogy, by any chance? You may find it inspiring and useful as well. I for one did! Actually, Ian Watson's bonkers 1993 book Space Marine deserves a mention as well, since the novel revolves around recruits from different castes, to good effect.
Thank you. I've not read any of those things, only stuff I read are the Ciaphas Caine books and some fanfics.
I tried to write some more, spinning off the same theme of a Dark Heresy campaign. (actually most of this are taken from a Mutant Chronicles game but it's pretty easily adapted):
First consider the enemy within, within, within.
The various imperial institutions are often considered monolithic in nature, and indeed in many ways this is true. Dogma forms the backbone of each such structure, massive edifices around which all its members have to dance.
But it is also a massive misconception.
Each institution is chaotic in nature, not in the sense of any ruinous corruption from dark and not to be named gods, but from the far more mundane corruption of man's own inadequacy.
Though many within the imperium would argue that those are one and the same.
No matter the reason, those newly recruited within such organizations quickly finds that the people around them is a far greater threat to their duties than any outside enemy.
You can shoot the heretic, the traitor, the witch. Your own superior has to many bodyguards, and the assassins at his disposal are to frightening. Not to mention the potential involvement of other departments.
Thus the true primary enemies of any imperial operative. The two headed chief, the forgotten page, the struggling hands or the frail ground, and That Which We Do Not Speak Of. Parables on occasion passed down to new acolytes to give them a chance of survival. Such knowledge is usually passed down in a way that cannot be traced back to the one providing it, should the recipients turn out to be fools and speak of them to loudly. Some dastardly operatives even go so far as to tailor missions according to these parables, preferring more hands on lessons, and delighting in whatever the outfall for the poor bastards they are subjecting their teachings to.
The two headed chief refers to the all to common instance of having more than one direct superior. Not even the inquisition is free from this. While each acolyte cell may hold loyalty to one specific inquisitor, it is common indeed that he holds multiple Legates or other officers within his ranks, doling out cells to more than one such operative.
On occasion some Ordos will also see inquisitors pool their resources, causing some assets to fall under the authority of multiple inquisitors at once. For the struggling acolyte, this is even worse.
The two headed chief specifically refers to having more than one direct superior, where both or all of them hate each other. The poor subordinate cell thus find themselves much like a forlorn collection of children, cast between two (or Emperor forbid more) hateful lovers, used in petty gamers of one-upmanship, provided work far exceeding their ability to finish, directly contradictory orders, and otherwise asked and pushed and demanded to take sides, though very rarely explicitly. Greatly angering either head risks utter destruction, but as they anger themselves avoiding it might be an impossibility. What follows is a maddening dance, balancing the perception of each head while desperately trying to find a path out of the situation. Intentional or accidental assassination of their superior - if not trough bullet and blade, then trough politics, bureaucracy, or plain gossip - is not an uncommon end to such a dance, though being sent on a succession of increasingly obvious suicide missions is another common result. Before either of these ends occur lesser pitfalls abound. Public humiliation as superiors argue or even comes to blows, being given grudge work as punishment for some slight real or perceived, or being dragged into various pieces of schemes and intrigue, not just by their own superiors but by any onlooking bystander believing themselves having something to win out of the mess.
The forgotten page refers to paperwork, but also the internal bureaucracy of any imperial institution and the pitfalls within it. Forgotten forms, misplaced orders, purged departments, forgotten departments, or misplaced relics can cause a lot of chaos, stress, and confusion. There is also the dreaded misplaced package, containing relics, knowledge or orders the acolyte cell should not be near and much less have in their possession. The worst of it is the impossibility there is in discerning whether such sinkholes of resources or information are intentional, justified, or the result of some intrigue, and if that intrigue is the result of internal conflicts (likely), or actual corruption(very bad news). In the end those unfortunate enough to encounter such mistakes, stumbling on what they believe to be a pattern may find themselves having to keep pulling on many treads, most torn, those who aren't leading to increasingly powerful individuals none of which will be pleased by the intrepid acolytes stumbling investigation. The forgotten page leads to a dark and unlit labyrinth, and it should be navigated with care, because monsters lurk within it.
The struggling hands and the frail ground refers to the same thing, though from different perspectives. Internal rivalry, conflicts, tension, or mundane inefficiencies between various departments and operatives. The struggling hands specifically refers to instances where departments or personnel are working at cross purposes either trough confusion or trough differing perspectives on a given situation, usually occurring when one department want to protect, kidnap, or retain something, while the other party deems its destruction of outmost importance.
The frail ground occurs when one party within an institution believes himself in a secure position trough another party, only to find that security false. Either because it is retracted, or because that other party falls, trough assassination or trough accusation. In the context of the inquisition, this would mean an Inquisitor is assassinated, or worse still, put on trial by his peers, with any given acolyte cell having to scramble to avoid a purge. Such critical moments are unlikely to end well for anyone, and acolytes do well to pray they never occur.
That Which We Do Not Speak Of refers to the dark secrets any inquisitorial cell inevitable end up keeping. There are the lesser things of course, intentionally ignored orders, squirreled away resources, petty intrigue. But then there are the larger things. The discovery of heretical thought or activity within the inquisition itself. Betrayals. Assassination. The hoarding of forbidden knowledge. Things that would damn anybody, body and soul. Inevitable procured by any member across their service the lengths any acolyte cell may go trough to keep such secrets hidden knows no bounds of ruthlessness or mercy.
When such a minefield is the home and daily routine of not just inquisitorial acolytes but most imperial organizations, it is no wonder the zealous joy with which some pursue their external duties. There is a sincere relief in problems that - though carrying intense danger - are relative straightforward.
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2022/11/23 19:38:59
It is the poem the 'Birds of Prey March' by Rudyard Kipling, put to music by Leslie Fish.
"Cheer, we'll never march to victory! / Cheer, we'll never live to hear the cannon roar! / The large birds of prey / they will carry us away / And you'll never see your soldiers any more!"
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2023/03/12 19:18:30
That art is really nice. If you ever get the time consider illustrating some banners. Don't know what banners the golden men would employ though, flags? Probably none. Bannerless bastards, probably why they collapsed.
"When you think about it what is the Emperor - so thoroughly integrated into the golden 'throne' - but a servitor?
The finest of mankind turned into its finest lighthouse.
You call it heresy, I call it a fate so fitting it's divine.
The greatest of all mankind made into the image of the lowliest. Such humility!
A tyrant turned into a slave. Let it not be said that the Imperium - brutal and somber - lacks a punchline.
And that punchline is mankind itself! Layers upon layers.
Finest comedy in the galaxy."
We don't wanna go to war today, but the lord of the lash says nay nay nay...
we're gonna march all day all day all day...
-
A really nice story.
It would have been fitting if Dolmech ended up a dreadnought.
Though given the worldbuilding in the story I doubt the Iron Hands would reward him like that after such a humiliating fubar.
And in a way it's fitting considering the characters involved.
Armicus mindlessly fulfilling his duty - rewarded with horrific torment.
Dolmech mindlessly failing in his - spared from the same fate.
Wrote this. It's mostly headcanon. You could take it as a historic record except it might be a bit to aware even for that. I will say I still like the interpretation where everything was very epic and gothic even back in 30k even if the following implies that's not the case. As always it's nice to lean on the setting having no set canon.
-
As humanity falters into an unending nightmare, old legends soar into the heavens.
Little remains of the memory of mankind. The past is a half-glimpsed darkness of lost glories. The dead have piled on the dead and few remain that may remember. Records have been lost, destroyed, scattered, forgotten. As advanced data storage has proven itself most vulnerable to informational warfare systems, possession from both abominable intelligence and baleful deamon, and the slow grind of pure and everyday entropy mankind has taken to record most of its history on the page. The surviving sliver of mankind's records thus forms oceans worth of library archives across thousands of worlds, inaccessible and impossible to collate through their sheer depth. The few dataslate records that remain are even more scattered.
But where history has died myths have taken root. The past of mankind lives on in a distorted form, fit for the needs of the brutal and desperate Imperium. The Emperor lives. Hold the line and He shall save us. The Emperor lives. Hold the line and he will return to us. The Emperor lives. Hold the line and your soul shall sit by his side. The Emperor lives. Pay for your sins through your duty and death to him.
And so through the millennia all things shift. A respected commander of a space marine legion becomes the demigod son of a divine being. His arms and armor become holy relics of an ancient past. Behold; the matte grey ceramite. The millennia pass and see! The armor turns; transmutes to radiant gold. His deeds shift in space and time. He did not command his legions in some long-forgotten campaign on some long-lost worlds. He battled deamons on Holy Terra in defense of divinity. The architecture, the very fundament of Imperial life grows in stature, grows grandiose, and morbid. Skulls - the receptacle of the soul and the symbol of death - become the most defining feature of Imperial iconography. An endless memento mortis imprinted into structure and armor - a fitting memorial for the slow death of mankind.
And what of Roboute Guilliman, divine son resurrected? Standing many times the size of a man, flaming sword in hand, ceramite armor laced with gold, striding into the frontlines across the entire ultima sector? And what of the Lion so recently returned? The first and the thirteenth have fallen far to accept such mockery.
It is good indeed that the Emperor rests in living death on Holy Terra. It is good indeed that the surviving legionnaires of the long war lie shattered - half imprisoned within the eye, half maddened by the warp energies and those warp entities they have so come to rely on. It is good indeed that Eldrad lies slain, his soul lost within the Infinity Circuit of the Damned. It is good that those who may remember can speak little of what has been lost.
But myth is an absolute necessity. As the total oppression of mankind grinds on the memory of that radiant past provides a succor as necessary for the innumerable masses of the Imperium as any food source - for mortal man, blessed space marine, and the lords most high alike. Remember the heroes of the old. Remember the gods of old. Remember the toil and duty inherited to you by the sins of your ancestors.
It is not merely that the measures the Imperium takes are necessary. It is why they are necessary.
The Imperium of Man in the 41st millenium is badly declined. Its evil and overbearing opression, its brutality towards its own citizens, its reliance on sacrificing human lives as fuel are not merely a necessity. They are a sign that the Imperium is incapable of defending itself without such measures. They are a sign of weakness. The Imperium does not merely debase itself; it has to debase itself. It has to sacrifice - destroy - itself because it has lost the skill, the knowledge, the infrastructure to defend itself without such loss.
The Imperium is a sick and feeble beast, eating itself in a mad frenzy to extend its life a little longer.
This cannibalistic weakness engenders deep corruption, arrogance, incompetence, and these weaknesses damns the Imperium.
It is a betrayal of both its citizens and of itself. The Xeno may kill and eat you, and the warp may feast on your soul, but the Imperium will enslave and feed on you, mind, spirit, and body, from you insignificant birth to your insignificant death. Trough your labor, your misbegotten duty, and your base meat be you made a servitor, corpse starch, or be you wasted and forgotten.
The Imperium is helpless to do otherwise.
It is said that the enemies of mankind are to many, to ferocious, that none could stand against such a multitude of foes. There are to many enemies because the Imperium cannot secure a victory against any one of them. As it fails to vanquish one foe another joins the fray, and then another, and another. One enemy, one war, one front, turns to many until all is besieged. And each time the Imperium retreats, from its worlds, its principles, its former self. It settles into a diminished state, and then a further diminished state, on and on in its downwards spiral. It learns to sacrifice and destroy more of itself. It learns to make do with what it has. It learns necessity, to do what is necessary. It forgets all other things.
This is the evil of the Imperium. The martial valor, the faith and sacrifices of its constitutents are spent only on survival. A cowardly demented cause, formed through ten thousand years of weakness. These sacrifices serve only to allow it survival in the moment, and render further decay an inevitability. It is the only thing it can do.
Such a state of loss is not comforting. It is a reminder of human limitation, an echo of old age where all that we are will fail and betray us. It is a reminder that sometimes there are no choices left. It is a set of stories of an uncaring reality. Tales that will forgotten, in favor of easier dreams. They lack appeal to the many. They are bitter. They humble us. They remind us we are not gods.
It is not that the Imperium is justified by the necessity of its cruelty. It is exactly that that cruelty is necessary. Courage and glory. A weak and old man, struggling on in desperation and cowardice.
Let the Imperium die as its people do. Let it die in war, meeting its end upright and in glory. Not as this sick and wretched thing. Let humanity die in glory.
