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>>4585754
I'll bite the bullet. First to post.

>>4585754
>INQUISITION: Intrigue, politics, power. Inquisitors roam the galaxy like hungry lions, sticking their noses into whatever they feel might empower the enemies of the Master of Mankind, heretical or otherwise. A well-rounded, incredibly unstable campaign.

>>4585754
>ADEPTUS ARBITES:

>>4585754
>ADEPTUS ARBITES: Law, justice, judgement. The Emperor’s will is not only reserved for His enemies. While it’s not as exciting as an Inquisitor’s job or as glorious as leading an army to victory, Arbitrators proudly enforce the Lex Imperialis across all corners of the Imperium of Man. A slower-paced, domestic campaign.

>INQUISITION: Intrigue, politics, power. Inquisitors roam the galaxy like hungry lions, sticking their noses into whatever they feel might empower the enemies of the Master of Mankind, heretical or otherwise. A well-rounded, incredibly unstable campaign

>COMMISSARIAT: Action, stratagem, valor. Fresh Commissars are not as feared or valued as their hardened vanguards, but a career in the Commissariat is a tried-and-true method to win fame for many graduates. A military-focused campaign.

>>4585754
>INQUISITION

>ADEPTUS ARBITES
I mean Judge Janus is hard to argue with

>>4585754
>ADEPTUS ARBITES: Law, justice, judgement. The Emperor’s will is not only reserved for His enemies. While it’s not as exciting as an Inquisitor’s job or as glorious as leading an army to victory, Arbitrators proudly enforce the Lex Imperialis across all corners of the Imperium of Man. A slower-paced, domestic campaign.

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After approximately two hours of standing at attention, Drill Abbot Hastings proceeds down the column. Even though your eyes are trained at the back of the initiate in front of you, you can feel his stern gaze on you as he brushes past your peers. Knowing where exactly Abbot Hastings’s attention was focused was a quick-learned skill for all initiates and instrumental in your surviving to Selection Day. The seconds bloat into imperceivably long moments as the Abbot’s boots pound against the ground in tandem with your heartbeat. Despite years of training to stay your fear, you feel a cold shiver as his gloved hand reaches out and grabs your shoulder.
Wordlessly, he drags you from your rank and marches you up the column.

Finally, at the front of the rank and file, the Abbot drags you on top of a platform. Seated near the back are people you’ve never seen before, though you recognize some of their uniforms. A curmudgeonly old man garbed in white robes and a conical hat obviously represents the Ecclesiarchy. A barrel-chested older man, but younger than the priest, is dressed in formal dress attire, but you guess from his grizzled face and scars that he is a Tempestor. A young woman sits unflinchingly between them, a thin-layered coat still evoking some of her curvaceous form. You cannot remember the last time you saw a woman, and your gaze naturally lingers. She takes notice and for a moment, your eyes meet, and she offers a warm smile. You avert your gaze, partially for reasons that escape your comprehension, but partially because of the unmistakable rosette on her belt-buckle, adorned with a skull in the center.
> “Cadet Caskett.”
Abbot Hasting’s gruff voice tears you back to attention. You look to his cold, grey eyes, which are currently pointed down on a small parchment he has unfolded and is reading from.
“Sir.”
> “You have successfully completed all of the trials I am able to bestow upon you in this exalted institution. In doing so, you have distinguished yourself in perception, scholastics, and of course in hardiness. You are a cadet of the Schola Progenium no longer. Henceforth, you are a pillar of justice, stability, and order in this Imperium, an Arbitrator of the Adeptus Arbites. May you deliver judgement upon the Emperor’s enemies and justice to the citizens of humanity.”
He folds the paper back and puts it in his pocket, and then, for the first time in all your years of knowing him, gives you a pat on the shoulder and an affirmative nod. You steel your gaze, but inwardly your heart is turning in pride. Looking back to the seated representatives, the grizzled man nods at you, and the woman lightly claps. You do not have a moment to enjoy the fanfare before you are shoved off the platform by Hastings and whisked out of the courtyard by priests.

The mess hall that you’ve savored a variety of porridges and gruels in over the years has been converted into a temporary transfer station, dozens of students and strangers all packed in. The clamorous noise of all those voices excitingly talking over each other heavily contrasts with the nigh-silent meals the cadets were usually subjected to. In fact, some of those voices belong to your peers, undoubtedly invigorated by their selections and exercising their newfound freedom. The priests lead you to a table in the corner, where you see a few other former cadets flanked by figures with domed helmets and tattered capes. Your cohort silently watch you as you join them, but one of the Arbitrators gives you a nudge.

> ”Fresh meat, eh?”

You stand to attention and salute.

“Cadet- Er, *Recruit Caskett.* I’m honored to be joining your esteemed institution.”

One of the other Arbitrators snorts with an alarmingly effeminate inflection. The man nudges you again, chuckling.

> “No need to be so formal, Trooper. Our Inspector’s still out in the courtyard collecting more sorry sops.”

You look at the other cadet-adepts, suspecting they took the Arbitrator’s ribbing about as well as you are right now. Lowering your head, you bark an apology.

“Forgive my formality.”

> “Don’t get in your head about it. You’re an Arbitrator now, you need to focus outward.”

You nod and turn away from the table, looking on at the other groups in the crowded mess hall. You recognize Bellus Sycamore, a friend and steadfast companion during the many team-oriented exercises you completed. Elsewhere, you see the back of Kaia Wysp’s fiery red hair, a rival of yours from the time you were initiated. You also see a group of strangers near a door, not talking with anyone but themselves. It dawns on you that this will be the last time to fraternize with your cohort before you all pursue your respective destinies in the name of the Emperor.

What do you do?

>>4586077
> Socialize with Bellus Sycamore

>>4586083
this

>>4586083
Sounds Good.

Also if theres Time left and the Rivalry with Kaia wasnt of the mortal enemy sort, maybe see where he is going make a Toast on everything and promise to outdo him.

Sentiment is not a virtue in the Schola Progenium, but not even Abbot Hastings would turn his nose up at comradery. You decide to have one last chat with Bellus before you two go your separate ways. Excusing yourself from your new compatriots, you sift yourself through the crowd, tapping Bellus on the shoulder. He turns his oval-shaped head towards you, and his beady eyes brighten, a grin forming across his cheeks.

> “Janus! I see you’re in with the bellheads there!”

“Bellheads?”

> “The Adeptus Arbites! I guess ol’ Hastings had you pegged for a nosy type, huh?”

“I wasn’t sure where they’d put me. Where did you end up?”

> “The Administratum. Big surprise there, right? I could never fire a bolter-pistol without it kicking back in my face.”

“And yet during that awful Brig Canyon excursion you were the only one on the killteam to have the cognizance to pry the bolts out of the magazines and wrap them all together for a makeshift charge. I thought we’d never get that ordinance canister opened.”

> “Well, I suppose my penchant for robust resource allocation is what got me stuck with paperwork for the rest of my Emperor-blessed days. I’d almost take another decade with Hastings.”

“Abbot Hastings.”

> “Hah, I guess you’ll fit right in with the Arbites, eh Janny? We can afford to be a little cavalier, now.”

Bellus gives you a lighthearted whack on the arm. You dare to push back, grinning. For a moment, you both wordlessly shove and giggle at each other, the same as you used to when you were a bit younger, and the tyranny of uniform demeanor hadn’t set in yet. Bellus sighs and nods at you.

> “I’ll miss you, Janny. If you’re ever on Holy Terra, drop me a line.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the stone floor and you gawk at Bellus’s mischievously smug face.

“Terra?!”

> “There’s a larger institution there for Administratum initiates, I’ll be studying there for quite some time. I suppose that’s one boon of my new position.”

You congratulate each other and wish each other luck and blessings from the Emperor. Bellus is pulled from you by some of his other friends, and you find yourself in the middle of the floor. You notice that Sycamore has disappeared, but the three strange men are still present. Additionally, it looks like more proper Arbitrators have flanked your hapless peers back at the Arbites table.

>>4586144
Ded?

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>>4587431
was my last post cringe guys?

>>4587432
Nah. The post was good, you're just retarded.
you forgot to include a prompt or a "what do?" at the end.

>>4587432
Nah, keep writing, i like it :)

>>4586144
go talk to them you dip. socialize.

Walking back to the edge of the room, you rejoin the Arbitrators’ table. Your fellow graduate adepts hardly notice your return, they’re too focused on the two new armored enforcers at the table. One of them is dressed exactly like the others, domed helmet and tattered cape, but on his left flank there’s an Arbitrator with a much bigger cauldron on his right shoulder, and an untattered cape with red trimming. He’s talking to the two Arbites that initially welcomed you to the table, and you pick up on the tail end of their conversation.

> “… nice and packed up, we’re off-world by the next hour.”

His two subordinates straighten their posture and salute him, giving a gruff ‘Sir!’
The officer nods and leaves, the man on his right falling in step behind him. You and your fellow cadets are suddenly sandwiched between the intense stairs of your chaperones.

> “Alright, troopers. Tech-Priest says our ship is the first to go, thank the throne. If you have any articles, go round them up, but report to the front of the building in five minutes.”

Nobody moves. The Arbites asks if anybody has any articles they want to take with them. Nobody answers.

> “Right, forget it then. Let’s go.”

The displaced air from the transport Valkyrie’s engines bellows in you and your cohort’s faces, until the side-hatches close and the last-ever view of your childhood home is obscured by the thick metal door. The initial g-force of liftoff is soon metered by the stabilizing acceleration, and you find it easier to stand without holding onto the stability bar or nylon straps dangling from the ceiling. Soon, all there is to focus on are the seven other souls on board the Valkyrie, save for the pilot, who is shut behind the cockpit port.

Four former students, and four of the Adeptus Arbites. Depending on who you’d ask, all eight were of the Adeptus Arbites. Certainly not if they asked you or your cohort.

The three other students are unfamiliar to you. Hundreds of noble-born orphans had the privilege of attending your particular chapter of the Schola Progenium, and though you’ve become familiar with a fair few, your tutelage was far too intense to bother remembering more than a few faces. You suppose now might be a good time to become familiar with the few other graduates who apparently share your skillset.
Then again, your new mentors are also present, and equally unoccupied.
Who do you talk to?

>>4587513
Ask our mentors what we will be doing upon arrival.

>>4587513
Talk to mentors get a better idea of what to expect.

I am sorry in advance about the length.

>>4587577
>>4587624

“So… where are we headed? Are we going to a training facility for the Adeptus Arbites?”

One of the lesser Arbites opens their mouth but then catches themself, looking at the senior Arbitrator. His arms are crossed, and he’s leaning against the cockpit port, though he raises his head to address you.

> “Experience is our only school, trooper. You sorry lot are going to be attached to one of each of us and assist in our current assignments.”

“What sort of assignments are those?”

The officer scoffs, though despite your limited social skills, you don’t get the impression it’s a hostile gesture. Shaking his head, he stands upright from the door he was leaning on, taking a step in front of his fellow Arbites.

> “There’s a hive-world that we’ve been policing give-or-take about a fortnight. Unruly citizenry is worrying the Governor and the Administratum. Our job is to beat those poor fools back in line before they start worrying the wrong sort, like the Planetary Defense Force, or the Emperor-forsaken Inquisition.”

“Why are they unruly?”

You detect a bit of tension from your fellow students with every question. Sideways glances and grimaces every time you speak. You’re surprised that there seem to be Schola graduates with even less confidence than you, stupefied as they are in front of their new mentors. If this burly officer notices as much, he isn’t acknowledging it, taking instead to laughing at your interrogation.

> “Why, indeed! Maybe we’ll find out why after knocking the heads of some rations-scalpers and the like. In the meantime, though, why don’t you lot introduce yourselves to me? I think all I’ve gotten so far are your names, save for this curious fellow before me, so allow me to introduce myself. I am Inspector Redmore of the Adeptus Arbites, and I’ve had a proud career of twenty years exacting the Emperor’s justice.”

Being acknowledged by the officer petrifies your cohort, who shrink up against the metal Valkyrie hull. Fine, you speak up first.

“My name’s Janus Caskett, sir. I was but eight years old when I was inaugurated into the Schola. I don’t remember much of what happened before, since those memories are useless to me in serving the Emperor, but I recall a fondness for sunbathing while reading literature.”

You hear a snort behind you, and you feel your face heating up. You quickly add,

“I- excelled at marksmanship and field tactics during my schooling.”

> “Well, son, I’m sorry to say we don’t get up to much sunbathing in the Adeptus Arbites,”

The Arbitrators behind him cackle. You feel as though you’ve made a horrible first impression on the whole lot.

> “But- we do plenty of reading. No romance, I’m afraid, but- plenty of reading.”

You slump back against the metal wall, your unjustified confidence in front of your new mentors readily dashed. Another student steps forward and does his best impression of the salute the Arbites did earlier.

> “Trooper Groves, sir! I’m honored to be under your command and guidance! During my training I distinguished myself as a capable middle-officer, though I’ve studied the theories of leadership extensively!”

Inspector Redmore gives Groves a curt nod, which seems to deflate him as much as you did. He steps back, and another student, the biggest of you four, steps forward.

> “My name is Quentis Flayer. I’ve also distinguished myself in marksmanship, but I’m particularly keen on artillery calculation. To be honest, I’m not sure why I was selected for the Arbites, but I trust my Abbot’s judgment as well as yours, sir.”

Redmore speaks,

> “Well, we’ll fix you up into a proper Arbitrator in short order. What about the quiet one there?”

He nods at the fourth of your cohort, who had been silent up until now. Without stepping from the wall, he speaks,

> “My name is Ulbryn. My specialty is melee. I prefer bladed weapons, but I imagine I won’t have a hard time getting familiar with a shock maul.”

> “Good to hear it. Each of you will all be assigned to one of these fine Arbitrators behind me. I trust each of these individuals with my very soul, and in time so will you lot. As much as I’d like to continue this official introduction, we seem to be arriving onto the voidship. We’ll pick this back up once we’re all aboard, and I’ll see what sort of mettle the Schola Progenium instills in young men these days.”

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Redmore raps his armored knuckle against the cockpit port, and slides it open, gruffly muttering to the pilot. With the door open, you can see through the windscreen, and you’re surprised to find that the atmosphere has capitulated to the black expanse of space.
In the distance, you can just make out the pointed edges of an Imperial Voidship, its towers and arches immaculately lit up from the local star. Before long, the small grey shape engorges into an impossibly gargantuan mass that takes up the full view of the windscreen, mechanical arms reaching from the hull of the ship like tendrils to pluck your dropship from flight and nestle it into one of the many hangar bays. The hatch opens, and just like all the recent radical changes in your life, you take it all in without ceremony, stepping off of the ship and onto the floor with your group.

The bustle of the hangar dwarfs that of your old mess hall, servo skulls frantically humming just a few heads above yours like pale white bees, machine-men of the Adeptus Mechanicus tripping over their own wiry guts to appraise spacecraft, and regular people, some your age, some much older, fraternizing, urgently signaling to each other, or simply admiring the assault crafts, all in the large hanger bay.
Your mind boggles as you imagine all the other rectangular holes in the hull of the cruiser filled with just as much life and activity before you’re pulled out of it by your entourage being moved by the Inspector.

Later, in the much more comprehensible corridors, Redmore speaks as he ushers you towards a large set of doors,

> “Well, lads- before we set you up with your temporary quarters, I want to see what you’re made of.”

The doors open, revealing a large, open room, though nowhere close to the scale of the hangar. The floor is a solid marble, and there are symbols stained into the smooth surface near the middle of the room, mostly Astra Militarum and Naval symbology. In the corner is a rack of weights, chainsword likenesses carved out of wood, and a row of dummies. You realize what is about to happen only milliseconds before you feel the Inspector’s gauntleted hand slap down on your shoulder.

> “All right Janus! Who are you sparring first?”

You look at the other three students, all of your eyes narrowing at each other, sizing the other up. Impromptu sparring between students at the hands of a superior was a daily occurrence at the Schola, and weirdly enough you find the prospect refreshingly familiar.

All that’s left to decide is, between Flayer, Ulbryn, and Groves, who are you going to fight?

>>4587764
Groves

>>4587764
>Ulbryn
Guy is a melee guy. We should learn more about melee.

>>4587764
>Ulbyrn

You’re pretty sure that Groves was the one who snickered in the Valkyrie. The way he gulps when your eyes scan his confirms it.

“I’ll take on Groves.”

The other two boys immediately take a step away from Groves, who raises his fists and haunches down, solidifying his center of gravity. You take this as a sign that he’s going to be defensive.

In Children of Hubris, combat can be initiated at any time by both the player character and an NPC. Most fights between characters are determined by combat-checks, with advantages and disadvantages considered.
Combat-checks invoke a character’s combat level in the form of a single die. Quite simply, the character with the higher roll wins. Arbites, Imperial Guardsmen, and most combat-trained humans are combat level 6. Space Marines, Powerful Psykers, and Culexis Assassins are combat level 15.

A Guardsman’s 1d6 roll of 6 is a pretty impressive roll indeed, but it’s still no match for the Space Marine’s mediocre 1d15 roll of 7.

The FIRST response with the correct roll will determine Janus’ action. The consequences of said victory or failure are, as always, at my discretion.

Obviously, I reserve the right to change this to suit the story’s needs(or if it ends up being shit). For now though, it looks like Groves and Janus are evenly matched.

Rolled 3 (1d6)

Groves steels himself against any potential attack!

(Roll 1d6 for Janus's attack.)

Rolled 2 (1d6)

>>4588129
try to swipe his leg , if he is down stomp on his dick

Failed! Groves defends!

You move to assault his foundation, as you were trained to do hundreds of times over. Unfortunately, it seems like Groves has had similar training.
When you swipe your leg out to knock away his ankle, he simply scoots it back, and then punches you when your legs are not supporting you fully. You feel the hard embrace of the marble floor as you’re knocked on your ass.

> “That’s a shame, Caskett. I had you pegged for the strongest. Flayer, you take Groves on next.”

After you get up and move, Flayer takes your place. He’s a little lankier than you, but his height gives him sufficient reach, which he uses to snake his fist around Grove’s defenses and clock him in the mouth.

> “There you go! Plenty of that in the Arbites, Flayer! Ulbryn, you’re up.”

Ulbryn approaches Flayer, who postures for more fist-fighting. You see Ulbryn give Flayer a quick glance up and down before he darts around Flayer, running to the other end of the gymnasium.

> “What do you think you’re doing, trooper?! Arbitrators don’t retreat!”

Ulbryn’s boots squeak against the marble floor, halting right in front of the training weapons rack. He grabs one of the wooden chainswords by the handle and starts running again, this time in the direction of Flayer. Flayer’s eyes are wide as dinnerplates, but he holds the line, doing his best to grab at Ulbryn’s wrist to disarm him.
His best isn’t enough, however, and Ulbryn cleanly slices the wood against Flayer’s chest, knocking him to the ground and winding him to boot. He rests the blade against his shoulder, grinning at you, Groves, and the Arbites.

Groves is aghast, sputtering,
> “You- you reptile! Inspector Redmore didn’t say anything about weaponry!”

Ulbryn shoots back,
> “And? Aren’t we meant to deal the sort who has no respect for decorum and such? Are you planning on explaining to reprobates that they are not allowed to assault you with weapons?”

Redmore, and the other Arbites, have been silently watching the exchange, Redmore in particular stroking his stubbled chin. Finally, he turns to you and Groves.

> “Let’s make this exercise dynamic. You two, this criminal has assaulted your comrade. Use your wits and neutralize him.”

You and Groves share a confused glance before you zero in on Ulbryn. He stares back at you two with an unsettling smile, poising his blade.

> “Come on, Janus! He can’t hit us both at the same time!”

I am realizing that this current skillcheck system is a little flawed. I’m open to suggestions for other systems, or to abandoning the process entirely, but let’s see it through to the end of this engagement, at least.

Rolled 3 (1d7)

Ulbryn grips his blade, his eyes darting between you and Groves.

(Roll 2d6 for Janus and Grove's assault! Feel free to make a grab for another dummy sword or go at him head on!)

Rolled 2, 4 = 6 (2d6)

>>4588763

>>4589001

You and Groves sort of hover around the perimeter of Ulbryn’s reach for a few short moments before you decide to bite the bullet and go in first.
Ulbryn whacks you across the head with the wooden implement, your vision momentarily blurring and your balance completely thwarted as you’re knocked to the marble floor for the second time in ten minutes.
Groves, the coward that he is, doesn’t fail to follow up, clotheslining Ulbryn’s neck with his bicep and smashing him to the ground. You’re too busy reeling in pain and disorientation, but you almost swear you hear pained laughter coming from Ulbryn.

After a moment of catching your breath and coming to your senses, you see a hand held out above your head. You grab it, and one of the unnamed Arbites pulls you to your feet, ruffling your hair with a smirk. Redmore has Ulbryn helped up by the scruff of his neck, and he turns to face the group.

> “Well, lads, aside from each of you pretty much falling after one punch, I’d say I’m impressed with your hand-to-hand prowess. Caskett, you might try blocking or dodging sometimes, but you’ve got initiative at least. Gather round, everybody.”

The seven of you gather around Redmore, who takes a pause before he reaches up to grab his helmet, taking it off. Surprisingly, you recognize him, he’s the scar-faced man from the Selection Day platform that you assumed was a Tempestus official. The sides of his head are shaved to the skin, but the top of his head has a few inches of hair, combed back.

> “Now, we’ve got a few precious hours still before we slip into the Warp. I’m still not entirely confident with your weapons knowledge, so maybe I ought to take you boys around to the firing range.”

The female Arbites interjects.

> “We still haven’t given them their equipment yet either, sir.”

> “Ho, true enough Charlie. What’ll it be, worms? Guns or helmets?”

You look around at your comrades, who all seem to be looking at you. Why on Terra are they letting you pick? What do you pick?

>>4594604
> I'm a suicidal cunt so I'd like to go for Guns

>>4594988

“I’d like to make up for my melee performance. What sort of guns do we get?”

Redmore grins.

The shooting gallery in the voidship isn’t as wide as the gym, but its depth stretches far beyond what the lights in the room illuminate, going on for hundreds of yards past the metal humanoid targets.

On the counter separating the firing area from the range proper, two metal lockboxes sit opened and being sifted through by Redmore. After some minor preparations involving distinct metallic clinking, he lifts two weapons from either lockbox.

You immediately recognize the larger weapon, a Vox Legi-Pattern combat shotgun. It looks bulky and unwieldy, but the Inspector effortlessly holds it in one hand by the pump.

The other weapon evades even your Schola-trained weapons mastery. It’s clearly a ballistic handgun, though the magazine and barrel are too small for it to be a bolter of any sort. You suddenly miss the old worn-out bolter pistol you and your bunkmates had shared.

> “You won’t be shooting as often as you’ll be swinging a power maul, but when you do shoot, it’ll be either one of these. Combat Shotgun, smooth, large bore for different ammunition types, reliable, effective.

He displays the sidearm, which looks puny by comparison.

> ”Autopistol, Ius pattern, only shoots one type of low-caliber slug that’s only really good at putting down unarmored targets, but it’ll never jam. By the Throne, it’ll never jam. Which one are you shooting first?”

You peer past Redmore into the two opened lockboxes. One of them has rows and rows of magazines, lined up like guardsmen. The other has a forest of brass shells, some of them having colored bands right around the firing pin.

>Which one are you shooting first?

>>4595696
Shotgun and just when it runs out autopistol.

>>4596111
“Let’s try the shotgun.”

You grab at the bulky firearm, finding it a little easier to hold than its awkward shape implies. Pulling the pump down, the ejection port folds back, giving you a limited view of the magazine and receiver.
Satisfied with the craftsmanship of the firearm, you approach the firing counter, picking some shells of assorted variety out of the lockbox and loading them into the magazine.

Aiming down the sights at the metal target, you pull the trigger. At first, a standard slug rings out, bursting into a cloud of shrapnel mere inches before it collides with the target.

The next shot you take is also a slug, bursting into fragments moments before it hits your mark. These fragments create localized explosions upon contact, tearing little holes in the metal as they collide.

You fire once again, and instead of a slug, a jet of incandescent particles shoots out of the barrel, pounding against the metal target and clinging to the frame, the smell of red-hot copper quickly filling the firing range.

> “Ah, looks like you found a Promethium shell. Take care not to use those to disperse crowds.”

The combat shotgun can accommodate a wide variety of ammunition types. Different ammo is more effective on different types of adversaries. Some ammo, like Promethium shells, are exceedingly rare, so be sure not use it all up.

> “All right, enough fun for Janus. Ulbryn, pick up the autopistol.”

You set your shotgun down and step back. Ulbryn steps up to the counter, taking the autopistol from Redmore and aiming it at the smoldering remains of the metal target. He pulls the trigger, effortlessly keeping the gun trained as the weapon empties its clip into the metal, punching the tiny holes left from your explosive shot into bigger ones.

The rounds coming out of the autopistol are unremarkable. Their velocity seems to come from the combustion in the initial firing, their payload is simply the metal contained in the case. No explosive warheads, no promethium gel, no flachettes. The distinct metal pinging from each round hitting the target inspires zero confidence in the weapon for you.

> “All right, who wants to try out the shotgun now-“

A static noise comes from the ceiling as the intercoms crackle to life, and a disembodied voice echoes throughout the firing range.

> “All hands to stations. Initializing warp drive. Repeat: All hands to stations…”

Redmore takes the autopistol from Ulbryn and looks at all of you.

> “Well, looks like we’re on our way, lads. Anything else I can impart on you will have to be in the field. Let’s get you all to your quarters. Double time!”

The ship suddenly lurches, undoubtedly the first tendrils of the warp reaching out to disturb the realspace vessel. You’ve only read of Warp travel during your tutelage in the Schola Progenium, and if you’re being honest with yourself, no amount of knowledge attained from tomes can stay the terror clawing at your heart.

As you exit the firing range and file into the narrow corridors, you and your schoolmates huddle together behind the Arbites, your peers’ faces equally as horrified as yours. Whatever petty rivalry you had before seems insignificant, this unsettling experience new for each of you. The confident stride of your new tutors instills some hope in you yet, however. It helps to remind yourself that millions of ships enter and leave the Warp each standard year unscathed, thanks to the Light of the Emperor, the Astronomican.

Of course you’ll re-enter realspace! It is your destiny to uphold the pillars of the Emperor’s law, to enforce justice for the weak and exact judgement on the wicked. You are Janus Caskett of the Adeptus Arbites. May the Emperor have mercy upon those who defy his order.

CHILDREN OF HUBRIS: PROLOGUE – END

[Thanks for everybody participating in this! This was just the tutorial segment, I have a real campaign planned I promise! Chapter 1 will drop tomorrow, we're touching down on a planet and doing gothic cop shit.]

>>4597536
Oh shit. Killing criminals for the slightest offence?