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He was a very passable marksman who found the notion of 'full-auto spray' upsetting on some level and much preferred to pick his targets carefully so as to conserve ammunition, incoming fire whipping and hissing around him he would stand unflappable carefully lining up a killing shot.

In this capacity he made somewhat of a reputation for himself, being both smart and capable although his headstrong nature and tendency to be vocal when he believed his superiors in error ensured that he never made it past corporal.

His regimental Stormbird landing craft was shot two dozen miles beyond the walls of Hive Infernus and they lost half their number in the crash and the mad dash to relative safety.

Overlord von Strab had been for decades and maybe centuries appointing foppish dandy boys of his liking to positions of authority in the PDF and using the officer ranks as a social club for aristocrats with delusions of adequacy.

Masses of humanity climbing on each others backs to escape, the soldiers without direction as their cowardly masters fled, his own forces being forced to form an orderly retreat to the blessedly empty storm drains and trying in vain to herd the fear maddened few civilians to relative safety.

The day after that there was maybe half a regiment ad hoc of the best of the surviving PDF and elements of the Inquisition's forces exiting the storm drain by the banks of the river miles down-stream under cover of a moonless night.

The Comms man of the PDF, carrying a back mounted and still miraculously working long range comm unit picked up intermittent transmissions from far off Hades Hive through the static and ork chatter and so with duty and survival on their minds they set off on the long, long march to Hades.

By great good fortune most of the Infernus survivors made it, even managing to absorb a few other survivors along the way and scrag a few ork patrols which did wonders for everyone's spirits in those dark and fearful months.

Eventually they reached the hive, and as if divine providence it's gates had been cleared just that morning by Kill Krazii and other tribesmen of the Ashlands, with their ten thousand strong host the few hundred soldiers were unnoticed as they signed in.

The locals were manning the walls, a duty they had grown familiar with by now, and the Ashlanders were not used to warfare that was standing still or confined and so patrolled the highways and roads for orks that by strange contraptions made it over the walls.

This left the tunnels beneath the city understaffed, but Edmond was a Mordian and so were many of his fellows, they knew of hives and darkness and tunnels and any sapper or Komando that though they were being kunnin' was going to find something unpleasant waiting for them.

They knew he was alive mere hours before this order was given because his commanders had spoken to him over the radio but the withdrawal order was never followed and they couldn't wait for him forever, the war was never over somewhere else and local forces could keep a lid on the remnants in the underhives and the sump.

Time had not stood still and years had past, in the dark he was growing old, his hair was greying, his joints were aching more and more and one day he was just slightly too slow and took a knife to the torso for it.

He bit that ork's throat out as it laughed and stoved it's head in with a broken manhole cover but the damage had been done, he knew a potentially mortal wound when he saw one and with sucking rasping breath and blood in his throat he lurched to find a way to the surface.

Despite infections, poor diet, lack of sunlight and the cumulative effects of years of unkind treatment his body recovered although his mind would not heal.

And so Edmond Aldsworth, grey haired and full of hard won horrors, entered the service of the Imperiums diplomatic efforts and became the attaché to the ambassador of the Craftworld Beil-Tan, Beil-Tan accepted only veterans as representatives of the Imperium as anything else they found insulting.

The rejuvenants regained him some of his lost vitality and some measure of youth, side effect being that most of his remaining hair fell out, and he served the ambassador for many years until the ambassador retired and made way for Ambassador Ciaphas Cain of the Valhallans, Liberator of Perlia, slayer of orks, honorary Fire Warrior of the Tau, unspecified assistant to the Inquisition, frustrator of Chaos and killer of it's followers, exterminator of Tyranids, banisher of deamons and a hundred other accolades from across half the Imperium.

Attaché Aldsworth serves him as diligently as he served his old master, smoothing out the diplomatic process, interpreting and translating the more unusual colloquialisms of both languages and accompanying the good Ambassador on various planned and unplanned jaunts across Beil-Tans jurisdiction or at the behest of the Inquisition (who politely don't mention his presence if they can avoid it) and is a source of unflappable reliance and surety.

Even when the two of turned into monsters, albeit stable ones, and the other Fenrisian wolves who were able to walk broke free and escaped into the snows of Fenris, Freki and Geri loyally remained in their pens, their faith in her father never wavering.

His career had been a legendary one, his mind, charm, determination and zeal rivaling even that of the great Sebastian Thor himself, with him rising from a small Arbiter in the middle of nowhere to an Inquisitor of Ordo Malleus and then, for a short time, the High Lord Inquisitor during the 12th Black Crusade over his specialty in spotting heretics and cultists.

It is unknown where and how did he begin to fall, but it is undeniable that it was seeded with his deep paranoia, and was completely undeniable at what was known later as the Salem Witch Trial, where he condemned Saint Salem and her crusaders who had liberated an entire system and the people who were liberated as heretics and witches and committed Exterminatus on every last planet in the system and all those nearby.

He, with his unparalleled charm had won over (and built his power base on) the more orthodox factions of the Inquisition, with many if not most monodominants being members of the upcoming Coup and Inquisitorial Civil War (which he called the Crusade of Change) that aims to bring the Imperium to his wanted direction.

Now, at the end of the 41st millennium, in the heart of the 13th Black Crusade, the tyranid invasion, and the Fifth Armageddon War, the dreaded man is at the head of the dreaded Judgemental Crusade Fleet, burning and enslaving all in his way and waging a shadow war against the Emperor and the Inquisition.

Despite the best efforts of the Imperium, he is yet to be caught, for his fleet is equipped with some kind of 'experimental' Warp Drive capable of achieving speeds twice as fast as that of the fastest Imperium craft (the design was scrapped because it required people to be burned, but Karamazov has people to burn in abundance) and armed with weaponries and equipment never seen before outside the halls of the Inquisition...

Next thing you know you’re running through the mid-hive jumping from moving train to moving train with a daemon close behind you as your only friend, a stack of stolen forbidden text transcripts in an asbestos back pack with the Arbiters sirens getting closer whilst you mumble through a mantra of dimensional twisting in the Unwords of the Black Sun because the customs inspector at the space port is a retired Space Marine you once knew and he slapped the panic the moment you got off the shuttle.

She was raised from age three to four in a military crèche, from age four to age ten in basic education to determine aptitudes and interests and age ten to age fourteen in further education to take advantage of those aptitudes.

The 474th and it’s associated regiments were on alert for resurgent and zombie outbreaks that never arrived and the five years they spent there was extremely uneventful and mostly spent trying to train the local military to be less shit considering that Cadian purple-eyed teenagers could consistently match if not out perform their veteran soldiers.

This combined with developing feelings of inferiority caused by the seemingly glamorous looking locals and more aesthetically pleasingly formed fellow soldiers as well as no longer having the enigmatic eldar chef to turn to for guidance culminated in Jubblowski falling into a prolonged and dark mood.

At first her transformation was assumed to be the result of some sort of hormonal imbalance or possibly a mild mutation brought about by something in the new environment although all tests came back negative.

This brought about the possibility that she was touched by the dark gods, a siren song to enthrall and a growing sensual, seductive form to beguile and tempt her fellow soldiers from virtue and duty.

She confessed to the company preacher that she had prayed for beauty but she had prayed to the Empress in her own tongue but the preacher as kindly as he could told her that another creature of eldar origin could all too easily of heard her prayers.

He told her that he didn't believe her twisted of soul or fallen from grace and he promised her, as kindly as he could, that she never would and that if salvation was not an option neither would be damnation.

What is known is that by the end of the second day of their appearance there was a warhost of Aspect Warriors among the exodites and Jubblowski was somehow freed peacefully and not only that but stood with a circlet of flowers in her hair, in a makeshift robe hastily made from an large raincoat being instructed by the priestess to lay her hands upon the brow of those in her company who felt themselves worthy of benediction;

the priestess apparently believing that Jubblowski was the destination of their pilgrimage, a living religious icon blessed by her goddess to show the faithful the worth and indisputable worth she placed in the alliance between her children and the short lived children of adoption.

The exodites tried to give her offering gifts in the form of seasoned meat and sweet preserved fruits but she felt that she was unworthy of their devotion and generosity and returned their gifts with thanks.

The eldar wished to take Jubblowski with them or at least have her removed from military service and placed out of harms way, such a thing was unthinkable to a Cadian and the officers, the entire regiment, the other regiments and Jubblowski herself were quite vocally unhappy about such an idea.

Eventually a compromise of sorts was reached with a suggestion by the 474th Commissar who took her on as an unneeded secondary assistant and, as she was not subject to the Commissariat, had her officially transferred to the Commissariat branch at sub-sector command which was thankfully just one continent away and, with the lack of activity on this planet in general, quite safe.

And so it was that Jubblowski entered into the service of the Commissariat with absolutely no skills that would warrant such a placement and whose one notable ability was seemingly to cause flocks of eldar yokels to occasionally appear.

It was not Jubblowski herself who first suggested that she might use her new body on official printed resources, it was a former commissar turned scribe with an interest in photography who had observed that she seemed short of something to do and she did have an astounding figure.

The exact reason for an assassin of the Vanus Temple to be present on Sarum at that time is shrouded in more classification than can be dug through but ██████████████████████████████████████████████████, or ████████ as he preferred to be called, had seemingly been there for some time and was either merely still in training or was extremely good at covering his tracks as no record of his victims ever turned up.

Of course the Vanus infocytes typically kill their targets via cornering them via statistics and 'encouraging' an accident to happen before altering the records as needed to retroactively show that it was a pure accident and ensure that there are no footprints that need to be covered.

During her pregnancy her figure again bloomed further into something that resembled an ideal of fecund femininity and as it did her visions of the future increased in intensity and regularity.

For her first few years Jubblowski was under the protection and in the employ of Inquisitor ███████████, strange figure of much controversy since his death, not least because although all agree he is quite definitely dead no two witnesses can agree how.

The intentional destruction of all official records both hard and soft copy and the expunging of memories via Memetic timed contagion across an association vector has done nothing to help matters.

She was attached to the house as it's official oracle and firewatcher, a tradition started in pre-Imperial times by the planet's native psyker population who discerned patterns of the future in the moments of flames and stirring of ashes.

The position was typically held by psykers married into the house or at the very least in a long standing but less official relationship with a higher ranking member of the dynasty (which was useful given the nature of her precognitive abilities).

It was in this time that Jubblowski earned the title of the Cadian Prophetess among the locals as due to her predictions almost certainly preventing global calamity with the unearthing of the Cursus of Alganar ████████ ██████ ████ ██████████████████ ████████████ ███████ ██ █████ █████████████ ██████████████ ████████ █████ █ ██ ██████ ████████ ████████████ ██████ and although the Tallarn's could forgive their Biel-Tan friends, understanding full well their reasoning and having fought as brothers for too many years to loose love over this, they knew they could not forget the poor judgment it implied.

Jubblowski acquired at about this time in her life her long term friend and greatest ally Senior-Maga Sérka Ađk Wulchtáthas of the Adeptus Biologicus order of the Helix Star, who accepted being called Sera as her own name was not easily spoken by unaugmented humans.

He children as her fame and prestige grew became the children of royal lineage, her image as a blessed individual exploited to manipulate the populations of worlds in directions deemed beneficial for the state by the Inquisition, her likeness used by the Commissariat to encourage long recruitment lines, her body used by the Orders Famulous to revitalize lines of kings as old as the Imperium, venerated as a living divine icon by the eldar;

Despite that she will never be allowed again intentionally within a thousand miles of a battle-field she carries her las-rifle around at all times and practices her marksmanship at least once per day, she lives a spartan and refuses to own more personal possessions than can be carried in her centuries old kit-bag as per regulations.

extremist groups from both the human and eldar supremacists have made her a target for various reasons and she has survived assassination attempts from both, one almost sparking a holy war between Dorhi and Biel-Tan, to say nothing of repeated murder attempts by deranged Chaos worshipers.

As the dying days of the forty-first millennium draw close the now Revered Mother Jubblowski is the mother of heroes, Prophetess of Cadia whose visions have saved the lives of tens of billions of loyal citizens at the least.

However, in practice, most of the Tarellian worlds tend to follow the lead or at least respect the wisdom of the leader of Nova Tarellia, who tends to command the Neo-Confederacy through sheer force of personality rather than any formalized bonds.

the opening their ships used to escape was created when the Hive-fleet found the defense he led on the planet was so stiff they decided to bomb his forces from orbit rather than keep wasting time with their usual wave tactics.

He sees the problems his people face, but doesn't have the wisdom to find the solutions, so instead he puts on the brave face expected of him and does his best, and for all his failings at least recognizes that the counsel of others older and wiser can do wonders to fill in the gaps.

That more than anything is why even Ulmeathians listen to him- despite going through what might have been some of the worst fighting of the retreat to Imperial space and facing down horrors he shouldn't have needed to face, he not only perservered, but came out the other side unjaded and unbroken.

Nakaidos relies heavily on his council when faced with dilemmas that leave him at a loss, and Oscen delights in the opportunity to groom the leader who's going to need to guide their combined peoples under their new circumstances as part of the Imperium, and most of the Ulmeathians he could take guidance from are either very old and stuck in their ways or as young as Nakaidos and subject to the hormones and emotions of youth.

There had already been suspicion within the Imperial court that Vulkan’s disappearance was due to his worsening health, a suspicion that seemed to be proven correct when several Custodians began experiencing health problems.

Not only was he relatively senior compared to most of the current batch of new recruits, he showed great promise, having served with honor in the Allarus Custodians, the group of Custodians tasked with proactively destroying threats to the Imperial Couple and carrying out the orders of the Steward (now Emperor) in person.

Working to refine and show off the possibility of (partially) technological life by seeking out small, undefended population of lesser races and 'upgrading' them - generally with nanotech and/or implants.

40kLore

A button press began the end of Mohana Mankata Vi's life.

Ahead, there was nothing but golden grases as far s teh eye could see, the kind of landscape a rider could lose themseleves in forever.

The Horse needed no encouragement, but sprang into a gallop straightaway, arrowing through the grasslands towards forever.

The wound in the sky spread its bloody lips, opening up on a vista of madness, an ocean of energy where monsters waited to devour her.

An invisible force pulled at her soul, dragging her towards the waiting maelstrom of sharp eyes and teeth.

The loudest war-horn she had ever heard blasted across the non-space of the warp, and foundry heat beat at her back.

She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by a golden light, and the creatures fled before it.

Its blood and bones were grinding cogs, its thoughts living streams of plasma, its eyes lenses the size of galaxies.

She looked up, searching for a face, and saw a shining entity looking back down that turned from flesh to light to mechanism and back.