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---

Every last cred you had saved up had paid for a seat in this stinking, sardine-packed compartment on a rickety voidship bound for the Glitterglobe. You distracted yourself from the stench of sweat and machine oil by drawing cards from your deck in your pocket.

"Are there hot girls at the Glitterglobe? Like, really really hot ones?"
[YES]

"And girls even hotter than that?"
[YES]

"Do I, Anon, have a chance with any of these super-hot girls?"
[UNCERTAIN]

Suddenly, the metallic hiss of the compartment door ripped through the tense silence. Two figures, starkly contrasting, burst in.

One, a hulking brute, was bald except for a single cybernetic eye that glinted unnervingly. He hefted a lasgun, its smooth finish a stark contrast to his grimy attire, and let out a cruel chuckle. "How about we just blast everyone to save time?"

The other, dressed in a sharp uniform, rolled his eyes and replied in a clipped tone, "Only the target, preferably. They should be in one of these compartments."

"Navigator still can't sniff them out, eh?" the bald man rumbled, gesturing to the hidden microphone in the uniformed man's ear.

There was a pause as the more elegant fellow waited for an answer on their earpiece.

"Apparently, this supposed individual's 'flame' is too weak. Barely an even an ember." he eventually replied with a dismissive snort. "So she can't pinpoint where they are, if they even exist. That's our little problem."

A humorless chuckle escaped the bald man's throat. "Maybe the Warp's just messing with her again."

The Warp? Navigator? What was all of that about?

A chilling silence descended as the uniformed man straightened and addressed the crowd. His voice, though smooth, held a dangerous edge. "Alright, everyone. We're looking for a specific person. A... witch, if you will. It would be in everyone's best interest to cooperate before we're forced to employ... alternative methods."

A wave of unease washed over the compartment. Nervous glances were exchanged, whispers erupted in hushed tones. Your gaze darted across the sea of faces, searching for any telltale sign, any flicker of fear that might betray the presence of the hunted witch. It couldn't be you, could it? You had survived the routine Inquisitorial screenings every time.

You fiddle with the deck hidden in your jacket's pocket.

"Are they after you, the Tarot, for some reason?"
[NO]

You pause as you think of more questions.

"Nobody?" the uniformed man insisted through the desperate whispers and murmurs.

The larger man loudly cocked their gun. "Y'all suuure?"

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You can now ask questions to the Emperor's Tarot and roll a 1d100 for the answers before I open voting for what action to take, this will be a major mechanic of this Quest. One question/roll per anon. There is no penalty for how much you use the Emperor's Tarot in this way. Questions should be about the present or near future/past (up to about a minute forwards or back in time), otherwise I will override the result to "UNCERTAIN".

If the question/result is too out there, it might be toned down to fit the current context, but I'll generally be lenient regardless, especially with the "extreme" results. If it's unsalvagable or in some way paradoxical, it'll just be veto'd or I'll just override the roll result with what it should be (eg. if "Is Anon actually a sentient pink bear???" rolls a [YES], I'll just override it to a [NO]). Prior roll results take precedence over later roll results. All vetos/overrides/etc will be announced by me before regular action voting is opened.

Other that than, whatever result you roll for your question, is canon.

1-3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81- 97: [NO].
98-100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>5943408
>"If I accuse X* person, will I get out of this safely?"

*Where X person is just some random person around us we think looks like could be a witch.

Rolled 59 (1d100)

>>5943408
“Will they take me? Am I in danger?”

So just how big of a scope, will this quest be or entail?

>>5943457
>>5943489

Seems like our best bet is to lay low then, accusing someone else will backfire?

>>5943490
Fair, guess someone else could ask, if anyone is going to accuse us of being a witch, but I asked too soon with my question already.

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>5943408
>"Will these Inquisitorial hooligans find who they're looking for in this compartment?"

>>5943522
I'm guessing the caveat is that they could still be suspicious of our tarot deck, should it be discovered. Seems like laying low is the best course of action.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>5943408
> Will this world suffer a daemonic incursion within the next solar revolution?

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>>5943608
God Emperor, why!?

We just wanted to win the lottery and fuck some hotties!

>>5943612
>ttom]10 / 3 / 7 / 1 [Update] [Auto]
while Humorus, I doubt we would even know what a demon is, or what would make us even suggest we would know to look for one to begin with. Likely one of many questions that will be swept up because it does the thing of overreaching its target by asking big questions that break the rules of the quest. Like, the fact a Tarot card can only answer something in the now, or one minute in the future, not something like a day or even further on a year for instance.

>>5943614
This.
Just screwing around.

Cool concept for a quest though.
Will be keeping an eye on how it develops.

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>5943408
>"Will they find me if I try to sneak out?"

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>5943408
>"If I turn myself in, i won't be harmed?"

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Veto:
>>5943608
You don't know what daemons are because you're just some Hive dude.


Summary:
>>5943457
>"If I accuse X* person, will I get out of this safely?"
>*Where X person is just some random person around us we think looks like could be a witch.
[NO]

>>5943489
>“Will they take me? Am I in danger?”
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5943522
>"Will these Inquisitorial hooligans find who they're looking for in this compartment?"
[WEAK NO]

>>5943728
>"Will they find me if I try to sneak out?"
[WEAK YES]

>>5943808
>"If I turn myself in, i won't be harmed?"
[WEAK YES]


The reply flickers into your mind, "Weak Yes," courtesy of the Electric Tower card you just drew. But just as the answer forms, you feel the deck's power sputter and die, a familiar sign it needs a few moments to rest. Anxious glances dart between the passengers, and the thugs maintain their watchful vigil.

The air crackles with anticipation. It's time to act. What's your next move?

> Turn yourself in, claim to be this "witch" they're looking for
> Try to sneak out
> Accuse someone else other than the "X" person mentioned earlier.
> Just run for it down the hall, to the exit opposite to where the thugs are standing
> Yell "GET THEM!" and try to lead a charge with other passengers to subdue the thugs.
> Patiently sit back and try to steal some stuff from the people crammed around you as you do.
> Pray

>Write-in

> Patiently sit back and try to steal some stuff from the people crammed around you as you do.
Be patient, don't do anything rash, and don't draw attention to yourself.

>>5944075
>Stay still, sit on our hands, don't cause a fuss.

>>5943489
I'm pretty flexible about it. Initially, because of the OP and your starting condition, it's going to be about Anon and his personal adventure. You can build up a gang of pals if you want, a harem, an army, etc - or none of the above.

It's up to your votes how you chase Anon's stated goals of "a good life, hot girls, riches, success"

>>5944075
> Pray
Heart of the cards
Do a prayer and draw a card to determine what to do

>>5944075
> Pray

>>5944075
> Pray

>>5944075
>Pray
The Warp will see us through

>>5944075
> Pray
>but grab the tarot deck too

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>Pray

"Pray," you breathed. Desperation gnawed at your options, the tension thick enough to chew. It was now or never. Please, deck. Give me an answer!

You bowed your head, muttering a desperate plea. "Emperor, hear our pleas, we who are unworthy. Master of Mankind, shield us from these xenos! Keeper of the Light, banish the encroaching darkness with your blessed radiance!"

A fleeting thought of the Omnissiah flickered across your mind. You'd spent countless hours fixing ancient arcade machines under the guidance of their litanies. But it was the "Emperor's" tarot, not the "Omnissiah's". So, your faith remained with the Emperor.

Focusing on the deck's supposed psychic potential, you drew a card, whispering, "What should I do?" Hope flickered in your chest.

Nothing. You physically drew a card, the Peasant of Concordia, but as stated previously, the tarot deck's power had already been exhausted for now. So, nothing special happe-

"By the Emperor's agony and bloody sweat! By His Golden Throne and sacrifice! By His fall and rebirth as the God-Emperor of Mankind!"

Refusal surged through you. You had dreams, aspirations! You craved money, good times, decent food, and fat tits on your face! With renewed fervor, you chanted, pushing against the unyielding tarot, pleading for a spark, anything!

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. Gone was the familiar, dim rusty cabin, replaced by an abyss punctuated only by a two white points of light to your sides and one seemingly alight within you, burning softly with an unnatural intensity. Then, as abruptly as it began, your vision snapped back.

The points of light remained, however. They weren't flames, but the faces of the people crammed beside you, and your own body.

* You have gained Witch-Sight. While you lacked typical psychic abilities at rest, under intense focus, you could tap into the most basic power of all psykers: the ability to sense the presence of others with psychic abilities, their auras, and other psychic influences. However, you can do it only at point-blank range. *

What the heck was that! Another ability of the Emperor's Tarot?

The earpiece in the taller thug's ear crackled, causing him to flinch. "Witch," he snarled to his partner, his voice devoid of warmth. "They've announced themselves somehow. They're here. Everyone's getting dragged to the Navigator's cabin. No killing - paying customers, remember?"

The bigger thug raised his voice, booming through the confined space. "Alright, listen up, meatbags! Time for a visit with the Navigator. Front row first, then work your way back, no funny business, and this might go smooth for everyone."

---

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The acrid tang of burnt engine oil hung heavy in the air of the rust-stained corridor. You and the other passengers, a motley crew of weary faces, shuffled in uneven lines. A young girl, dressed in ill-fitting noble garb and a cloth tied over one of her eyes, barely a teenager, stood at the front, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Did someone escape? Is this really everyone?" she called out, her voice ringing with a surprising authority despite her age.

The larger of the two thugs guarding them, the burly oaf, shrugged nonchalantly. "Yep, little miss. This be the whole lot."

"I counted," chimed in the other thug, the lanky fellow that adjusted his crooked glasses. "They're all here."

The girl, whose name you'd overheard was Anya, let out a frustrated huff and closed her eyes, focusing intently. A moment later, she snapped them open, a frown etching deeper on her youthful face. "They're not here."

The thinner thug piped up, "Can't you sense where they might be, at least a little?"

Anya shook her head, her brow creasing in further concentration. "I can't tell... It's like they should be somewhere nearby, on this part of the ship, but their psyker signature is... almost not there. It's so hard to tell."

The larger thug scoffed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "So, probably just the wind then, ey? Warp wind, or somethin'."

The other pushed his glasses up his nose and interjected, "So, what's the next move then, Miss?"

Anya let out a frustrated sigh. "Gah. Look, we're just one jump away from the Glitterglobe and we're already late. We'll drop everyone off there, and they become someone else's problem." Turning on her heel, she stomped off down the corridor, her oversized robes billowing dramatically behind her.

---

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As you waited in that hall for the ship to arrive to its destination, your mind churned, replaying the events in a chaotic loop. Were you a witch? The question hammered at your skull, echoing the absurdity of the entire situation. Back when you were a child, the Inquisition's scanners had swept you clean, their pronouncements echoing in your memory: "Not a witch. Next!" Yet, the vision. That unsettling glimpse into the void, seeing those flames, and this whole thing with the Navigator.

Doubt gnawed at you. Was it the power of the Emperor's Tarot?

Or was it yours?

The deck felt eerie warm again, energized. It was ready to be used.

"Am I a witch?" you ask it, and pull a card from the deck. A single card, the Emperor himself, landing face up in your palm. Then, a surge of surge of pure epistemological meaning flooded you as inspiration for its correct interpretation filled you. As if voiced from the Emperor's impossibly bright and kaleidoscopic face on the card, a message was etched into your mind.

[YES]

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and a thousand questions flooded your mind. What did this mean? How was it even possible?

---

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The air reeked of stale engine grease and discarded dreams as you and your fellow passengers were unceremoniously dumped with the rest of the voidship's waste. None of you ended up at the grand passenger exit, a place of glittering lights and lively music you could only glimpse past the imposing silhouette of the space station docking bay.

Confused yet relieved to finally be on the fabled Glitterglobe, you reached for your deck, the cards buzzing with residual energy. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of confusion and cautious optimism.

"Do you know how to get to a hotel from here?" one passenger asked another. "Is there a decent restaurant around?" Others, more tech-savvy, consulted their data-slates, seeking answers in the digital void. Still others simply wandered off, drawn by the distant allure of the station's dazzling lights.

Besides the Emperor's Tarot and the clothes on your back, you had a meager 100 credits – enough back home for two weeks of basic meals, but here, an unknown quantity. Hunger somewhat gnawed at your stomach after the long journey. You noticed a group of middle-aged folks huddled together, seemingly lost but also trying to find sustenance.

"Excuse me," you ventured, your voice hesitant, "do credits work here? How much does a meal typically cost?"

A woman glanced up from her data-slate, a restaurant menu displayed on its holographic screen. "Ah, about 30, 40 creds," she replied, offering you a tired smile.

"Thanks." you reply. Emperor alive, 30 creds?

* Like before, we're going to draw cards now (like in >>5943408), and then vote. *

1-3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81- 97: [NO].
98-100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>5944659
>"Am I a witch?"
>[YES]
Am I a danger to the people around me in my current state?

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>5944659
> Restaurant food is always expensive. Especially in a tourist trap like this.
> Is there any store nearby where one can purchase some simple staple foods for a reasonable price?

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>5944659
“Am I a powerful witch?”

>>5944740
Hah!
That response couldn't be more perfect.

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>5944659
>Are the portions big?

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>5944659
>If I play at the next gambling establishment I see, will I win more than I lose?

>>5944813
>>5944811
Fuck me, well there goes those easy outs.

The only glimmer of hope is the weak/conditional no. Maybe the portions are small but the nutrients are incredibly dense or the food is super tasty? Maybe we lose more money than we win but end up meeting a great friend/contact?

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>5944659
>Will i have the chance to make some easy money here?

>>5944814
There are other options.
We could try to offer our (admittedly non-specialist) labor in one of these restaurants in exchange for a discount on meals/a steady income.
Alternatively, we could turn to a life of crime. For bigger reward for significantly more risk.
Alternatively alternatively, we could root around in the dumpsters behind restaurants for something edible. Not exactly respectable, but arguably the safest and easiest solution.

Up to other anons to consult the Tarot about any of these though.
One question per anon and all that jazz.

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>5944659
Might I get lucky and find someone's half-eaten, abandoned meal?

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>5944659
Can I safely get a concealable weapon in the nearby dumpster?

>>5944740
>>5944760
I think we're an extremely powerful divination psyker but have somehow invested 99% of our power into the Emperor's Tarot.

>>5944903
I think we just bumbled our way into possession of a Tzeench artifact and are being manipulated. Though to be fair, I don't know 40K lore, so who knows.

>>5944913
Shit, yeah, that's also possible. Still, it's better to be led by the nose by a Tzeentch artifact than be a hive wagie. It's the only asset we have so we'll have to improvise.

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>Am I in danger of any enemies of the Emperor in this place?

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Amended:
>>5944740
>“Am I a powerful witch?”
[UNCERTAIN] -> [NO]
I was unsure of doing this, and I don't like doing it, but I'd rather err on the side of being prudent.

Note that I'd likely intervene with things like "Do I have immense, innate, yet to be awoken talent for gunplay?", "Do I have an unnoticed until now, secret genetic mutation that will let me ignore/endure poison?", etc.

Summary:
>>5944669
>Am I a danger to the people around me in my current state?
[WEAK YES]

>>5944708
> Is there any store nearby where one can purchase some simple staple foods for a reasonable price?
[NO]

>>5944811
>Are the portions big?
[WEAK NO]

>>5944813
>If I play at the next gambling establishment I see, will I win more than I lose?
[WEAK NO]

>>5944821
>Will i have the chance to make some easy money here?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5944900
>Might I get lucky and find someone's half-eaten, abandoned meal?
[YES]

>>5944902
>Can I safely get a concealable weapon in the nearby dumpster?
[YES]

>>5945093
>Am I in danger of any enemies of the Emperor in this place?
[YES]

A soft chill crept up the cards again, and you knew that meant you had to wait again before asking more.

Knowing that it would be trivial, easy to find that promised weapon in the dumpster that the Tarot predicted, you cautiously, quickly get over to the nearest one. In it, nestled amongst the discarded synth-caffeine containers and empty nutrition packs lay a curious duo: a half-eaten grox burger, surprisingly fresh, and a dented can of some kind of pepper spray. "Savior Spice," it proclaimed in bold lettering, accompanied by a skull and crossbones. The warning label beneath was reassuring: "Level 9 - Defeats most anti-spray defenses. Caution: Boils unprotected skin and corrodes plastics and metals. Contains acid."

*Savior Spice Level 9 obtained*

You pocketed the can and you took a hesitant bite of the burger. The taste, surprisingly, wasn't half bad. But, where to now? The ragtag group from the voidship had already started to scatter, their forms swallowed by the bustle of the streets further ahead. But a handful remained, their voices rising in a cacophony of confusion and discontent. Some, emboldened by the injustice, even dared to whisper about filing a formal complaint - their words met with cynical scoffs and weary chuckles from those who knew better.

What do you do?
> Go to a casino and get familiar with the games. Study the slot machines with your knowledge in the workings of arcade cabinets.
> Go to a karaoke, strip club or similar establishment, somewhere with entertainment where you can find people in a good mood to talk to and make conversation with.
> Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

>Write-in

>>5945097
> Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

We gotta survive first. Winning big in the first casino we see is not gonna happen, so lets work instead.

>>5945097
>Am I a danger to the people around me in my current state?
>[WEAK YES] This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
...
>Am I in danger of any enemies of the Emperor in this place?
>[YES]

Theoretical: These are related amd we are being hunted for.
Practical: We need more information about this area gained in a nonsuspicious manner.

Voting:
> Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

>>5945097
>Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring
Best not to make any waves

>>5945097
> Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

>>5945097
>> Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

>>5945097
> Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

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>Explore the general area and make a list of establishments that are hiring

Emerging from the dingy bowels of the voidship service areas, you were assaulted by a kaleidoscope of neon lights and vibrant chaos. Bus-ships and levi-trains zipped overhead like hyperactive flies, their bizarre symphony filling the air.

Surrounded by smaller buildings for eateries, hotels and entertainment, a colossal, brightly lit building loomed ahead, housing familiar institutions like the Adeptus Arbites and Enforcers, alongside a towering chapel to the Emperor. Queues snaked out of various offices – Transport, Tourist Information, and others – their purposes evident from the signage. Ah, this had to be some kind of government building.

Ignoring the cacophony of independent transport barkers hawking their wares ("Headed for Tyglade! Direct, no stops! Tyglade-Tyglade-Tyglade, get on get on get oooon!", "One seat left to Hassagrande!"), you headed straight for the Tourist Information. The massive queue was a sight to behold – not an hour to waste. A quick glance revealed a map stand brimming with free maps – perfect. Printed on them, a motley crew of advertisements offered glimpses into this place's attractions: whorehouses, restaurants, and casinos vying for your attention. You couldn't help but snort. Back home, government-issued print wouldn't dare showcase "adult entertainment".

Armed with the map and a newfound determination, you plunged into the city's streets, ready to explore the establishments and their hiring prospects.

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----

The central government building loomed in the distance, a stark contrast to the surrounding cityscape. Its clean lines and imposing symmetry spoke of a bygone era, a monument to the bureaucratic might of the Imperium. Its pale stone gleamed in the neon glow, a solitary island of old-world elegance amidst the frenetic chaos of Vassioport.

Beyond this bastion of tradition, the city unfolded in a riot of color and clashing styles. Towering chrome and glass structures scraped the sky, their surfaces reflecting the garish neon signs that pulsed with a relentless buzz. Buildings morphed and twisted, their facades adorned with holographic displays that advertised the latest fashions, virtual entertainment experiences, or the questionable pleasures offered within. Scattered amongst the gaudy spectacle stood gleaming clinics, their enticing displays showcasing the latest in cosmetic enhancements and body sculpting, and towering over the neon frenzy were imposing fortresses of glass and steel – the headquarters of the major corporations that called Vassioport home.

Amidst this visual cacophony, the people here moved with a similar level of ostentatious energy. Gruff laborers, their faces hardened by toil, trudged past with grease-stained overalls barely containing their robust builds. Tourists, easily identifiable by their wide-eyed wonder and slightly bewildered expressions, clutched their maps, data-slates and flintlock cameras, eager to capture the city's vibrant energy, their simple garb a stark contrast to the flamboyant displays of the ubiquitous elite.

These "elite" strutted around, their movements exaggerated and purposeful. Men sported outrageous body tattoos and iridescent clothing, their bodies sculpted into impossible shapes by augmentations and extreme body modification. Women, often sporting impossibly large busts and buttocks juxtaposed with surgically minimized waists, sported outfits that blurred the line between clothing and jewelry. Their lips, many inflated to cartoonish proportions, pouted in practiced boredom, their artificially enlarged eyes scanning the crowd for validation.

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----

Dodging sleek, chrome hover-cars that zipped by with a hiss of displaced air, you weaved through the throngs of people of the city. Your search for work was old-fashioned, but after hours, your efforts paid off, and you've compiled a shortlist of jobs offering quick incorporation:

- Night shift clerk at The Crash Zone (cheap, no-frills accommodation)
- Server at Warpspeed Burger (fast food joint)
- Refill peon at Powerfuel (prometheium fuel services)
- Hypernet installation technician for Cogsmith Connect (telecommunications company)
- Test subject for Fi'Palace (large skincare and cosmetics company)

* Like before, you may draw cards (>>5943408), and then vote. *

1 - 3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81 - 97: [NO].
98 - 100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>5945753
Will any of these establishments pay me well if I work for them?

>>5945756
Welp, time to become a wage slave then for the rest of our life.

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>5945753
>Will I meet a friendly person willing to let me stay at their place at Cogsmith Connect?

>>5945756
We should probably ask questions about individual companies rather than all of them. That way we know which one the question is 'yes' or 'no for, rather than merely knowing one of the five jobs has/is/does whatever we're asking after. Narrows it down, if you get what I'm saying. It also gives us more 'chances' to get a yes answer.

>>5945776
Ah, my bad yeah that seems like a better idea than the one I wound up choosing, guess that means anyone else can offer the same question again but for different companies in that case. As for mine, shame I can’t reword it, but my question for payment goes under the warp speed Burger, rather then all of the establishments all together.

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>5945753
Are there any easy opportunities for career advancement at Powerfuel?

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>5945753
>Does a crazy hot and nerdy girl that would fall for me exist at the Fi'Palace job thing

>>5945785
Hmm, yeah I should've expected that.

Maybe someone ask about if there are opportunities to learn more about either the local area or the enemies of the Emperor at a job of said anon's choosing. Y'know, to figure out if >>5945111 is right.

So far it seems like career advancement and good pay, or even hots girls or a nice person who is willing to let us crash at their place is all off the table. The jobs are only good for starvation wages. We'll have to earn our money/babes at the gambling table. Or turn to a life of crime.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>5945753
>Would the position at Crash Zone be low matainence enough that we could sneak in some rest while on the clock?

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>5945753
>"Can I easily steal a relatively secure connection on my offtime if I work at Cogsmith?"

Good to find out more about this "witch" thing..

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>5945753
>Will I find a hot girl who finds me cute at Warpspeed Burger?

Rolled 59 (1d100)

>>5945792
With what >>5945776 said, we probably want to narrow things down a bit to the answers we got clearest and most positive. Specifically, Cogsmith with >>5946028 and Warpspeed Burger >>5946076.

>Will there be opportunities at Cogsmith for me to find out about information on the Enemies of the Emperor who apparently are in this place, without my inquiries being discovered by anyone?

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>5945753
>Is the fact that there is a girl who is madly YANDERE for me one of the main reasons why these "Enemies of the Emperor" are dangerous to me?

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>>5946400
That's not a "No"

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>>5945756
>Will any of these establishments pay me well if I work for them?
[NO]

>>5945776
>Will I meet a friendly person willing to let me stay at their place at Cogsmith Connect?
[NO]

>>5945785
>Are there any easy opportunities for career advancement at Powerfuel?
[EXTREME NO]

>>5945786
>Does a crazy hot and nerdy girl that would fall for me exist at the Fi'Palace job thing
[NO]

>>5946016
>Would the position at Crash Zone be low matainence enough that we could sneak in some rest while on the clock?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5946028
>"Can I easily steal a relatively secure connection on my offtime if I work at Cogsmith?"
[WEAK YES]

>>5946076
>Will I find a hot girl who finds me cute at Warpspeed Burger?
[WEAK YES]

>>5946266
>Will there be opportunities at Cogsmith for me to find out about information on the Enemies of the Emperor who apparently are in this place, without my inquiries being discovered by anyone?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5946400
>Is the fact that there is a girl who is madly YANDERE for me one of the main reasons why these "Enemies of the Emperor" are dangerous to me?
[UNCERTAIN]

"Fantastic," you muttered, letting out a sarcastic sigh at your card draws. Terrible results.

The deck's prickling warmth had now faded like before, you couldn't keep using it for now. So, it was time to make a choice. What do you do?

> Apply for work at Cogsmith Connection
> Apply for work at The Crash Zone
> Apply for work at Warpspeed Burger
> Screw work, make way towards the biggest casino you can find. A hot hand at the tables could snag you enough creds to skip these dead-end jobs altogether. (You gave 100 creds)
> Wait by sitting and pretending to pray in the chapel dedicated to the Emperor, should probably be safe from whatever "danger" is after you there.
>Write-in

>>5946463
*You have 100 creds
Typo

>>5946463
>Wait by sitting and pretending to pray in the chapel dedicated to the Emperor, should probably be safe from whatever "danger" is after you there.
But instead of pretending to pray, we actually pray. Emperor guide us through this darkness that shroud our path.

>>5946467
+1

>>5946467
This, +1. If we're believing in the Tarot, we should actually pray.

>>5946463
> Apply for work at Warpspeed Burger

cute girl get

I have a feeling these "enemies of the Emperor" are going to be an everpresent threat.

>>5946564
Supporting this

File: UnderstandingDeacon.png (97 KB, 236x158)

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>Wait by sitting and pretending to pray in the chapel dedicated to the Emperor, should probably be safe from whatever "danger" is after you there.
>But instead of pretending to pray, we actually pray. Emperor guide us through this darkness that shroud our path.

The central building loomed before you once more, its imposing facade a stark contrast to the neon chaos of the streets. With a deep breath, you pushed open the heavy doors and entered the Emperor's chapel. A cool, incense-laden air washed over you, a welcome respite from the city's relentless heat.

On the inner wall, a gleaming gold plaque greeted you. Its message, writ in a tapestry of Low Gothic dialects, left no room for ambiguity: "FOR VISITORS: OTHER VERSIONS OF WORSHIP TO THE EMPEROR ARE NOT ALLOWED. COMPLY." A lengthy scroll unfurled beneath the stark warning, detailing permitted prayers, litanies, and postures – all etched in agonizingly small script. Some rituals were familiar, whispers of your Tarass upbringing, while others were entirely alien. Instructions on kneeling, donating, and proper Mass conduct filled the remaining space.

While the rituals differed little from your Hive World customs, a handful of off-world tourists gawked at the plaque, their faces contorted in confusion.

You slid onto a long bench, its coolness a comfort against your clammy skin. As you knelt, fists clenched, a silent prayer rose to the God-Emperor. The Emperor's Tarot. Its bleak pronouncements gnawed at your spirit. Was there a way to outmaneuver the dark fate you have been dealt? Had you journeyed all the way to the Glitterglobe for nothing? Dreams, a brimming well within you, seemed destined to be crushed by some unseen hand. Your silently prayed, begging the Emperor for the inspiration to best make him proud. You craved success, achievement burned in your gut, but where to invest your sweat and ambition? If only there were a path, a whisper of guidance, you'd leap right to it.

The thought of another day as a wage-slave, toiling away for scraps just to fuel a churning hunger, filled you with a bitter rage. You weren't some mindless drone content with a life of misery! You craved a chance to claw your way up from the bottom! A tear went down your cheek even if you didn't want it to.

Wiping at the unwelcome moisture, you glanced up as a passing deacon offered a fleeting, understanding smile.

"Excuse me, Father?" you ventured, your voice barely a whisper. You rose cautiously from the pew.

The deacon turned, his gaze kind. "Yes, son?"

"I... I'm worried about something," you stammered. "I've heard something about... Navigators. They're witches, right?" Your voice dipped to a conspirational murmur. "I have more information, if it might be of service."

The deacon chuckled. "No need for alarm, son. Navigators are sanctioned psykers, blessed by the Emperor himself."

"But... isn't the Emperor the only guy allowed to be a 'psyker'?" you blurted. That's what your catechesis had taught you!

File: Tarocard.png (2.78 MB, 1024x957)

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The deacon's smile softened. "Seems you've been misinformed. Certain psykers, like Navigators, are vital to the Imperium's survival. Now, tell me, what troubles you about them?"

Uncertainty gnawed at you. Was this one of those "false churches" your catechism teacher had warned about? Heretics in disguise, twisting the Emperor's word? You stammered, "Just... that, Father. Thank you."

But the deacon's gaze held a quiet insistence. "Are you sure, son?"

"...I'm just going through a hard time." you say, trying to change the subject.

"Of course." he said. "Let me know if you need any help."

You hesitated, then decided to take a chance. "Actually, Father," you began, voice hesitant but firm, "I've been struggling to find a job here, a little nudge in the right direction, would be great." You hesitated, then added, hoping to sound sincere, "And I wouldn't mind getting started with tithing, doing my part for the Emperor you know." (Internally, you winced a little at the last part. You still didn't know if to trust these guys.)

His smile widened considerably at the mention of tithing. "Ah, the Emperor appreciates a diligent tithe-payer! We do have various... options for those seeking work within the Ecclesiarchy," he explained, his eyes gleaming with a hint of opportunity. "However, you don't strike me as someone destined for menial labor of atonement. Though," he trailed off, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "can you write? How's your hand with calligraphy?"

Caught slightly off guard, you stammered, "Uh, yeah, I can write. I'm alright at it."

A satisfied look spread across the deacon's face. "Excellent. We have a backlog of documents in need of copying, scriptures and records that require a careful hand. Something to consider," he suggested, leaving the offer hanging in the air.

"Ah, right. Thank you, Father," you mumbled.

He left. Then, with a few more final whispered prayers to the God Emperor, you seal your lips and rise from the pew. A newfound resolve courses through you, as your indoctrination fires the right chemicals in your neurons. Discreetly, your hand dips into your pocket, fingers brushing against the sleek, polished of the Tarot deck. They felt hot, ready to go.

You wander out of the church, and hidden by the anonymity of the crowd, you began a practiced shuffle.

* You may now draw cards (>>5943408), and then vote. *

1 - 3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81 - 97: [NO].
98 - 100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>5946788
Can I find good work in service to the church?

>>5946788
>"Would trying to become a.. sanctioned psyker... benefit me more than going after a mundane job?"

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>5946799
Oops, dropped my dice.

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>5946788
Can we trust the church to help us?

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>5946788
> If we took this job, would we find any information in the church's backlog of documents, scriptures, and records that would lend itself to our material or spiritual advancement?

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>5946788
>Would I enjoy my time and find purpose if I chose to work for the Ecclesiarchy?

Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>5946788
>If I go now to look for a lottery kiosk with scratch-cards,
>will I meet along the way a hot girl that is into me?

>>5947004
Well, it's a definite improvement from endless, baby-tantrum, arcade-wagie hell.

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>5946788
>Would I be better off just forgetting my troubles for the moment and should instead look for some entertainment?

FINALLY some good luck

Rolled 26 (1d100)

Am I in danger of dying if I don't leave this planet in next 5 years?

Rolled 4 (1d100)

Can I gain something of worth safely if I begin telling people their fortunes?

>>5947255
YES!!!

>>5947256
No, thats not good. Since that means an explicit no in that you cant get something of value by being a fortune seer. And this would have been the one time it would have been amusing to roll high for once, sigh.

>>5947258
> Can I gain something of worth safely if I begin telling people their fortunes?
> 4 - 20: [YES].

> No, thats not good. Since that means an explicit no in that you cant get something of value by being a fortune seer.
What are you even talking about?

>>5947258
It means yes scroll up

So it seems clearing our head first before joining the Ecclesiarchy would be the path forward. While work wouldn't be "good", it would be a meaningful and worthwile experience for us. Hopefully we can find an apprenticeship that let's us leave this planet in 3-5 years before this >>5947195 possible death flag is raised. Maybe a missionary needs an extra clerk to help manage his paperwork or we could make a pilgrimage to a nearby Cardinal World.

>>5947322
You can disregard (>>5947195).
Per the rules of the Tarot - outlined here (>>5943408) - questions must pertain to events in either the present or the near past/future.
Precedent (>>5943608) demonstrates that queries about events a year or more in the future are invalidated - presumably exceeding the predictive range of the Tarot.

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>5946788
>As of this moment, are the ministers of this chapel true, faithful and loyal adherents to the Imperial Cult?

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>5946788
"Will I be recognised as Emperor-Blessed if my talent is revealed to the Ecclesiarchy?"

>>5947525
Finally our luck is turning around!

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>5947525
Kinda. Based on other rolls, it seems that for this chapel, there's a nuance.

In fact...

>Will our evasion of the Deacon's "Are you sure, son?" result in him keeping a close eye upon us, or contacting someone to do so in his stead, because he believes us to be a psyker?

>>5947886
Meant for the >>5947525 to point to >>5947532 .

Still, it looks like the result is that finding good work in service to the Church conventionally may not work out ( >>5946791 , >>5947000), but there is a way that we would find purpose greater than a wage slave with the Ecclessiarchy as a whole with our psychic abilities (>>5947004 , >>5947525). However, something is distinctly off with this specific chapel (>>5947498 , >>5946834), not outright heretical, but something is off.

It could be that it is infiltrated given the earlier "Am I in danger of any enemies of the Emperor in this place?" being a yes, or this could be a front for the Inquisition and they are true servants but not in a form we would expect. It's too early to tell, and we clearly don't know what all they are thinking of (>>5947886)

File: TarotReadings.jpg (37 KB, 540x405)

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>>5947894
Conspiracy Dart Board Connections:
Revealing our ability to the Ecclessiarchy will allow us to aid them in rooting out the "known" Enemies of the Emperor acting on this world, leading to us being regarded as Emperor-Blessed and will give us greater purpose. And this will occur quickly because of the limited time range of the Tarot, but approaching them at this particular second would be a bad idea because of what >>5947158 says.

>>5947886
>>5947894
Per the first part of >>5945097 we are not a psyker, or at least not a powerful one. I think it's all the tarot deck.

The weak yes part could simply be that this chapel has some mild variation to the creed to fit the local circumstances, as the Ecclesiarchy tends to do. Or the chapel could be playing host to a sub-cult of some kind. Them randomly being inquisitors is possible, but a bit extreme.

>>5947900
Good theory.

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Amended/Vetoed:
>>5947195
>Am I in danger of dying if I don't leave this planet in next 5 years?
[WEAK YES] -> No reply
While I have been very lenient about this, the Tarot can't answer things *this* far into the future.


Summary:

>>5946791
Can I find good work in service to the church?
[WEAK NO]

>>5946799
>"Would trying to become a.. sanctioned psyker... benefit me more than going after a mundane job?"
[WEAK YES]

>>5946834
>Can we trust the church to help us?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5947000
> If we took this job, would we find any information in the church's backlog of documents, scriptures, and records that would lend itself to our material or spiritual advancement?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5947004
>Would I enjoy my time and find purpose if I chose to work for the Ecclesiarchy?
[YES]

>>5947022
>If I go now to look for a lottery kiosk with scratch-cards,
>will I meet along the way a hot girl that is into me?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5947158
>Would I be better off just forgetting my troubles for the moment and should instead look for some entertainment?
[YES]

>>5947255
>Can I gain something of worth safely if I begin telling people their fortunes?
[YES]

>>5947498
>As of this moment, are the ministers of this chapel true, faithful and loyal adherents to the Imperial Cult?
[WEAK YES]

>>5947525
>"Will I be recognised as Emperor-Blessed if my talent is revealed to the Ecclesiarchy?"
[YES]

>>5947886
>Will our evasion of the Deacon's "Are you sure, son?" result in him keeping a close eye upon us, or contacting someone to do so in his stead, because he believes us to be a psyker?
[UNCERTAIN]

A sigh of relief escapes your lips - some good readings. Thank you, God-Emperor. The Tarot seemed able to last for a bit longer than typically this time, but as usual, it has gone cold again.

You're currently blended in with the crowds that are right in front of the Chapel. Tourists, their antique flintlock cameras clicking rhythmically, capture the grandeur of the chapel. A squad of policemen, freshly blessed by the deacon's swinging incense, march out with stoic faces.

What do you do now?

> Try to busk for money by telling people their fortune. Perch discreetly on a nearby step, idly shuffle the cards, and put some of your coins in your jacket on the ground.
> Try to busk for money by offering to help tourists with how to properly give worship to the Emperor in the chapel (which is very similar to your homeworld's).
> Reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special divination ability to the deacon you met earlier, and that you'd like to put it to their service.
> Go look for a nearby casino and play some slot machines and other games with 30 creds.
> Go ask the helpful deacon questions (write-in which)
> Write-in

>>5948002
> Go look for a nearby casino and play some slot machines and other games with 30 creds.

Entertainment is better for the moment. Besides, since we've arrived we have been nothing but stressed. Time to have some fun. We can busk later. Then we can come back to the chapel.

>>5948002
>Go look for a nearby casino and play some slot machines and other games with 30 creds.
Let's trust in the Emperor and by Emperor, I mean the off chance we end in a statistical outlier and win more money than we lose. It would be a shame if we went to a casino planet and didn't even gamble once.

>>5948002
> Reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special divination ability to the deacon you met earlier, and that you'd like to put it to their service.
Reject fleeting worldly indulgences.
Embrace the glory of the God-Emperor.

>>5948002
>Go look for a nearby casino and play some slot machines and other games with 30 creds.

Trust in the heart of the cards!

>>5948002
> Reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special divination ability to the deacon you met earlier, and that you'd like to put it to their service.
Glory to the Golden Throne

Writing atm, closing votes before there is a tie

File: Casino Buildings.png (573 KB, 512x512)

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>Go look for a nearby casino and play some slot machines and other games with 30 creds.

Each casino entrance screamed for your attention, a cacophony of flashing lights, booming bass, and holographic dancers. You grinned, a welcome jolt of energy surging through you. This was the Glitterglobe, baby, and tonight, you were gonna play.

Ignoring the insistent barkers hawking "Guaranteed jackpots!", "We got girls like you've never seen!", your sights were set on the most ostentatious monument to excess you could find: Goldhouse Casino. Two Ogryn bouncers, mountains of muscle crammed into ill-fitting tuxedos, stood guard. You flashed them an excited, cocky grin – and they replied by silently gesturing into the avenue and bowing slightly.

Inside, the assault on the senses continued. The air thrummed with a thousand different games – the rhythmic clang of slot machines, the excited shouts around the roulette tables, the hushed whispers accompanying a high-stakes card game in the back.

Every surface dripped with gaudy opulence: mosaiced velvet carpets in shades no sane person would wear, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in a palace, and staff decked out in immaculate crimson uniforms. Patrons were drowning their sorrows in exotic drinks, others were indulging in recreational pharmaceuticals with alarming casualness. A grotesquely wealthy man, his neck weighed down by a small fortune in gold chains, strutted across the room like a preening peacock, trailed by a gaggle of beauties whose smiles seemed permanently etched on their faces.

You couldn't help but grin – this was the glorious, trashy, wonderful Glitterglobe in all its unadulterated excess. Thirty creds might not buy you a penthouse suite, but it was enough to get a taste of the action. With a spring in your step, you weaved through the throng, ready to try your luck.

File: Slot Machine.png (432 KB, 512x512)

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---

You figured you'd start small. A Space Marine-themed slot machine caught your eye – each winning line triggered a gloriously cheesy 3D animation of bolter-wielding Astartes purging xenos scum. For a while, the explosions and polygon heroism were mildly entertaining, like watching reruns of sanctioned pict-captures. But you, a jaded veteran of a thousand arcade battles back on your homeworld, quickly grew numb. Ten credits lighter and feeling like you'd just watched another propaganda reel, you moved on to greener pastures – or at least tables with actual people

*-10 Credits*

---

*-5 Credits*

You'd surprised yourself by picking up the card game of "Big Brigade" so quickly. Maybe all those nights spent glued to glow-screens back home honing your card skills had finally paid off. In front of your croupier also was a drunk tech-priest mumbling prayers to the machine spirit of the table, a flamboyant socialite tossing cards like confetti, and a grumpy Ogryn who kept slamming his cards down with enough force to dent the steel table.

The middle-aged woman, reeking of cheap perfume and desperation, slammed her cards down. "Three bullets and the Throne!" she declared, the table erupting in cheers. "Four-eyes here," she gestured at you, "your turn! Play big! You got a fat hand, you got a chance to win huge!"

"Just a flower," you muttered, placing a card face-up. Groans filled the air.

"Come on, kiddo! Don't be a stick in the mud!" someone bellowed. "Go for broke! You could be swimmin' in creds!"

You flashed a strained smile. You knew the basic strategy now, and blind aggression was a fast track to empty pockets. It might not win you cheers from the peanut gallery, but playing smart would keep you in the game far longer and keep you from burning your 30 cred budget, even if it wasn't as flashy.

---

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A voice suddenly boomed through the casino, drowning out the cacophony of slot machines and drunken cheers. "ATTENTIOOON PATRONS!" it roared. Spotlights flickered on, illuminating a hovering holographic projection of a presenter with a manic grin and a massive afro.

"A most GENEROUS surprise promotion, courtesy of the illustrious Tech-Guild of Zlatino!" he continued, his voice dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Card tables, finish your final round! Slot jockeys, prepare yourselves! For a LIMITED TIME ONLY, every machine has been JACKPOTTED!"

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and shouts. Holographic fireworks crackled from projectors onto the roof. "That's right, folks!" his grin stretched even wider. "Tonight, you have the glorious chance to win one of five, top-of-the-line service Servitors from Zlatino! Just take a gander at these magnificent machines!"

A spotlight flickered on a platform near the entrance, revealing a line of immaculate, futuristic-looking Servitors, each brandishing a tray overflowing with glowing, multicolored shots.

"Free drinks for everyone! Served by these exquisite Zlatino Servitors! Remember, folks, when it comes to quality, there's only one name to trust: Zlatino!"

The holographic projection winked with a flourish before dissolving in a shower of digital confetti. The crowd, now thoroughly riled up, surged towards the slot machines, a collective roar echoing through the casino. You finished your hand, the "Big Brigade" table unceremoniously transformed into a vending stand overflowing with gaudy Zlatino merchandise. Upgrades for Servitors, fluids, replacement parts, everything.

Figured you might as well try your luck again. You weaved through the crowds, dodging flailing limbs and triumphant yells, to one of the few remaining slot machines. Even the games reflected the Platino takeover. Gone were the bolter-wielding Space Marines, replaced by chrome-plated Servitors washing dishes and watering plants. It was a welcome change from the relentless barrage of Imperial iconography. Maybe it was the proximity to the government building, you mused, that the casino was like that. You tossed some of your remaining credits, the Platino logo flashing on the screen, and prepared to tempt the fickle machine spirits for a chance to win a glorified metal waiter.

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Soon, your machine lurched with a final spin, and a symphony of lights, sounds, and digital fanfare erupted across the screen. "ZLATINO JACKPOT!" it blazoned in glowing red, the announcement echoing through the casino like a bomb going off.

"We have a winner!" boomed the disembodied voice of the announcer. Spotlight strobed across the room, bouncing off the feverish faces of gamblers before settling on you. Your jaw hung slack as your face materialized on a dozen holographic screens scattered throughout the casino. You'd won.

Suddenly, a huge mass of raven curls shoved through the people until they got to where you were, it was the flamboyant afro guy from the announcement, a wide, oily grin plastered on his face. He shoved a microphone in your direction, his voice amplified to an uncomfortable level.

"Greetings, you lucky duck! Tell the good people of Vassioport, what's your name, and where are you from?"

Flustered by the sudden attention, you stammered, "A-Anon, from... uh... Tarass."

The announcer chuckled, his grin widening further. "Anon of Tarass has just won himself a top-of-the-line service Servitor! That's right, folks! The one and only..." he leaned in conspiratorially towards a crimson-clad staff member, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Make it the girl model for this guy, the one on the far right!"

A spotlight flickered on, revealing a figure shrouded in shadow at the edge of the crowd. As it stepped forward, the gasp that ripped through the casino told you this wasn't your standard service servitor. It was a woman, young and undeniably beautiful, with flowing white hair to her shoulders. Her porcelain skin seemed almost luminous in the harsh casino lights, but the gleam in her dead eyes was decidedly less natural. Bulky cybernetics adorned her head, wires snaking across her nape, piercing in and out of her flesh. Ports or mechanisms of some kind gleamed on her neck and collarbones, all dressed in a stylized maid gown. The woman was flawless...except for one detail. It made you remember the pricey injectable bust-oils at the Zlatino product tables. How expensive would a barrel of that stuff be?

"Zlatino, people! Zlatino! Don't settle for less! You can buy RIGHT NOW a servitor just like this, the best that the Forgeworlds have to offer, or heck, we got four Servitors more up for grabs! Don't miss out! Gooooo play!"

The crowd, momentarily stunned, surged back towards the slots with renewed fervor. You stared at the woman. Wow. Was she really yours now? Your own servitor?

"So, she's mine now?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the din.

The afro-sporting announcer, who moments ago had been brimming with showmanship, now seemed oddly subdued. He glanced at the woman, then back at you. "...Aaaand now she is," he replied with his signature fake smile as he pressed some buttons on a data-slate. "She's all set up, buddy. Have fun now!"

File: tarottime.png (1.17 MB, 626x635)

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With a curt nod, he melted back into the crowd, leaving you speechless and alone with your prize.

Then, a voice, smooth and artificial, startled you. "Sir Anon?". Since when could a servitor talk!

"Y-yeah?" you stammered

"Everything alright? Should I bring you a refresh... ment?" she inquired, tilting her head slightly, her voice a synthesized melody devoid of warmth.

"Uh, no," you mumbled. That shit was expensive in here.

----

* Phew, that was long. Let's go, card draws. *

* You may now draw cards (>>5943408), and then vote. *

1 - 3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81 - 97: [NO].
98 - 100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Ah, also, for consistency:

* Servitor acquired. *

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>5948261
>"Is this servitor conscious?"

>>5948281
Holy fuck, Zlatino is selling lobotomized P-Zombies to people

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>>5948281
Holy fuck

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>5948261
>If I play this same slot machine again right now, staying within my budget, will I win another jackpot?

Was thinking asking 'will I win more than I lose' or 'will I win some injectable bust oils' or 'win enough to afford Zlatino bust oils', etc. As things stand, I'll leave that to other anons. I just wanna know if we should stay longer to try our luck.

Personally, I think we've won big enough as it is. So barring a very heavy incentive (like a Yes to winning lots of monie/a jackpot/the boob oils) to stay for another round of gambling, I think it is time to move on.

A servant is a very helpful thing to have in our situation, adjustable boob size or not. We have enough to contemplate with the servitor being an empty husk. Hopefully she isn't an obliviate or something. At least she's cute. We can cuddle.

>>5948317
Guess that's a no.
>If I were to continue playing will I win exuberantly?
I suggest some one roll for "If we continue to win will we be targeted or harmed?"

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>5948335
Forgot to roll.

>>5948335
I'm sure someone would think we are cheating. Even if we don't continue to play, we ought to look out for opportunistic muggers or people thinking we look like an easy mark. As things stand, with >>5948337 it seems like it is pointless to continue gamble here for now. We can always do fortune telling if we need small amounts of petty cash.

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>5948261
>In the near future, will a winner of a regular cash jackpot here buy a round (barrel) of Zlatino titty oil for everyone?

Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>5948261
>Does our new servitor have secret in-built weapons?

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>“Should I go and get a job now?”

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>5948261
Considering >>5947900 theory...

>Should we return to the Chapel at this time to be set on the path to becoming Emperor-Blessed?

>>5948455
>[YES]
Well, you heard the Emperor, anons. If we want a good life, it's time to go back to the Chapel.

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>5948261
> Would keeping this Servitor be more advantageous than selling it for some extra credits?

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Bringing the Conspiracy Board Back

So clearly we needed to come here first because of (>>5947158) in the prior reading and we have gotten a clear sign of Yes that it is time to return (>>5948455 ) to continue the Blessed path. It could merely be time, but I suspect this Servitor Girl has more to do with our path than we currently suspect. After all, we got Yes, but with Caveats when wondering if we should keep her (>>5948524), meaning she is more relevant than money alone but on certain paths. Or perhaps, would lead to more danger if we go down the wrong path. She is clearly soul-blasted (>>5948281) and is armed in a secret way (>>5948372). And we know Enemies of the Emperor are around. And this whole business with a free Servitor of this kind, it is strange. There is more going on and I think I know what!

The oldest Enemies of the Emperor are Chaos and the Men of Iron. Zlatino is clearly experimenting with AI or with Daemonic Possession, and they are spreading servitors throughout the population to enable a rapid takeover with a mass ritual or takeover! In the case of the ritual, her soul was likely ripped out to fuel the ritual's operation, and if it is a Robot Apocalypse then it was removed to make the body more easy to take over! And if its the former, perhaps she was important before being turned into a Servitor (which would make her soul even stronger for the ritual) and by taking her to the Chapel, they will learn of this and work with us to destroy this plan.

Perhaps it'll even be revealed she's the last Scion of a Noble house who went missing, and >>5947004 doesn't mean becoming a Priest, but a high level Noble that supports their work upon this world. Because we showed concern for her state and brought her to their attention, so we can be trusted taking care of her and ensuring the Noble House continues on properly.

>>5948587
Uh-huh...
You lost me at the second paragraph.
Seems like a lot of spurious conclusions to draw.

>>5948587
Incredibly based conspiracy enjoyer.

>>5948596
We're trying to discern the future in 40k, anon. And as the QM said, most anything can end up canon from the readings. As such, unless we get a [NO] from the readings, nothing is fully off the table and even the table must be held under suspicion.

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>>5948587

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>5948261
>Is she in good condition?

Looks like we will have to take her to a tech-priests

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>5948261
>Should I headpat her right now?

>>5948888
The Quads have spoken.
>inb4 we touch her scalp and come away with something horrid/disgusting on our hand.

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>5948261
>Are there barrels of Zlatino fluids in the back of this casino that if I steal them in the near future, I wouldn't be detected?

File: priest.png (453 KB, 502x501)

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Summary:

>>5948281
>"Is this servitor conscious?"
[EXTREME NO]

>>5948317
>If I play this same slot machine again right now, staying within my budget, will I win another jackpot?
[NO]

>>5948335
>If I were to continue playing will I win exuberantly?
[NO]

>>5948358
>In the near future, will a winner of a regular cash jackpot here buy a round (barrel) of Zlatino titty oil for everyone?
[NO]

>>5948372
>Does our new servitor have secret in-built weapons?
[YES]

>>5948406
>“Should I go and get a job now?”
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5948455
>Should we return to the Chapel at this time to be set on the path to becoming Emperor-Blessed?
[YES]

>>5948524
> Would keeping this Servitor be more advantageous than selling it for some extra credits?
[WEAK YES]

>>5948856
>Is she in good condition?
[NO]

>>5948888
>Should I headpat her right now?
[YES]

>>5949011
>Are there barrels of Zlatino fluids in the back of this casino that if I steal them in the near future, I wouldn't be detected?
[YES]

The deck went cold again So, a headpat? Right now? Sure. A shrug and a tentative pat landed on the servitor's white hair. The response was instantaneous – a violent shudder and a head twitch so pronounced it looked like it might dislodge itself. Then came the horrifying screech.

"Physical Affection Err-r-r-r, Binary Protocol 323821-A, Memory Leeeeeeeeeeee-" The high-pitched whine morphed into a single, ear-splitting "eeee" that drew stares from every gambler in earshot.

Heads swivel in your direction, suspicion and unease flickering across the faces of other patrons. Before the commotion can escalate, a Tech-Priest, crimson robes billowing, bursts through the crowd. He wastes no time, yanking a tangle of wires - his "mecha-dentrites" - from his back and jamming them into a port on the servitor's neck.

The screech cuts off abruptly, replaced by an unsettling silence. The woman stands frozen, her eyes vacant.

"Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, sir," the Tech-Priest chuckles, a grating, clearly robotic voice. "Zlatino guarantees the quality of its products." His chrome face-plates shift and slide to a stiff, sorry smile. "Here, please accept this gift card as a token of our apology."

* Zlatino gift card for 50 Credits acquired *

A smaller, meeker Tech-Priest beside him clears his throat. "Sir, it's just a gift servitor, complimentary. There's no need for-"

The larger Tech-Priest cuts him off with a sharp glare, his smile morphing into a grimace. He lets out a guttural hiss in a language that sounds like a machine attempting human speech. Then, all smiles again, he turns back to you.

"Shall we continue, Mr. Anon?"

"Sure"

They lead you to a secluded service area behind the casino floor. Tech-Priests swarm the servitor, their movements practiced and efficient. Panels on her body hiss open, revealing intricate mechanisms beneath. Mecha-dentrites snake out, probing and connecting.

The first, larger Tech-Priest launches into a sales pitch, his voice dripping with apologetic enthusiasm. "Mr. Anon, this servitor possesses everything you could desire – an endo-exoskeleton for enhanced strength, internal security protocols..." He gestures towards a compartment revealing a hidden blade and lasgun. "And she boasts such a remarkable vocabulary, fluent in up to 7.4th level Gothic! Truly impressive, wouldn't you agree?"

Just then, one of the Tech-Priests working on the servitor speaks up, his voice raspy. "The problem... seems someone's been trying to be cheap with her. Packed her full of old, used 'mannequin' parts from the store. We've replaced them with new components now. Sorry for the malfunction, sir."

The first Tech-Priest gives a grin. "Remember, Mr. Anon, Zlatino stands for quality. Guaranteed. A minor hiccup, that's all."

The servitor whirred back to life, blinked a few times, then tilted her head again. "Mr. Anon? Is everything alright? I am at your service."

"...Thanks, really. I appreciate it." you tell them.

---

50 credits is hardly enough for you to buy anything physical for the Servitor (modifications like a change in hair color starting at 200 creds at the least, and arm reinforcements at 500 creds), but you can buy software, like the ability to brew tea, sing a specific selection of songs, or have a custom vocal accent or tone.

You also see that whole barrels of Zlatino fluids (lubricants, body modification oils, etc) cost around 25,000 credits each, with the fluids typically being sold in smaller plastic bottles, the size of a typical wine bottle, for about 300 credits each.

---

You're back at the casino floor, with your servitor silently standing behind you. The deck is cold, so you've got to wait a while before being able to draw cards again. It's soon midnight at at the Glitterglobe (28h day cycle). What do you do?

> Go to the Chapel and reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special power.
> Go to the back of the casino and steal barrels of Zlatino fluids.
> Stay around and try to get to know the Servitor better. Give her a name (write-in)
> Go to The Crash Zone to get a place to sleep (20 creds/night).
> Write-in

>>5949127
> Go to the Chapel and reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special power.
> Stay around and try to get to know the Servitor better. Give her a name (write-name)
> Name: “Aleta”

>headpat causes the cute servitor to melt into a puddle of spaghetti code goop
Finally, a GOOD quest.
>>5949127
>Go to The Crash Zone to get a place to sleep (20 creds/night).
>pat servitor again as we leave
>"it's not your fault you malfunctioned, please don't be sad about it"
Nap time, tomorrow we can return to the Ecclesiarchy and see what our destiny has in store for us.
Maybe name her Marianne. I like that name.

>>5949127
> Go to the back of the casino and steal barrels of Zlatino fluids.
>Supporting >>5949133 for the name

It'd be a shame not to make use of either of our two opportunities. The difference is the chapel thing will probably last.

> Go to the back of the casino and steal barrels of Zlatino fluids.
> Go to The Crash Zone to get a place to sleep (20 creds/night).
Tomorrow we go to church and, > Go to the Chapel and reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special power.

>>5949127
Hmm...

>>5949148
>>5949163
I agree with all of these and support Aleta for a name.

> Go to the Chapel and reveal yourself as someone with some kind of special power.

>>5949138
>>5949148
Feels too risky. The question asking if we should return to the chapel specifically said "at this time" so the opportunity may be lost by tommorrow. Between our opportunities, that one feels the biggest.

Honestly, I wanna go see the back as much as to get a peek behind the curtain of what is going on with Zlatino as I do to acquire titty fluid or whatever it is. All the more to report if it turns out the chapel is an inquisitor facility.

>>5949178
If we can go for two things, I'd support this. Checking that out could reasonably be in the "at this time" range. But I'm certain that sleeping through the night would go beyond that.

>>5949175
I doubt it. While the power only sees a minute into the future, unless something changes there shouldn't be a reason for the answer to shift. Dynamic, fluid situations like sneaking or chances of encounter may alter, but I don't think every situation is a Schrödinger's cat.

Remember, we also got a Yes on being recognized as Emperor-Blessed earlier after entering the chapel as well.

Furthermore, we could just keep asking the question of if now is the appropriate time to go until we get a yes.

>>5949179
Of course, I wasn't voting for sleeping or staying around to chat, just supporting the name from the other anon.

>>5949163
Supporting

>>5949175
+1

Writing

File: deadtechpriest.png (560 KB, 501x495)

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"Aleta," you said, the name rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. The servitor, Aleta, stood perfectly still, her expression unreadable. "That's your name now, alright?"

"Acknowledged," she replied as she tilted her head slightly, her voice a smooth, synthetic cadence.

"Right, Aleta. Let's go."

The neon glow of the casino faded behind you as you exited the casino, the servitor following silently at your heels. You scanned the bright neon streets, searching for some kind of back access point that would lead to the back of the building. Every city had its hidden veins, back alleys used for deliveries and discreet disposal.

A narrow alley snagged your eye, a sliver between towering casino facades. It reeked of stale grease and overflowing trash bins – perfect. You went in deeper. Filth overflowed from containers, the stench a familiar, almost comforting Hive aroma. Parked along the tarmac, cargo levi-ships rested like slumbering metal beasts.

And deeper in, hidden behind the vehicles, you saw it. A lone figure sprawled on the ground, unmistakable in their chrome-plated "metal man" aesthetic – a fallen Platino Tech-Priest. As a hiver, violence was a grim fact of life, but the weight of someone's death distracted you all the same.

There, nestled in the grimy shadows behind the man, stood a levi-trolley. Four Platino-branded plastic barrels rested on its platform.

A steely glint entered your eyes. You scanned the alley, your senses on high alert. No witnesses. Swiftly, you grasped the trolley's handle, the cool metal sending a shiver down your spine. Heaving it with surprising ease, you propelled it out of the alleyway's cramped confines and into the quieter neighbourhoods of Vassioport. Having explored around earlier, and the map, was paying dividends.

---

The clerk at the Crash Zone, a tie-dye clad dude with a perpetually glazed expression, eyed you and Aleta, then the barrels on the platform beside you. "Whoa, dude," he drawled, "Like, all this stuff ain't gonna fit in one room. It'd be major tiny, ya dig?"

Aleta, ever stoic, remained silent while you considered your options. "Maybe, like, two rooms?" he suggested, offering a solution with the enthusiasm of a sloth trying to climb a tree. "And, uh, another one just for the barrels?"

"We'll fit." you countered. "Two rooms."

The clerk shrugged, the embodiment of "not my circus, not my monkeys." "Whatever levitates your ship, man. Two rooms it is."

* -20 credits *
* -20 credits *
* 45 credits remaining *

---

A groan escaped your lips as you stirred awake. You woke up slumped on the narrow floor of your barely bed-sized room, with your head against the cool plastic of one of the barrels, with the other behind it. Above you, the bed frame loomed precariously, laid on top of them both. After using Aleta's incredible brute strength to help you get them back on the levi-trolley, you checked out, and reached into your pocket for the tarot once more.

File: Tarot3.png (1.26 MB, 671x638)

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* You may now draw cards (>>5943408). Votes come after that, as usual *

1 - 3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81 - 97: [NO].
98 - 100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>5949585
>If we wander around *insert poor, sketchy neighbourhood name* right around the corner will we be able to safely find a fence that will give us a decent price for our Zlatino titty fluid barrels?

Someone should also ask a question scavenging or buying cheaply our next meal. Assuming we don't find someplace to easily sell 3 of the 4 barrels. Probably also ask about the chapel again, though we could just go there regardless of any questions, or lack of them.

Wonder what the dead tech priest was about.

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>5949585
Will we be able to find a good dealer for our Zlatino Barrels?

>>5949596
God Damn alright then pal. Time to go be your good church boy then.

>>5949598
>>5949596
I think you might want to ask another question, it directly contradicts mine, I think.

>>5949596
>>5949599

I think so too, and it's possible that they missed your post while reading the update without auto-refresh.

I'll let you (Hunter, WvhlZ6Fz) reroll.

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>5949585
>"Is the Zlatino Tech-Guild doing tech-heresy?"

>>5949602
Hanged*, oops

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>5949605
It’s fine mate, alright in that case.
“Can we get more Zlatino barrels to capture?”

>>5949606
Whoops, meant to spell hang sorry.
And it looks like we aren’t going to get any more barrels after this trade, so hopefully we can get really good deal with a trader on these things.

>>5949609
We can always keep one. Just check the barrels to see which fluid is most important for maintenance of Aleta, or most relevant for Anon's fetishes and keep that one. Or siphon off a bottle's worth of each and sell either three of the four or all four of them.

Per >>5949127 a full barrel is 25000, and a smaller wine bottle sized amount goes for 300. I expect we'll get half that price because both the dealer and us need a fair cut and the dealer is selling illegally and has to undercut the market price. I wouldn't sell for less than half though, since the dealer wouldn't be dealing with manufacturing and marketing costs.

>>5949602
Mhm. Not necessarily contradictory.
Being given a good price ( a fair offer), does not mean that we will get a reputable, professional, or non-malevolent fence.
A Scam artist. A Undercover arbite. A slimeball gangster.

>>5949585
As for my question.
> Should I bring Aleta along when I offer my services to the Ecclesiarchy?

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>5949622

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>Did Aleta have an important identity before she became a Servitor?

>>5949651
Womp Womp.

Literally a nobody. Sad.

Rolled 1 (1d100)

Are the Zlatino fluids useful in the care and maintenance of Aleta?

>>5949803
Well, it sure fucking seems like they are now in this case.

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>5949806
Will the church be happy if we brought Aleta in with us for prayer?

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Summary:

>>5949592
>If we wander around *insert poor, sketchy neighbourhood name* right around the corner will we be able to safely find a fence that will give us a decent price for our Zlatino titty fluid barrels?
[WEAK YES]

>>5949603
>"Is the Zlatino Tech-Guild doing tech-heresy?"
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5949606
>"Can we get more Zlatino barrels to capture?"
[NO]

>>5949622
> Should I bring Aleta along when I offer my services to the Ecclesiarchy?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5949651
>Did Aleta have an important identity before she became a Servitor?
[EXTREME NO]

>>5949803
>Are the Zlatino fluids useful in the care and maintenance of Aleta?
[EXTREME YES]

>>5949807
>Will the church be happy if we brought Aleta in with us for prayer?
>[UNCERTAIN]

-

Yesterday's escape from the casino and your sleepiness had left you with little time to inspect your loot.

Kneeling, you scrutinized the plastic containers. Each bore labels and seals in High Gothic sprawled across them in bold, imposing letters – somewhat decipherable thanks to your modestly fluent Low Gothic skills. Below it the titles, a sea of technical jargon swam beyond comprehension. The seals bore the inscriptions "Approved - Vassioport (something)" and "Chemical (something) - Vassioport (something)".

"Aleta, do you know what these are?" you asked, figuring that she might have some idea.

"Of course, Mr. Anon," she replied, emotionless. Then, a sudden mechanical whirring filled the air, followed by a jarringly cheerful jingle. You braced yourself.

"When it comes to quality, there's only one name to trust: Zlatino!" Aleta's voice boomed in a pre-recorded, overly enthusiastic tone. Her eyes glazed over momentarily as she transformed into a walking advertisement.

"This is... Synthetic Blood Fluid! Keep your servitor in tip-top shape with this convenient product! Simply apply to designated port, and voila! No specialist Tech-Priest required!" Aleta gestured towards one of the barrels with a metallic hand.

The pre-recorded voice continued, "General Fat Imitation Oil... Bust Volume Imitation Oil!..." Aleta thrust her chest out with the last one, gears whirring faintly. "...and! -"

Suddenly, Aleta froze. Her voice became flat, devoid of emotion. "In-house military-grade lubricant 213-J-Gamma, internal use only, not for sale." The commercial jingle abruptly cut off.

Then, with a snap, Aleta was back to her artificially cheerful self. "Import your Zlatino products from anywhere! Use them anywhere! And remember: Quality guaranteed!"

Finally, the jingle played again, and Aleta blinked, snapping out of her commercial trance. "There you have it, Mr. Anon," she said in her usual monotone.

"Right." you muttered, wondering about the whole 'military grade' thing. You raised a brow at the labels. Anyways, why sell separate the bust and fat oils if they were both well, just fat, no? Maybe the marketing ploy worked better that way? You wouldn't know, of course. Your knowledge of feminine anatomy was purely "academic".

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---

Leaving Aleta back at the sterile hotel lobby to guard the barrels, just around the corner, you entered the Footwash neighbourhood, as marked on your map. A stark contrast to the vibrant casino district, here the streets were grimy and the air thick with a stale, acrid odor. Emaciated figures shuffled along the sidewalks, their eyes vacant and unfocused. Women, their faces caked in garish makeup and dressed in almost nothing, leaned against grimy walls as they smoked. The air hung heavy with a miasma of cheap stimulants and decay.

Ahead, in a vast open-air parking lot, a fence market sprawled across the asphalt, each vendor using their vehicle as a makeshift stall. Open trunks and hoods displayed a macabre collection of wares – stolen luxury car parts glinted under the flickering streetlights, nestled beside exotic jewelry, weapons, and suspicious little baggies.

Of course, you were no stranger to these kinds of places. These sort of markets are where your mother, God-Emperor bless her soul, used to score you good shoes, decent clothes (ones that didn't itch, you remembered fondly), and maybe even a book for your state catechesis classes before that damn overdose took her. You knew the drill: keep your eyes peeled but your mouth shut, feign disinterest in your true prize, and throw out a few false leads to mask your intentions.

After a bit of strategic snooping around, you got the skinny that your Zlatino barrels - if legit - could be sold here to a certain fellow for about 15,000 - 18,000 creds each. You also found a section overflowed with all manner of "going out" dresses, frilly maid outfits, and even streetwear, all tailored specifically for the larger proportions favored by higher-class Glitterport clientele; coming at about 100 creds each.

Thirty minutes. That's all it took to navigate the labyrinthine alleys and give the fence market a short look. Back at the hotel lobby, you surveyed the loot – the barrels and the silent Aleta.

The deck was still cold. What do you do?

Barrels?
> Sell them all
> Make Aleta's bust enormous with the bust one, buy her a new maid outfit, sell the rest.
> Keep them all for now

Do?
> Go to the chapel, reveal yourself as someone with special abilities.
> Go check your options for getting a ride to elsewhere on the Glitterglobe, what that place is like and the price to go there.
> Go visit a large mall and check the prices on stuff (write-in up to three stores/kind of items to check, I'll do most if not all of the write-ins if this option wins).
> Inspect the fence market more in depth, check the prices on stuff (write-in up to three stores/kind of items to check, I'll do most if not all of the write-ins if this option wins).
> Socialize with the people at the fence market, try to make contacts.
> Write-in

>>5949885
Okay, all of this shit aside from the fat/boob fluid is really important. I say we keep the synthetic blood and siphon off at least a couple of bottles of the military lubricant. Still, that lubricant is probably the most valuable, so it is still worth selling. We just need to make sure we have enough for ourselves.

>>5949886
Barrels
>Keep the Synthetic Blood barrel, siphon of two or three bottles of the military lubricant, and one bottle of each of the fat types. Then sell all everything except the bottles and synthetic blood. Buy a maid outfit.

If we don't have bottles or tubing to siphon stuff, just quickly dumpster dive or purchase some from the vendors.

> Go visit a large mall and check the prices on stuff (Food, clothes that fit and don't itch, plus a backpack from the same store, a premium dataslate without adware).

>Zlatino may or may not dable in tech heresy
>we pilfered their maintenance oils
>including one that's only for use by Zlatino themselves
We fence any of these we're likely to die at the hands of Zlatino Ruststalkers.
>>5949886
>Keep them all for now
They're all used for maintenance of our servitor, might aswell keep them.
>Go to the chapel, reveal yourself as someone with special abilities.
Try to find the same Deacon we spoke to on our last visit. Show him the Tarot and tell him we asked it for guidance after our last visit, and it showed us that we had a purpose to fullfill in service to the Ecclesiarchy.

>>5949896
Forgot to quickly say, remember guys, we're not rich yet, we literally only have 45 credits. Unless we sell something here. So worrying about either working/gambling for our next meal and actually eating at the correct times of the day is actually important still, assuming anons choose not to sell.

I do think selling is good though, the deck said we got away undetected, and someone snitching on us sounds like a good way to get themselves killed for being involved in...you know, selling the stolen product, or betraying the dealer if they were just an observer to the deal going down. Not to mention the cat is already out of the bag given that we've already inquired about it, and people already know we've been snooping around asking about prices. May as well solve our money problem at least.

>>5949897
Eh. Are the fats really necessary? Will they erode on a barely human cyborg? Like I said, I think a few siphoned bottles is enough. The lubricants and blood sound pretty important though.

>>5949908
Eh no matter what else comes along to be voted upon, I am absolutely always going to vote for this option.
> Make Aleta's bust enormous with the bust one.
It would be both a sin and a disappointment to not please him on earth by giving ourselves truly something spectacular to have like a pair of enormous tits. For Anon’s sake, this option must win!

>>5949923
You do you anon. I'm more of a 'medium is premium' kinda guy, but Aleta is literally built to be fitted for taste and adjusted as desired, so w/e.

File: moni.gif (2.39 MB, 200x150)

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>>5949886
> Make Aleta's bust enormous with the bust one, buy her a new maid outfit, sell the rest.
> Go visit a large mall and check the prices on stuff (write-in up to three stores/kind of items to check, I'll do most if not all of the write-ins if this option wins).
>Weapons
>Big motorcycle or similar with a large cargo capacity
>Drip

BIG BUCKS AND BIG RACKS

> Keep them all for now
> Go to the chapel, and reveal yourself as someone with special abilities.

>>5949896
I disagree we should go to the Chapel and get a better form of living area find a way to make use of our ability to make money and find someplace that could be used as a hideout or safe place to live.

ALL THE BARRELS ARE NECESSARY FOR MAINTENANCE REMEMBER?!?!?!

For goodness sake keep the fluids and get protection from the Chapel to strengthen our power, and begin fortune telling and divining for pay, and luxuries.

Rolled 16 (1d100)

> Will giving Aleta a massive bust threaten her ability to protect me and cause issues with her efficiency or performance.

>>5949803
Please look at this and remember.

>>5949957
Based Truth from the Big man himself! You heard the Man, Big is best no matter what!

>makes five posts of sperg in quick succession instead of just condensing it to a single post
Lives up to the name he gave himself at least.

>>5949954
I agree we should switch living areas before night time. I don't agree with the use of the barrels.

If people don't want to sell here, or hell, even if they do, then that means worrying about our next meal, which means choosing to eat before heading to the church. Like, this is basic order of operations for daily life. You eat before you work right? If we choose to have an instant influx of cash then we could skip over having to choose to eat and stuff and that could all be handled in the background and summarized by QM. But while we are still poor, where we spend our very limited supply of money is important. How is this hard to understand?

>>5949957
The deck is still 'cold' remember. We do the question phase, then action phase, not both at once. Or are you just joke rolling?

>>5949958
I remember, but the way your question is phrased makes the answer unclear. Contrary to >>5949956 I think it is pretty easy to conclude that not all four barrels are necessary for her maintenance, just some. Like, do you really need boob oil and fat oil to keep a servitor running? And in such high quantities?

>>5949959
? His question and answer literally says giving her massive boobs makes her worse at protecting us and worsens her performance. Thankfully it is non-canon.

Okay I concede that I may have reacted harshly, I wait for QM to mitigate and will accept the ultimate decision

>>5949970
No worries man, slip-ups happen to the best of us. I appreciate your discussion and insights regardless and I look forwards to more.

This >>5949957 roll is indeed not canon, because it's not the tarot/question/roll phase.

>>5949886
I'll switch to support >>5949897 since we're tied up and it is my preference if we choose not to be particular with which barrels we sell. I don't want to sell all of them, just some.

>>5949970
Eh, I wouldn't say your reaction was harsh, just a little excited.

>>5949897
Supporting.

While we have little money for now, I want to see how things play out before we sell off the Oils. While our money is limited at this second, we might end up getting something like a stipend which will allow us to hold onto the barrels until we get a better price or other use for them.

>>5949897
Supporting.

>>5949897
+1

>>5949897
I'll back this. Gigantic titties are great but they're also attention grabbing and if anyone associated with Zlatino catches on, we're dead. We've got to be smart.

>>5950204
I'm >>5949603, again.

>>5949897
+1

File: DeaconB.png (187 KB, 485x443)

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>Keep them all for now
>Go to the chapel, reveal yourself as someone with special abilities.

You decide to keep the barrels and go to the Imperial Chapel and try to meet up with the Deacon that you met before.

Soon, the imposing silhouette of the government building loomed before you once more, and unsure if you should bring the barrels in with you, you leave Aleta to guard them outside.

---

Inside the chapel, the air hung heavy with incense and murmured prayers. Artifical sunlight filtering through stained glass windows cast an ethereal glow on the worn pews. You scanned the room, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. There, in the soft light of a flickering candle, sat the Deacon from your earlier encounter.

"Deacon!" you called out, your voice a touch too loud in the hushed reverence of the chapel. He turned, a gentle smile softening his weathered features.

"Ah, it's you again," he chuckled softly. "What brings you back to the house of the God-Emperor today?"

Guilt gnawed at you. You shuffled your feet and ran a hand through your already messy hair, the ingrained fear of witchcraft warring with your newfound determination. "I, uh," you stammered, "it's not easy to say."

He studied you with kind eyes, sensing your struggle. "Take your time, son," he encouraged.

You took another deep breath, the words catching in your throat. "I'm a witch," you finally blurted, the word tasting like ash on your tongue. "A psyker. And I..." you hesitated, then continued in a rush, "I want to put my abilities to the service of the Emperor!"

The Deacon raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, quickly replaced by a look of quiet admiration. "That's a brave decision, coming forward like this," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Tell me, young man, what is your name?"

"Anon," you mumbled sheepishly.

"Well, Anon," he replied, a warm smile gracing his lips, "you can call me Benedict." He gestured to a nearby bench, inviting you to sit. "Now, tell me more about this idea of yours. What makes you think you are a psyker?"

You reached into your pocket, pulling out the deck of Emperor's Tarot. Its sleek, psycho-reactive wafers gleamed in the dim light. "This," you declared, "The Emperor's Tarot. I can use it. It answers my questions, and it's... well, it's never wrong."

Benedict's eyes widened. "The Emperor's Tarot?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. "And where, precisely, did you acquire this thing?"

You avoided his gaze, a wave of heat creeping up your neck. "It, uh, it was in the prize display at an arcade," you mumbled, hoping he wouldn't pry further.

The Deacon's demeanor shifted abruptly. He made a sharp whistle, like the shriek of a startled bird, pierced the reverent hush of the chapel. "Sister Diamond!" he called, his voice urgent. "We have a potential G-12 here, possibly a H-34 and T-2 as well."

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Before you could register his words, a blur of black and silver descended from a balcony above. A Sister of Battle, encased in power armor that gleamed faintly in the stained-glass light, landed with a bone-jarring thud. Her cold bolter was now pressed directly into your temple. Instinct kicked in, and you flinched back, but the Sister's armored hand clamped down on your skull, pinning you back in place.

"Easy there, Anon" a gruff voice rasped from behind the visor. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"Don't panic, Anon," the Deacon said quickly, his voice reassuring despite the tension that crackled around you. "This is just a precaution, for your safety and ours."

Sweat beaded on your forehead despite the cool air of the chapel. You stammered out a reply, "O-of course, father."

---

[YES]... [NO]... [WEAK YES]... [NO]...

"The coin is in your right hand." you declared, after asking the Tarot once it got warm again.

"Correct... Again." A blind man with long black hair, Septimus, sat across from you, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Then, a long, heavy, uncomfortable silence.

The back room felt sterile and cold, a stark contrast to the ornate chapel on the other side. A single, bare table dominated the space, casting long shadows under the dim flickering of a single flickering bulb. You sat stiffly on a rickety chair, Sister Diamond still beside you, the feel of her bolter a constant reminder of your precarious situation.

"Brother Septimus?" Benedict's voice crackled from a hidden vox-caster. "Everything alright?"

Septimus then hummed, a low, croaking sound that sent shivers down your spine. He held a palm outstretched directly in front of your face, his milky white eyes seeming to focus with unnatural intensity. The minute stretched into an eternity, the silence broken only by your ragged breaths.

"Septimus?" Benedict insisted.

Finally, Septimus retracted his hand. "This... man," he rasped, his voice rough and impatient. "He seems adept at masking his psychic signature somehow."

Confused, you blurted out, "What do you mean? I'm not hiding anything."

His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Are you trying to hold it back right now? Your... power? Answer, yes or no!"

You shook your head, fear constricting your throat. "No, no."

Septimus slowly leaned back. "Intriguing. Then his psychic imprint registers around... Ordinal Pi or Omicron, maybe even Xi. That's... ridiculous for someone able to use the Emperor's Tarot. And they're not even Soul-Bound. It's silly."

Septimus's croaking voice rasped, "The Tarot, give it to me." You hesitantly pushed the deck across the table. He snatched it with an unnatural swiftness, his milky eyes seeming to bore into the cards even though he couldn't see them.

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He began shuffling the deck with surprising dexterity, his gnarled fingers moving with a practiced rhythm. Then, with a flourish, he slammed the cards face up on the table. A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you watched him repeat the process – shuffle, slam, repeat. Each time, a wave of heat washed over you, a sensation both foreign and intensely uncomfortable. It wasn't a bodily heat; it felt as if your own skin had somehow transferred to the location of the deck, burning with a chilling intensity.

Finally, on the fourth iteration, Septimus stopped. The heat vanished as abruptly as it came. He stared at the cards, his brow furrowed in a deep crease. "Ah," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "I think I see the problem now."

"To explain it in terms we can understand... think of the Emperor's Tarot as a finely tuned instrument," he said, his voice raspy but surprisingly clear. "Too much psychic force and you overblow the notes, rendering the melody meaningless. It requires a... careful touch, and a lot of finesse. Especially with the way that this deck in particular has been calibrated."

"Most psykers," he continued, "are born with similar levels of inherent raw power and their ability to command it, consciously or subconsciously. However, with you, Anon, it seems the balance is skewed. I speculate that you hardly have any raw power, but you innately have

... *obscene* levels of dexterity."

The implication hung heavy in the air. "Unheard of," Septimus muttered, his brow furrowed. "But, extrapolating from what we already understand... I believe we can safely assume that he's hardly a meal for the Other Forces. No need to keep holding these formalities, Sister."

Diamond hesitated, her grip tightening on the bolter for a fleeting moment before she reluctantly holstered it.

"Frankly." Septimus continued. "I don't know what we could do with the man. His strength is going to be far too... pathetic to succeed at the typical psyker curriculum, and nobody has the preparation to train someone like him in... anything. Yes, we have had cases of people being innately skilled but low-power, just, not to this... extreme."

"There's no rush to decide his ultimate future." Benedict's voice soothed over the vox. "He will need basic education regardless. We can send him to the Schola Progenium for now until we can figure something out, yes?"

Septimus rudely snorted in amusement, "Basic education, yes, of course. But, Anon, how old are you?"

You squirmed under his unyielding gaze. "Twenty... something," you mumbled, unsure how this revelation might affect their decision. (Maybe even thirty by now? You didn't keep track.)

Benedict interjected, his tone clipped, "Age shouldn't be an issue."

---

A hint of pride flickered in Benedict's eyes as he straightened your jacket and collar at the chapel entrance, and stuffed your deck back into your pocket. "Alright, Anon," he began, slapping the side of your shoulders, his voice warm. "Tomorrow's the big day. School starts bright and early at five – the Schola's right down the street, that big building over there, can't miss it. Ends whenever the instructors say so, could be a long day. Be there early, make a good first impression, alright?"

He paused, then reached into his robes and produced a rolled-up scroll. "Here, this is for you, give it to them tomorrow. Any trouble, any questions at all, don't hesitate to come back here. Understand? It's my job to help." A beat of silence. "The Emperor expects great things from you, Anon. I have a feeling you won't disappoint."

* Obtained Church's Schola Order *

You nodded, overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. "Thank you, Benedict," you managed, sincerity heavy in your voice. "I... I truly appreciate it."

A faint, knowing smile played on the Deacon's lips. "Just serving the Emperor, son."

---

It's about midday, and the deck feels warm and ready to be used again, but with a odd tinge of... something. Something that reminded you of the caustic heat from Septimus from earlier.

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* You may now draw cards (>>5943408). Votes for what action to take come after that, as usual *

* Septimus's use of your deck and his excessive psychic power to do so has knocked your Emperor's Tarot temporarily off-balance. Only for this round, all dicerolls with dice that show dubs (rolled 11, 22, 33, etc) are a result of [UNCERTAIN] instead of their normal value. *

1 - 3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81 - 97: [NO].
98 - 100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

Can someone help me brainstorm I have no idea on what to ask.

>>5950592
Same, I’m coming up with a blank myself.

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>5950582
> If I conduct some research on the Church's schola order - will I learn something that will help me leave a better first impression on my instructors?

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>5950582
Would (that random official-looking chapel person) be helpful and have useful ideas for how to cultivate my unique psyker traits?

>>5950592
>>5950602

Some of our current problems are:

- Money, food, where to live
- What the "enemies of the Emperor" danger is (>>5945093)
- We're still awkwardly dragging around Zlatino barrels in broad daylight
- How to progress our psyker abilities, nobody seems to know (ironically we have the best power for figuring out how to do that)
- We're still maidenless (Aleta doesn't count)

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>Will the deacon help me with the storage or sale of Zlatino Fluids without scamming or any other outright financial scam towards me, including refusal?

PRAY FOR A LOW ROLL AND NO DOUBLE!!! FOR THE EMPEROR!

>>5950645
My lucky streak is still going strong.

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>5950582
>Will it be in my best interest use the General Fat Imitation Oil on Aleta?

Rolled 95 (1d100)

IP keeps wandering in weird ways, so biting the bullet and being a trip

>>5950622
I'll go for a bit of insight on the Enemies of the Emperor.

> Has the Schola Progenium been infiltrated by any Enemies of the Emperor?

>>5950679
Nice

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>5950582
Is the food going to be decent?

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>5950582
>Will I have good classmates?

>>5950717
oh no. Someone ask if we will learn a lot or have the chance to learn a lot.

>>5950715
>>5950717
One question per anon lad.
I don't think your second question will be processed.

>>5950722
that's good hope there is another anon that can make the same question and get a lower roll.

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>5950622
“Can we try and find a safe place to train our psychic powers?”

>>5950724
>>5950740
Alright, now I feel bad for missing that when I made by question and then my roll and the past 5 posts suddenly showed up, but on the bright side, we can definitely find some place that will absolutely be safe for us to train our psychic powers without getting found out and burned, or overload ourselves and blow up.

Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>5950582
Do our psychic powers have any potential for independent precognition?

>>5950748
Yeah, that makes sense. We're WEAK in terms of raw power but likely Alpha+ tier for stability and control.

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>>5950613
> If I conduct some research on the Church's schola order - will I learn something that will help me leave a better first impression on my instructors?
[WEAK YES]

>>5950618
>Would (that random official-looking chapel person) be helpful and have useful ideas for how to cultivate my unique psyker traits?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5950645
>Will the deacon help me with the storage or sale of Zlatino Fluids without scamming or any other outright financial scam towards me, including refusal?
[YES]

>>5950669
>Will it be in my best interest use the General Fat Imitation Oil on Aleta?
[EXTREME YES]

>>5950679
> Has the Schola Progenium been infiltrated by any Enemies of the Emperor?
[NO]

>>5950715
> Is the food going to be decent?
[UNCERTAIN]

>>5950740
>“Can we try and find a safe place to train our psychic powers?”
[YES]

>>5950748
>Do our psychic powers have any potential for independent precognition?
[WEAK NO]
As mentioned before, I don't allow you to Schrodinger yourself new abilities, but you are indeed allowed to ask these questions and I will respond ex cathedra. It just happens that this one rolled the correct answer anyways.

---

The Deacon generously allowed you to store three barrels back in the chapel's underground storage for now. You were left with the General Fat Imitation Oil - the one the Tarot practically screamed at you to use with an "Extreme Yes."

But the thought of Aleta as a chubby mess left you cold. "Could it just go... like, all to your boobs?" you grumbled.

Aleta's monotone voice chimed in, "Negative. Localized application is not possible. It is general only."

Sigh. "Is it reversible?" you hoped.

"Yes" she began, "but permanent stretching will occur."

Ugh. Scam. Double sigh. But the Tarot... With a resigned sigh, you ordered, "Alright, Aleta. Apply the whole thing. This whole barrel. Go."

She produced a collapsible tube from her metallic depths and attached it to the barrel and a port on her back. The barrel tilted, the golden liquid gurgling as it filled Aleta's synthetic form. Her once sleek figure stretched and bulged, morphing into a caricature of human obesity. Just as the last drop drained from the barrel, a guttural roar echoed through the air – in High Gothic, which you could somewhat parse, coming from outside, at the building next door.

"PURGE THE GLITTERGLOBE MUTANTS! PURGE THE MUTANTS OF THE ELITE! PURGE THE MUTANT! THE MUTANT!!!..." the voice bellowed, followed by a terrifying string of unfamiliar words. "PRAISE THE GOD-EMP---!"

Then, the world erupted. Gunfire rattled, a muffled boom resonated, and a torrent of fire and glass shot out as the chapel's side windows shattered. Aleta reacted instantly, throwing her newly-inflated bulk in front of you, absorbing the brunt of the explosion.

The chaos subsided as abruptly as it began. Smoke filled the air, and the only sounds were crackling flames and the distant wail of sirens. A horrifying sight awaited you. The front half of your servitor was a grotesque mess, synthetic fat melting and dripping like burning oil. Shards of glass embedded themselves deep in the charred gunk. Aleta's head, now a charred parody of its former self, turned towards you, revealing a layer of surprisingly human-like skin beneath.

"Mr. Anon," Aleta rasped, her voice a distorted echo through the melted mess that was once her face. "Are you... unharmed?"

You blinked, ears still ringing in the aftermath of the explosion. A cursory check revealed no injuries – you were miraculously unscathed. Glancing around, you saw others weren't so lucky. A few figures lay sprawled, charred and bleeding amidst the debris.

"You?" you choked out, eyes fixed on Aleta's molten form.

"Outer shell compromised," she stated with unnerving efficiency despite the horror show her body presented. "Complete replacement required. Recommend 'Sharlotte Skin, Aesthetic Finish 1200' from Zlatino – quality guaranteed. All other systems are all at optimal performance."

Sisters of Battle barked orders. "Mobile civilians, evacuate the premises! Out, out, out!"

---

A chill wind whipped through the growing crowd, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the smoke haze lingering from the explosion. You stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd, Aleta's ravaged form a stark reminder of the devastation within. Her outer shell, once pristine and smooth, now hung in tatters, revealing a complex network of wires and servos intertwined with her flesh.

A cacophony of shouts and panicked questions filled the air.

"What in the Emperor's name happened?" a woman shrieked, clutching a child close.

"Inside job, I tell ya! Heretics in the government!"

"I heard it was a suicide bomber!"

"Yeah me too! He said something about 'mutants'!"

"How could they breach security?!"

A man, his face streaked with ash, scanned the crowd with desperate eyes. "Janiss! My son, Janiss! Anyone seen him?"

Cops, clad in riot gear, surged through the throng, their faces grim. One, a burly officer with a scar etched across his cheek, barked orders. "Disperse! You're obstructing the investigation! Move it!" He brandished his shock baton with a menacing glint.

Fear and anger crackled in the air, the crowd a volatile mix of grief and fury.

---

You cast a worried glance at Aleta as you navigated the debris-strewn street, the echoes of sirens and terrified shouts fading into the distance.

"You're really alright?" you asked her, as she was yanking off the last bits of her outer self. She looked a lot more like a normal servitor now, just... a lot more compact than the usual ones you've seen.

"Yes." she admitted. "All essential systems are functioning within optimal parameters"

---

What do you do? The deck is cold.

> Go back to the chapel area and try to find out if the Deacon Benedict, Septimus and others are all alright.
> Look for something to eat, you're very hungry
> Go to the Schola and investigate how it's like
> Look for a "safe place to train our psychic powers", where you can meditate and calm yourself.
> Write in

>>5950811
>Conduct some research on the Schola
This will help us all-around. First impressions are everything.

>>5950811
> Go back to the chapel area and try to find out if the Deacon Benedict, Septimus and others are all alright.
Then
> Go to the Schola and investigate how it's like

>>5950578
Boy, I'm glad we didn't choose to bring Aleta inside. That would've made a mess of things.

>>5950809
wtf

I guess we have a hint of the danger of the Enemies of the Emperor now.

>>5950811
> Go to the Schola and investigate how it's like

I'd love to help people, but the right people to do that are already here. We could help investigate with our Tarot, but the deck is cold. Better to just do what we know will help us, only so much time in the day to research after all. Maybe pick up some food from a street vendor on the way.

>>5950809
Huh. So the Fat roll was for protection against a bomb. I thought that we accidentally stumbled across the Emperor's porn stash.

Anyway, going with >>5950845. It'd be a bad idea to show up at the Schola and it turns out that the guy we got a letter from was incapacitated or killed by the attack. We'd probably get fucked over really hard by that.

>>5950815
+1

Writing

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>Conduct some research on the Schola

Deciding to go research, you continued further down, until you crossed the bustling street, Aleta following you, the imposing Schola Progenium dominating the view. Its architecture, while adorned with the righteous might of Imperial iconography, held a faint echo of the city's vibrant casinos. Stepping into the bar across the street, the air was thick with the aroma of hops and grilled meats. A man with a handlebar mustache and a well-worn bartender's apron polished a glass with practiced ease.

"Sandwich, please," you requested, even if the price tag threatened to break the ten-credit barrier. Your stomach ached with hunger. "That's the Schola Progenium back there, yeah?"

* -9 credits *

The bartender beamed, pride radiating from him like sunbeams. "Vassioport State Schola Progenium, finest there is! My own boy, studies there. On track to become a Commissar, mind you."

"A Commissar, that's fantastic! How are his studies going? What's the Schola like these days?"

"Top-notch, sir, top-notch!" he boomed, his laughter echoing through the bar. "Combat simulators so real you'd swear you were on the front lines! Finest instructors, top-of-the-line gear – a far cry from my days, that's for sure!" He chuckled. "We had to pretend-shoot with broken lasguns! Silly times, those were. But look at Vassioport now! The Schola's better than ever! Breeds the finest defenders of the Imperium, that place does."

"That's great," you leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "Combat sims sound intense. Does he ever talk about the academics? Strategy, history, that kind of thing?"

The bartender leaned back on the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Absolutely! Strategy's half the battle, wouldn't you say? They've got instructors who are veterans themselves, fought all across the galaxy. Teach you everything you need to know about battlefield formations, flanking maneuvers, exploiting enemy weaknesses. My Gregor keeps coming home spouting all these fancy terms – outflanking, pincer movements, sounds complicated but vital stuff, I reckon."

"Are there any specific qualities the Schola looks for in their students? What would make a good first impression?" you continue.

The bartender leaned back, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. "Well, they obviously want the strong-willed, the ones with a fire for the Emperor in their hearts. But beyond that... let's see. Here's what I tell Gregor: punctuality, respect for authority, and a willingness to learn. Show them you're dedicated, eager to serve the Imperium, and you'll do just fine."

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A middle-aged woman in a fancy glitter dress but with a foreign accent similar to yours slid onto a barstool next to you, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes flicked towards the imposing Schola Progenium across the street, then back to you. "But getting into that Schola takes a lot of..." she rubbed her thumb into her fingers for a 'money' sign, a sly grin spreading across her face. "It ain't no place for orphans with empty pockets, hmmm?"

She chuckled again, downing a hefty gulp of her pint.

The bartender, catching the woman's insinuation, boomed with laughter. "Good thing I have you, woman, to pay for so many drinks to keep up with my boy's tuition, eh?"

The woman cackled, throwing her head back and holding up her drink. "That's right you sonnovabitch!", both then erupted into laughter.

---

Anxiety gnawed at you as you retraced your steps towards the imposing Schola Progenium. Keeping a low profile, you tried to merge with the bustling crowd. Nearing the entrance, your gaze snagged on a bulletin board plastered with colorful posters. One advertised a student military parade – a chance for proud parents to witness their offspring's grace and discipline. Another boasted of specialized tutoring classes, while a third, emblazoned with a skull and crossed boltguns, sent a jolt through you – a conference by a Space Marine! Here, at this very Schola?

Reaching the bottom of the board, you spotted a stack of pamphlets. Slipping one into your pocket with practiced stealth, you continued walking, your mind already devouring the contents. The pamphlet extolled the virtues of the Schola, boasting of the finest education Vassioport had to offer. It spoke of unwavering faith, rigorous discipline, and fostering camaraderie amongst students from diverse Imperial cultures – a necessity in such a cosmopolitan city, you supposed. Finally, the pamphlet segued from inter-Imperial friendship to drone on about "tolerance" and "acceptance" in a more ambiguous, broad way. Each repetition felt like a needle prick under your skin. Back in your hive city, such concepts were whispered about with suspicion, even by those who meant well. A Trojan horse to heresy.

---

Your deck of the Emperor's Tarot felt warm again, and Septimus' weighing influence on it seems to have faded away entirely.

* You may now draw cards (>>5943408). Votes for what action to take come after that, as usual *

1 - 3: [EXTREME YES]. The result is not only "Yes", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.
4 - 20: [YES].
21 - 40: [WEAK YES]. This is a "Yes", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
41 - 60: [UNCERTAIN].
61 - 80: [WEAK NO]. This is a "No", but with a certain twist, caveat, missing detail.
81 - 97: [NO].
98 - 100: [EXTREME NO]. The result is not only "No", but so to an extraordinary, exaggerated degree.

I probably should have made Anon recall this in-character, but, as a QM I did not forget about this:

> Has the Schola Progenium been infiltrated by any Enemies of the Emperor?
[NO]

Rolled 66 (1d100)

Odd place for the Imperium. We know its not been infiltrated by Enemies of the Emperor at least.

Don't think I'll delve into them this time. Instead, will try to find out about Aleta a bit.

> Does Aleta possess the ability to develop into a self-actualized individual?

Let's see if she can fully become a person or will be stuck in her programming.