Inquisitor: Doctrina Malum


Take up your rod and staff, your armour and psycannon, and go forth. – Galbus Heer, Inquisitor Historical

An Evolving Narrative

Missions are ongoing, interconnected writing prompts which allow the community to build upon an evolving story. Agents submit responses to the prompts laid out for each Mission, and once the submissions period closes Agents will vote on their favourite entry. The entry with the most votes will become “Sanctified” by the respective Ordo Patron, and will serve as a basis for the next Mission. This process will lead to the creation of an overarching “seasonal” narrative, spanning several Missions.

Who Will Earn the Favor of the Ordos?

The time has come to cast your lot! The submissions period has closed and an entry from each of these Missions must be selected as the winner. The voting process goes as follows:

  • To vote, simply the submissions and complete the polls on this page.* The story with the highest rating will be given the favor of its Ordo.
    • In the case of a tie, the story with the higher number of reviews will win. If the results still tie, the authors must engage in mortal combat in the Athenaeum’s in-built dueling ring the Lord Inquisitor representing the appropriate Ordo will decide who receives their favor.

  • The winning story will become the subject of focus, deciding the direction of the narrative and becoming incorporated into the holo-vid prompt for the next Mission.
    • All other entries will still be available to read on the site.

*Each poll may only be completed once, though users can vote on multiple polls.

Three Missions - One Winner From Each

Ordo Hereticus Submissions

Halt the Manifesto

The False Shepherd reveals itself once again. Secessionist author Roderik Negalion has begun spreading heretical texts throughout various Imperial worlds. The task of deciphering and transcribing his writings falls to you, Throne Agent. Recount for Lord Aspar one of Negalion's nefarious texts.

The Favored Entry:

Dear Lady Kasilda,

My deepest apologies for abandoning you in such a rush. I hope I did not offend you, but I had to answer the Lord Governor’s summons.

Her Lordship bears such a weight of our world upon herself! We are so far removed from the radiance of Holy Terra that our pleas are often lost to the void, or fall upon deaf ears. It is only by her Lordship’s ingenuity that we have prospered as a people in this wasteland of the Imperium…

Ordo Malleus Submissions

No Deserters

Even the most hardened of souls can be broken by but a glimpse into the workings of the Warp. A group of voidsmen have turned deserter after discovering the truth behind Lord Vult's daemonic quarry. Transcribe for the Ordo a firsthand account from one of these voidsmen, concerning the horrors they experienced.

The Favored Entry:

Chief Petty Officer, Third Class Darius Mynx tried to drown the thought out, but even as he tipped his third glass of amasec back and felt the amber alcohol burn his throat on the way down, he knew there was no denying it. The things he had experienced were…
The empty glass hit the table again, the sound echoing through the packed bar despite the noise of the crowd around him. Mynx had hoped being amongst others would help make him feel connected and human again. But as he sat here, surrounded by the humanity he craved, Mynx knew one thing.

He had never been more alone…

Ordo Xenos Submissions

A Bitter Meal

In the upper echelons of Imperial society, appetites are nigh insatiable. In this case, a group of epicureans has been purchasing an unknown alien biomatter from various black markets. Recount to Lady Melusine a tale of one of these epicureans, their xenos meal, and the results of their heresy.

The Favored Entry:

Almec Caedir awoke to a horrific stinging, his slight frame wracked by a fiery sensation that lanced through him, like sweating acid. His back arched. His legs tensed. His jaw and throat clenched and spasmed in a futile, primal attempt to be free, but he was chained fast to the metal chair, the binders clamped down around his wrists and ankles so tightly that just moving was torturous. It was oppressively hot. The only light in the dark room was a single white stablight, suspended somewhere very, very high overhead, slicing out a narrow cage of light for him in the echoing shadows…