The Plecian Tome (Light of Terra) (500CP)
The Pleician Tome is a portable font of certain archives, templates and pieces of ancient lore, created by a senior Tech-priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus and used by Techmarines.
Even to a trained eye, the information is a seemingly random collection, with no easy means of navigation, and so it takes much study to glean anything relevant to a particular task.
Indeed, only those with a wide knowledge of Machine Spirits and engine lore have any hope of understanding the information contained within, however, those with patience and the appropriate skills can find secrets of great use within the datacore, secrets dating back to the fabled Dark Age of Technology.
END LIBRARY PURCHASE ORDER
End-Node User Points Balance: 0 CP
[Brockton Bay Sanitation Site]
With two[Magos Designation]and[Binharic Weaving], I was certain that I could extract and comprehend the contents of the[Plecian Tome]. I wasn't too familiar with the lore of such an item, but it sounded like it had exactly what I needed: Archeotech.
After all, I had to find some way to spend my time while I waited for the raw materials for my first android waifu to arrive. Same-day delivery did not exist in Earth-Bet. Especially when it was a truckload of stuff. You would not believe how complicated the fabrication of a semi-autonomous android was, and how many specialised machines were required to even begin fabrication. Even more so to even think of making the perfect android vagina.
So this[Plecian Tome]sounded like the perfect time sink. Who knows, I may be able to glean some useful tech from it…
Skulls and gears gilded onto its solid metal cover, with worn but incredibly sturdy parchment pages. The combined knowledge of my Magos Designation gave me enough knowledge to realise that this wasn't a book meant to be read by sight: the real content wasn't written on the pages. This was an exabyte datacore disguised as a book. A million terabytes of data filled this 'book'…
Hurriedly (but very reverently) I linked my Cranial Implants to my cogitator and began extracting/reading its contents. The Servo-Skulls around me singing binharic psalms and prayers all the while…
I started my journey at the latest entry…
Commencing Plecian Tome Extraction…
Day 23,972…of trying to get less shoddy eldar prostitutes. This whackass webway tech is still as temperamental and pissy as Magnus whenever I say no to his attempts at the psyker-equivalent of dipping his danglies into a pool of hungry sharks. The smartest part of him must have dripped down the side of the beaker I jacked off in. The over-thinking fucktard should be grateful that I even… Where was I? Oh, right. Eldar Prostitutes. This time, ones who are clean of space STD.
TheSpatial-KinesisEldarEscortTranslocator Machine (aka the Fuck you, Malacador, I can name it whatever I want machine) ready for latest round of testing.
LatestS.K.E.E.T. Machineblueprint version 0.81.543 as attached.
Alright. Psychic wards in place. Fingers crossed that this time it might finally work as intended. Because my balls are in desperate need to be emptied- preferably by one of those kinky Biel-Tan redheads. Initiating test run of the S.K.E.E.T. machine. Skeet, skeet, skee-
Magnus?! What Flying Fuck Are You Doing?!
End Plecian Tome Extraction
"No…" I murmured in shock and awe- a rising tone of reverence in my modulated voice. Because right there, at the very first bytes was an electronic signature that every Magos on Mars have revered for the past ten thousand years.
"This wasn't the book of some senior tech priest… This was the tech-journal of the Emperor himself."
"I… I understand now." I mumurmed, falling to my metal knees. "So, this was why the Adeptus Mechanicus worshipped him. Never before have I felt such a feeling of kinship and respect for another being. Because the emperor… He, too, furthered technology in a relentless pursuit of pussy."
Closing the Plecian Tome, I turned to face the dozen of Servo-skulls, and I held the tome over my head.
"In the name of the Emperor, I shall follow in his footsteps!" I loudly declared, "PRAISE THE EMPEROR!"
And the Servo-skulls praised alongside me.
Praise! Praise! Praise!
And it may have been a trick of light, or a slight malfunction in my bionic eyes… but for the briefest moments, I thought I saw a great fatherly hand in an immaculate golden gauntlet push through the clouds to give me a thumbs up.
(A few days later) [Protectorate HQ a.k.a. 'The Rig']
"His name is Magos." Director Emily Piggot's calm voice began- tapping her aluminium pointer stick against the projected image of a mechanical man in a red robes, "And I have one thing to ask everyone in this briefing…"
The Wards, the Protectorate, and a few consultants, all sat around a massive dark-wood conference table as she met their eyes one by one.
"How the hell was this allowed to happen?" Piggot demanded emphatically- her blonde bob cut swaying.
"Ma'am, would you please make your question more specific?" Armsmaster fearlessly asked, and the director took a deep, calming breath.
"How the hell did a Tinker… Arrive in my city, set up a base, develop and distribute software to hundreds of millions of people, become a multi-millionaire, stroll right into the city centre, properly file his taxes, stroll right out, purchase a few acres of property, and construct his evil lair… All while we have been unable to either stop him or properly track his movements? In fact, we barely know anything about him."
And to prove her point, she picked up a copy of the concerningly-thin dossier the PRT had on Magos, flipping through it like one would a travel brochure- very quickly, because it was incredibly short.
"No information on any of his capabilities, not even a crumb of psych eval, no information on his possible tinker specialisation, no previous contact with any PRT agent or cape." Piggot enumerated, "Do we know anything that isn't pure speculation?"
"He's still human?" Clockblocker suggested, raising his hand.