The flame of your pride burns brighter than the other two as you consider the Arechotech Laspistol holstered at your side. But as the Dark Voyage docks at her mothership, you look down at your hands and your visions splits and wavers.

With the first beat of your heart, you see your hands as the ink-flecked hands of the Missionary, tasked with bringing the Emperor's Truth to the darkest places, leaving light or ashes behind you. You would be healer and incinerator, orator and confessor. And the whole time, looking for the corrupting taint of the Ruinous Powers.

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Your heart beats again, and you see your hands as the calloused, silk-gloved hands of the Seneschal, tasked with keeping the records, the budget, and the intrigue webs of your Ship and House. You would be trade-master and spy-master, a prominent peacock of an actor and a grey man blended into a crowd. Always serving under another, you would go where they could not, to see and do what they never could.

With the third beat of your heart, you see your hands as the hooked, pallid flesh of a Navigator, tasked with guiding your Ship through the insanity of the Warp. You would be the one with the body and mind to stare into the Laughing Void, to guide the dance along it currents and winds. And all the time, It would be laughing at you, its endless gaze meeting yours.