apotheon (GenX′)

In the creamy decadence of the far future, there is only Nog. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile upon the Golden Throne. He is the Master of Custard by the will of the gods, and master of a million holiday gatherings by the might of His inexhaustible supply of dairy. He is a slowly curdling concoction, writhing invisibly with the power of nutmeg and the ancient secrets of the Dark Age of Refrigeration. He is the Nog Lord of the Imperium, for whom a thousand eggs are whisked every day, so that He may never truly spoil. Despite His immortal richness, the Emperor maintains His eternal vigilance, guided by the psychic beacon of the Great Nutmeg across the perilous Dairy Aisle. Countless forces fight in His name across the galaxy, including the genetically enhanced Adeptus Nogstartes, the Imperial Kitchen Guard, the Inquisition of Ingredients, and the Adeptus Mechanicus, who maintain the sacred blenders and refrigeration units. Yet, these vast multitudes remain barely sufficient against the relentless tide of lactose-intolerant aliens, heretical oat-milk drinkers, and mutant batches of curdled cream. FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR THE NOG!