Blood-Soaked Skies of Gold (Deathwatch IC)

[Arcanoi]

"Kill-Team Omega-Alpha-Tertius, report to Target Range Beta-3 in four standard hours." The coarse voice of Watch Captain Mikael sounds through your suits' internal vox. It is a strange order, but you obey nonetheless, and your squad congregates outside the entrance to the training range at the alloted time. You spot Captain Mikael, his noble Baalan countenance marked by a hideous bisecting scar from a Lictor's talons, standing outside the insulated barrier to the range. He addresses your squad.

"A rogue trader by the name of Diaz Lan has petitioned the Deathwatch for aid in a delicate matter. He fears that Aurum, a feral world yet to be gathered to the Emperor's service, is facing some form of insidious xenos activity. A string of murders and disappearances has cropped up, and Trader Lan believes that they cannot be attributed to the local fauna." You recall that Diaz Lan is also the liaison of the Achilus Crusade's Orpheus Salient to the Deathwatch. "Trader Lan's reasoning and evidence seem solid, if slightly underwhelming, and I have decided that this possible threat is large enough to merit a response. However, I would ask that you give no indication of this. The Crusade cannot be allowed to take Deathwatch support for granted."

He steps aside, and you walk through the open door, into Target Range Beta-3. It is an arctic training zone, and a stiff artificial breeze screams through the air as the door closes behind you. On a viewing platform, you spot the miserable form of Diaz Lan huddling under a fur-lined cloak. You realize that the trader has been waiting here for several hours, and the Watch Captain's initial order now makes quite a bit more sense. Lan raises his head as you approach, eyes lighting up with relief. He calls out, voice straining to be heard over the howling gale "Thank you for seeing me. I would offer you a draft of amasec, but I seem to find myself a bit ah... short-staffed at the moment. Not to question the Watch-Fortress' hospitality, of course." A salvo of exploding melta-charges booms behind him, momentarily illuminating the snow field.

[brolthemighty]

Noting Trader Lan's discomfort, Brother Ezekiel removes his helmet, clipping it onto his belt. Once his helmet is removed, he turns his face into the screaming wind, gives the barest of grins, and looks back at Trader Lan.

"Indeed."

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar's helm is clipped to his waist, and he sniffs the icy air that blasts into his face, a faint smile playing across his features as he does so. So much like Fenris. And yet...made by the hands of men, not the happenstance of the universe. Truly, the Emperor's wisdom is great. Having come directly from a swamp training range, the fetid water on his greaves immediately freezes into black ice when it hits that unnatural chill.

His hair falls in a roughly shoulder-length mass, golden blonde, more of a mane than anything else. It immediately begins collecting snowflakes and ice crystals as he and his Battle-Brothers exit the Watch Fortress.

His eyes flit across the field, noting the training dispositions, the flashes of bombs and the bursts of faraway heavy weapons fire. Eyes the color of an iced-over lake crinkle at the edges, the meaning behind Captain Mikael's words finally apparent as he notices the huddling. He lets out a hearty guffaw as he plows through the snow towards the man, breath accompanied by wisps of steam in the chill, his canines quite more pronounced than most Space Marines but still short compared to the ancient veterans of his Chapter.

"Captain! Well met!" he shouts affably, clasping the Rogue Trader's forearm in a friendly gesture. He squeezes carefully, making best efforts not to shatter the man's bones. From experience, doing that makes things incredibly awkward. He steps back, shaking his head as a quadruped predator might shake itself dry, spraying frozen water about. "What seems to be the problem on Aurum?"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

Alistayr nodded at Brother Ezekiel's comment. "Aye. What brings ye to the Watch Fortress?"

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan was, at the moment he received the vox, sitting down in a rare moment out of his armor within the Watch Fortress' extensive library, flipping through a large selection of books on a variety of subjects. The Codex Astartes, several tomes on Tyranids and Warp theory upon the foul beasts, Eldar sorcery...his time at the Watch Fortress had been well spent studying the xenos, almost purely to further his ability to kill them effectively. Shutting the tomes and quickly putting them back where he found them, he moved to his quarters to don his armor again, plucking his trusted sword and bolter along before donning the robes of his chapter.

Astelan stands slightly to the side of his comrades as he listens to the short briefing. "Exactly what evidence warrants a Kill team, as opposed to a small regiment of say, the Imperial Guard? It seems more efficient to deploy a show of force, destroy any Xenos presence and at the same time sway the world to the Emperor's grace." This is more questioning the threat to prepare than insubordination.

Once inside, the Librarian can't help but smirk a bit at the Trader's situation. The watch captain had a sense of humor that Astelan could truly appreciate. "Greeting's, Trader. I take it you are well?" If not a bit cold. "What seems to be such a threat as to call in the Deathwatch?"

Meanwhile, Astelan only mildly rolls his eyes at the Wolf's greeting. The Dark Angel had been on enough deployments to be slightly used to this behavior, though he still cherished his time away from the boisterous Wolf, at least outside the battlefield. He had to admit, Yngvar had proven himself far more than worthy to watch the Angel's back.
"Simply by petitioning the Deathwatch, I take it you have suspicions of...grave implications?"

[Arcanoi]

The trader looks noticeably shaken after his brief clasp with Yngvar. However, he pulls himself together with admirable precision and continues. "Ahem. Yes, well, I would not have come calling on the Deathwatch if I did not believe the situation mandated your talents. The Lord Militant and I believe that an alien menace has descended upon Aurum, a feral world along the Orpheus Salient. We have no doubt that the Deathwatch would prove a match for it. However, there are... complications. The Aurans are of pure terran stock, but due to intense local political resistance, they have yet to be absorbed into the Imperium. Their leader, the Caele, as they call him, has refused to allow large Imperial detachments to land, and will let no offworlders leave the capital city. We could pacify the planet, but that would be one further strain on the Crusade's resources, one we can ill-afford at this juncture. The Aurans are a proud warrior people, and the Lord Militant believes they could be a vital addition to the Imperium. If we simply deployed a regiment to quell whatever xenos presence was found, the whole planet would rise up to resist us. You may find it ironic, but the Deathwatch may be our last hope of peace on Aurum."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

Alistayr reached up and removed his helmet with a deft twist and tucked it under one arm. He rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully as he sized up the rogue trader. “That may be so, but the Death Watch has other commitments and few enough warriors to see them filled. What makes this planet, that isn’t even in the God-Emperor’s grace, important enough to warrant a deployment?” he asked, his breath misting in the briskly cold air. “There are foul xenos enough already threatening worlds that pay proper homage to him on Earth to keep the Chapter occupied.”

[Arcanoi]

The trader nods to Alistayr's question. "There are two factors that have led the Lord Militant to place such importance on this world. The first is the Auran people themselves. They have a proud martial tradition and, from our observances, are exceptional warriors. They would be perfect for integration into the Imperial Guard. Orbital population surveys and Munitorum estimates suggest that within two generations, we could recruit and deploy twenty million Auran guardsmen for the Crusade. The other reason is the unique mineralogy of the planet itself."

He pauses and moves his hand into one of the pockets of his cloak, pulling out a small container, which he opens. Inside is a golden crystal that glows with intense light. The crystal is small, perhaps three times the size of a man's eye. "This is a Decavane crystal. Refined, this fragment could power a Titan's Plasma Destructor for an entire campaign. Mineralogical surveys of Aurum have revealed that the planet is absolutely rife with them, the largest deposit ever discovered in the Reach. Simply put, Aurum, both in manpower and resources, is vital to the Orpheus Salient and to the Achilus Crusade as a whole."

[Whiskeyjack]

He runs a gauntleted hand through his mane. "What what makes the people of Aurum such great warriors? I thought it was classified as a feral world. Not to insult them...given the traditions of Fenris and countless other worlds from which the Astartes and the forces of the Imperium recruit. But...do you not think that sending down a few landing craft of elite forces - Stormtroopers, Catachan, or the like - will show the populace the benefits of joining the Imperium, or will show them that the Guard is composed of great warriors worthy of their respect? Do they even speak Gothic?"

He pauses, smelling the air and gathering his thoughts. "I can certainly understand the significance of power supplies and conscripts. But conducting a public relations campaign is doubtlessly a more suitable job for the Ecclesiarchy, is it not? Not exactly the typical mission for any Astartes...let alone the Deathwatch. It is certainly not the purpose of our Vigil to preach and chasten these people into submission. Tell us about your suspicions of xenos acticity...that is at least within the true purview of our Kill-Team."

[Maxios]

"Will we be the only Adaptus Astartes on the planet?" Maxios asks. He has a very deep, booming voice.

[Chimaera2000]

Ksssh! Grr-thunk-a, grr-thunk-a, vrrrrrm....

"Apologies, brothers; it seems my latest vox modifications require additional tinkering!" Tulkorun's laugh flowed at the luxurious pace of lava cresting a caldera: all-encompassing and impossible to ignore.

"You see, I have endeavoured to machinate new technologies capable of bridging better communication with those with whom us Marines may acquaint ourselves with in our journeys. By isolating the sub-sonic harmonics in our helmet voxes, we might be capable of removing the basso rumble which might intimidate one's charges upon a diplomatic engagement and create a far more euphonious tone for human auditory sensitivities. Why, aspiring for a tenor voice in the B-flat register would...."

Tulkorun visibly started as he (at long last) realized the bewilderment upon the trader's face. The incessantly pleasant melody of vox-tones immediately snapped off. The Techmarine feared that his attempts at deception would be too-easily pierced should he speak further. The Salamander warriors of Nocturne were first and foremost ambassadors to their mortal kin... brothers of a united Imperial clan. Martial deeds of warrior-gods would far more swiftly prosthelytize the populace than the lamentations of a mortal Ecclesiarch!

The Salamander abruptly, intently found his data-slate intensely important. His oft-modified vox instrument would add no dissonance to the Deathwatch's symphony of self-interest.

[brolthemighty]

With wind whipping at his hair, and ice accumulating along the edges of his scars, Brother Ezekiel stares at his oft-misunderstood Brother, and quirks an eyebrow. Obviously, this is not the first time this has occured...and most likely would not be the last.

"Brother, it is good you've arrived. We were just going to hear from Trader Lan on why it is so important for the Deathwatch to be the ones to scourge the xenos scum from this....Aurun."Turning and looking back at Trader Lan "Of course, it could be that you were hoping that, seeing the Emperor's Angels of Death descend upon the planet and decisively deal with this xenos theat, the people of Aurun people would add themselves to the Imperium's forces?"

[Wikiwaka]

"We are warriors, Trader, not diplomats, however, we are no strangers to proud warriors. In fact I'd say Yngvar might fit right in. The importance of the world is not in question, certainly, but this is for our knowledge: What threat is so dire as to petition us? I would at least, and I would think I speak for my brothers assembled, like a full briefing on the planet, its native population, and every shred of evidence of Xenos activity you happen to have on hand."

Astelan's voice seems to become impatient with the man as he taps his fingers against his armor, finding his beating around the bush and justifying the mission beyond his needs tiresome.

[Arcanoi]

"And that is the crux of the matter. We do not know what form of xenos infect Aurum. Due to the Caele's opposition to foreigners, no Imperial forces have been allowed to leave Haistand, the capital city, to investigate the threat. Though several of the on-world Imperials have been murdered in recent weeks, no investigation by the small Guard garrison has turned up anything in the city. The bodies were found stripped off all flesh, in a much more thorough manner than the local fauna would inflict. We believe that the truth, whatever it is, lies outside of the settlement. The Aurans might even be aware of it, though they have given no inclination, attributing the murders to animals. The possibility of xenos collaboration cannot be ignored, but the planet is to valuable to risk full deployment at this juncture. And thus, we call upon the Deathwatch. If we simply sent a deployment of Deathworlders, they might earn the respect the Aurans but be unable to deal with the Xenos threat. If we sent Ogryns, well, they might never find the enemy. Only the Deathwatch can evince the Aurans of the Imperium's might, destroy the xenos threat, and bring Aurum to the Emperor's service." A brief pause. "Without mucking up the other two," he adds.

He responds to Maxios next. "Absolutely. The only other Imperial presence will be a few dozen researchers and archivists, the platoon of guardsmen serving as a garrison, and a handful of priests serving at the mission."

He turns to Astelan. "And of course, we will send you all information we have on Aurum, the murders, and the current situation there..." He pauses. "If you're accepting the assignment?"

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar frowns slightly. Does he think us like Rogue Traders, open to barter ourselves and choose freely our course? Hm, has no-one told him how we operate, even within our own Chapters, let alone on our Vigil? He clears his throat and offers a wider smile, showing his fangs. "Truly...unless we have some sort of forthcoming evidence of the threat, it would be impossible for us to adequately prepare, were we to be deployed...this is nothing like leveraging information between trading partners, captain. There is no give and take, no negotiation. If you want Deathwatch assistance, you have to prove its merit. Now strange stripped bodies might be all the proof you need. But tell me...who has died, natives or Imperials? And what is the climate and terrain down there...and do animals get into their cities?"

He exchanges a look with Brother Astelan...wishing for once that he was wearing his helmet to take advantage of the squad's vox channel.

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

Alistayr turned to regard his brothers, spreading his arms before them. "Aye, it sounds to be a worthy endeavour my brothers, what say ye, yeah or nay?"

[brolthemighty]

Donning his helmet once more, Brother Ezekiel turns to regard his Brothers.

voxing to squad:
"Enough games already Brothers. We go, and exterminate these Xenos, whatever they may be. The rest of it....well,l I leave that in the hands of the Emperor."

Looking one last time at the combat drills being performed on the range, Brother Ezekiel deliberately turns his back on the Trader, and walks out.

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan frowns at the news. "No wild animal skins its prey as a hunter would. This stinks of xenos or heretics..." At the Trader's questioning, he replies shortly: "If further investigation is required, then so be it. Come, brothers. Let us make ready, for we go to fight that which we do not know. "

Turning to walk away after Ezekiel, sighing a bit as he reaches to pull his helmet on. When the machine spirit finally puts itself in gear, he voxes:

"I suggest arming for any number of threats. Special munitions will most likely be in order. The Emperor provides, Brothers.

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun's gaze shoots upwards from his data-slate in one spasmodic leap. "Fight? We have decided? Superlative!" His ironclad digits show little sign of inertia as they dance a delicate pattern upon the runic seals lining the neck of his millennia-old helmet.

"My pardon while I remove this, Trader Lan. It's archaically antiquated, Mark. II, directly from the onset of His Great Crusade! Have you come across one in your travels? Ahhh, that's better! So good to feel the air again! His heavy-lidded eyes open widely, revealing full his fiery red-orange irises. "Positively daemonic!" he remembers his eyes had been described as before. He merely observed that they were graceful... as sulfur-laden fire from the heavens weaving lazy arcs into screaming collections of village-going heathens was graceful.

"Thank you for elevating this threat in our target assessment profile, Trader Lan! Here, take my data-slate.... wait, not yet! I shall disengage the biometrically-linked self-destructing det-charges first. A rogue trader knows just as surely the value of keeping information safe as a Techmarine, am I right? Ha ha ha! Here, the data slate should be safe (theoretically). Please upload whatever representative topological, demographic, and military data for Aurum that you've obtained in your reconnaissance. Brother Yngvar and the rest of our brethren shall have the opportunity to evaluate it... and should the information validate our decision to deploy, we shall utilize it to prepare to flay Xenos in a variety of macabre manners.

"How well does this arrangement satisfy all parties presently assembled?"

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar can't help but roll his eyes at the backs of his departing Brothers. Dark Angels, them and their successors...no wonder Father Russ got into a slugging match with the Lion.

"Brother Tulkorun! A great idea!" He smacks the Salamander on his armored shoulder with enough force to snap a lesser man's spine. "That should work fine! Next question...how do we get to Aurum?"

[Arcanoi]

The Trader gives a nervous little smile as this transpires. His skin, pale from too long spent on void trips, seems to grow paler as Yngvar continues. However, as the other Astartes voice their assent, a semblance of color returns. He addresses the Space Wolf. "M-my apologies, Brother Astartes, I meant no offense."

At the offer of the data-slate, the trader shakes his head. "That will not be neccessary, brother Techmarine." He reaches into another pocket of his voluminous coat and removes no fewer than six of his own data-slates, which he hands to each of the brothers. He hands two to the Salamander. "You seem like a reasonable chap. You'll hand this to the fellow with the green pauldron, won't you? Also, please try to ignore some of the author's... eccentricities."

He winces as Yngvar initiates further friendly violence on his brother's shoulder. "Ah, I and my ship, the Horizon's Pride, will provide transport. Simply equip yourselves as you need and I will take you up in my shuttle so we can we on our way."

Contents of the Data Slate

Aurum Planetary Survey

Population: Estimated 350 Million

Tithe Grade: Exactus Non

Special Notation: Undergoing Imperial integration vis Achilus Crusade

Geography/Demography: Hot/Temperate, abiding planetary climate is tropical with a low degree of precipitation and storm activity. The planet has two main continental landmasses. Each are dominated by arid plains and rain forest zones surrounding a chain of large mountain ranges. The equatorial regions are made up of bands of deserts. The planet also possesses relatively small polar oceans.

Governmental Type: Indigenous Monarchy, 'The Caele'

Planetary Governor: Not yet assigned.

Adept Presence: Low. Imperial Guard and Ecclesiarchy have set up small stations in planetary capital.

Military: Nearly every adult Auran male is capable of fighting, but the Caele likely only has direct command of about six regiments of primitive infantry and cavalry.

Trade/Resources: Aurum is rich in promethium deposits and the rare decavane crystals. In addition to its abundant natural resources, the planet is strategically well-suited to the needs of the Crusade and the Aurum tribes themselves are a fierce warrior culture that is nearly ideal for integration into the Imperial Guard.

Additional Notation: Planet has a non-integrated tech-rating of 8 (Early Medieval).

Scriber's Comments: Aurum derives its name from the golden glow that suffuses its atmosphere. If it contained so mundane a material as gold ore, it would be of interest only to reckless Rogue Traders, like that abominable Lan fellow. Rather, the glow is due to an unheard-of concentration of Decavane crystals. The military and infrastructural applications of this crystal are only just being discovered, but an intrepid reader could find further information on Decavane crystals in The Secret Treasure of the Jericho Reach: Decavane Crystals by Adept Mineralogis Kestel Jan.

The relationship between the crystals and Aurum's environment is unclear, but it is obvious that the planet is exceptionally fertile. Nearly all forms of flora flourish when introduced to the soil, and most forms of herd-beast are quite capable of surviving its environs. Even the native population has grown strong and able on this planet (massing an average of 40 kilos over the terran standard, and standing an additional 20-25 centimeters above the norm), though the predators have flourished in turn, driving the Aurans into an artificial, slow-motion arms race. Some of my 'contemporaries' assert that they believe the Decavane crystals themselves emit a beneficial energy field, but this is entirely nonsense. It is more likely that the soil is simply intensely nutrient-rich.

In an interesting note, it appears that Aurum was once a part of the Imperium. The Aurans attribute their planet’s benevolence to the “Soul of Aurum,” a male personification of the planet’s will. This Soul actually has striking similarities to the God-Emperor—from his creation of 20 sons and their armies to a betrayal by his most beloved child. Their religious parables likewise show roots in the Imperial Creed. The original date of human habitation can only be guessed at, but the low gothic dialect and various cultural artefacts clearly indicate an Imperial history.

Combat is an Auran way of life, encompassing all ages and genders. In the planet’s past, scattered tribes warred for dominance. The tribes have been united for several centuries, but the planet’s predators ensure that martial prowess remains a necessity. As a result, while the Aurans do farm the fertile land and raise herd animals, traditional hunts remains a staple of their culture. The society has not yet developed currency; they rely on a barter system. The traditional Auran greeting is to touch one’s weapon’s hilt to the other party’s shoulder. Non-lethal martial challenges are used to solve nearly any disagreement, from domestic quarrels to trade disputes. If a matter escalates to a serious grudge, the natives have a tradition called “splitting the rock of grievance.” Aurum’s plains make wood an uncommon commodity, and as ores only seem to occur at depths of over 300 meters, it is unlikely that the Aurans would ever discover metallurgy without Imperial aid. The natives show a relatively advanced understanding of farming and medicine, but their implements tend to be made of rock and bone.


History of Imperial Relations on Aurum

787.M41: First contact made by naval survey teams. Reception neutral. Post-contact analysis reveals high resource value of planet. Aurum made high priority for re-indoctrination.

789.M41: Larger contact envoy sent to Aurum, including Adeptus Ministorum and Adeptus Administratum representation. Negotiations quickly deteriorate, although adepts confirm Imperial cultural roots before being forced to leave planet.

791.M41: Captain Laurel Mattheos of Imperial Navy and squad of armed crewmen force contact. Contingent is unexpectedly well-received. Reach agreement to allow Imperial presence in capital city: Haistand.

798.M41: Captain Mattheos killed in action, negotiations resumed by Rogue Trader Diaz Lan. Reach agreement to allow small military outpost for protection of growing non-combatant population in Haistand. Construction begins on “The Aspirance.”

802.M41: Rogue Trader Diaz Lan repeats contact. Negotiations fail to allow Imperial presence to extend beyond Haistand.

809.M41: Rogue Trader Diaz Lan re-opens negotiation on previous topic. Attempts to win support by participating in local combat games. Departs planet in critical condition from reptile bites. Serves him right.

816.M41: Rogue Trader Diaz Lan repeats contact. Aurans rebuff Lan and refuse to honour future negotiations with him on grounds he is “not a man.”


Garrison Commander's Notes

[...]
Current Victims include Guardsman Blythe, Guardsman Arric, Scrivener Magos Ferron, Adept Klod, and Sister Hospitaller Rachayel. Also missing are Adepts Holl and Swant.

Guardsmen Blythe and Arric went missing on routine night patrol of Haistand Trade District, 683.820.M41. Bodies found, stripped of all gear, thoroughly flayed. Identification made through dental records.

Adepts Holl and Swant disappeared 689.820.M41 on tavern crawl.

Scrivener Magos Ferron vanished 724.820.M41. Body found in same condition, except for bionics, which were found next to skeleton.

Adept Klod found flayed, not fully skeletonized, in back alley in Residential District 5, 898.820.M41. Theorized that murderer was stumbled upon in midst of the act.

Sister Hospitaller Rachayel found 009.821.M41 in local Imprial Mission. Stabbed through chest with own knife. Though apparent suicide, foul play suspected. Sister Rachayel was investigating murders in weeks before her death.

[Maxios]

((How much Req do we get?))

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

He turned back to Trader Lan. "Well, seems the yeahs have it", he remarked with a grin. He takes one of the proffered data slates and skims through it. "Most useful. We will meet ye at the airlock after we have prepared ourselves."

[Whiskeyjack]

Ynvgar glances down at the data-slate, flicking it on and scanning the information before realizing he's just standing there with the Rogue Trader. "This should do it. Thanks, Captain, we will make our preparations." He looks almost as if he's going to shake the Captain's hand again, but after the growing terror on the man's face whenever Yngvar engaged in friendy activity, he just settles for smiling a big smile and turning back towards the entrance to Erioch, hurrying to catch up with his Battle-Brothers.

"Brothers," he says, "Maybe we should do some digging in the archives before we leave. I have some suspicions about what would flay all the flesh off a body, and I would bet that you might have similar ones, but they remain just that: suspicions. Better to do some research and be able to stock up on special ammunition in advance, after all." He sighs loudly, releasing a gust of steam from his mouth. "Throne, those Auran challenge-trials sound more than a little fun, especially if they can take a punch."

He keeps on walking, reading the slate. "Hm, some of this definitely makes me think of Fenris..." Eyes suddenly narrow. "Throne! I wonder if there have been any natives attacked like this? If not, it definitely appears to be targeting the garrison and its support staff...and cheeky enough to go after an Adepta Sororitas to boot! I wonder if the Sister was the one who might have stumbled upon the killer at it was stripping Adept Klod. Hm...I think I will let my assumptions speak for themselves then and request at least one clip of Hellfire rounds..."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

Alistayr walked out with Brother Ynvgar and the others. "Aye, that don't sound terribly dissimilar to the trails of the Sacris tribesman back home. Of course we have big cats and not lizards or wolves to watch for. The Mir Cat, now there be a nasty customer. Fast, strong, nearly silent on the prowl."

"Anyway, enough about that. Hellfire bolts are a good idea. Perhaps we should get some of those Hopper mines too. Always a good plan to cut down on the enemies possible angles of approach" he added.

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun trots to meet Ezekiel and Astelan, his Corvus armor-servos purring a soft vheeeee.... of smoothly efficient movement potentiation.

"Ahoy, brethren! Here, Brother Ezekiel, Trader Lan's advance reconnaissance data. The same for you, Brother Astelan. I am en route to the Watch archives.... oh, both of you are as well? As is the rest of the Kill-team already? Ha-ha, perhaps I should have known that Sons of the Lion would adopt a suitably exacting, methodical approach to purging the Xenos!"

Tulkorun firmly grasped and violently twisted his left hand. Glove-tips retracted silently to enable a mass of writhing cables to burst forth, flailing like blind tentacles of an immature cephalopod. Upon reaching the data-stacks, the probes coil as one to lash the nearest MIU dataport. Abruptly the Techmarine's sing-song vox voice hardens into a harsh monotone.

"Research was only ever the sole logical course. The Watch Archives' machine spirits have now subsumed my consciousness. I will rouse when prepared to assimilate their wisdom with my Brothers' conclusions."

[Arcanoi]

The primary Machine Spirit of the Watch Archives is slow to rouse, a vast dammed river of references and tomes spilling free as Tulkorun accesses its massive databases. A stream of data flashes behind his eyes as the ancient Spirit begins to peruse its Archives. Its awareness turns to Tulkorun with the inevitable force of a glacier.

Enter Query, Supplicant.

http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk43/doomcowgod/whatwillyoudo.gif

[Wikiwaka]

As his brothers catch up with him on their way to the Archives, Astelan nods in salute. He keeps the hood of his robe up, so he turns fully, having pulled his helmet off again.

"Indeed, Tulkoran. I am not fond of surprises, so I'm hoping to glean a bit of information about possible foes. The more one knows, the faster one can kill it. To start, I can't glean any purpose in flaying a victim as such. It is odd, reeks of sadism, intent...Which I think rules out Eldar or Orks. Orks, if I recall, take heads..." Stroking his beard with his hand, he frowns.

At Yngvar's point, he muses "That is actually a good question...Have any natives been attacked? I don't seem to see any reports in the data-slate. This bodes ill...speaks of cunning, and possibly collaboration with the natives."

As the Techmarine's off-putting display of his dedication to the Omnissiah unfolds, Astelan waits and nods. "Search for similar death reports, completely flayed skin.

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel reads the Dataslate.

"It is....intriguing...that only imperial members have been killed. Very disturbing. And these are accurate?" Brother Ezekiel contemplates for a few seconds. "Maybe, if these Aurans are so keen on keeping us off-planet, we should let some of the civilian population start dying off. Only THEN come and purge the Xenos."

"Then again, this could be a form of genestealer cult activity. If the Lord Militant is trying to keep Imperial and Auran seperate, it could be because he's hiding something."

[Whiskeyjack]

"Certainly only Imperials being killed reeks of secrets that prefer to be kept...maybe old secrets, but unfortunately Brother Ezekiel, I do not think the Watch can afford to wait and see if something takes further hold on the population. While I do not agree that our job should be making the Aurans bow down and embrace the Imperium with their whole hearts, I also think that purging some foul xenos preying upon them might turn them to the Imperial cause quicker - show them that we can protect them and that they can contribute to the protection of themselves and others. And if they turn out to be fully corrupted, well..." he trails off. Certainly it's not up to him to call in Exterminatus or anything, and if the planet is as resource-rich as it sounds, it's doubtful that that would be the case even with widespread corruption.

As to the killing of an Adepta Sororitas, even a member of a non-martial order...that takes some doing, they all are trained in combat situations, even if the average Administratum assistant or Tech-Priest is not. I have never heard of an Adepta Sororitas of any order committing suicide...strong-minded women, they fight on to the last, unless it was powerful outside influence or a cleverly-disguised attack. If it truly is xenos, they could be in collaboration with the Aurans...or trying to frame the Aurans for attacks on Imperial citizens, to prevent the Aurans from returning to the Imperial fold! Agh!"

He pauses, rubbing his temples. "I will ask among the Battle-Brothers of the Space Wolves who share our Vigil on Erioch. Perhaps they have encountered similar things on their missions. You know, we all should approach those of our Chapters--or their successors--for such information." he looks at each of his Brothers in turn.

[brolthemighty]

You are right Brother. Our job is to purge these Xenos, and see how far the corruption goes. That is all. Everything else is secondary. I will see if any of my Brothers are here at Erioch, but I believe I am the sole contribution to the Vigil from my Chapter.

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar chuckles at that. "I think there are a few Space Wolves around...Brother Ezekiel, I think Brother Maxios might have the opposite problem as you...at least half of the right-side pauldrons around the Watch Fortress have the symbols of the Ultramarines or their successor Chapters!" He barks another good-natured laugh.

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan contemplates the conversation a bit. "While we must purge the Xenos, it would be foolish to go in blind. The murders seem to be localized, at least, so our search will not be too broad. Seeing how the sister was killed for investigating, if one is to make a logical assumption, should we start asking questions, I am confidant the threat will come to us. We will purge the Xenos, see how far the threat goes, and do what we must.

At the mention of his brothers, the Dark Angel nods. "I shall attempt to find more Sons of the Lion and ask them. How long shall we keep the Trader waiting, by chance?"

[brolthemighty]

"It is not so much how long should we keep the Trader waiting, but how long can Aurum wait? I agree, we should be as informed as we can be, but we should not take any longer than necessary."

[Whiskeyjack]

He shrugs. "A few hours here on Erioch is not going to matter much when you consider potential weeks of Warp travel to Aurum. And a few hours here might mean the difference between well-prepared or ill-prepared, so...in the interests of both thoroughness and haste, perhaps we should tarry here no more than one Erioch day/night cycle?"

[Arcanoi]

As the squad's conversation continues, boisterous laughter booms from across the corridor's vaulted ceiling. Two figures round the corner, black armor marking them as members of the Deathwatch. One is truly enormous, towering to more than two and a half meters in height with bulk to match. His pauldron proudly displays the iconography of the Space Wolves, and the laughter belongs to him. His helmet is clipped onto his belt, and his noticeably grey hair and prominent fangs are as good an indication of his heritage as his chapter symbols. "Come off it, Zarl," he booms, his voice echoing off the walls as he addresses his companion.

The other marine is far smaller, almost whip-thin, if any Astartes in full armour could be described as such, and bears no chapter symbols at all. His pauldron is simply Deathwatch Black, and his helmet remains firmly in place. "Quiet yourself, Javen, else I'll drop you on your mountainous backside yet again." Eyes might fall to the Deathwatch relic blade at his hip.

The giant laughs it off, however. "Come now, Sarl. I nearly had ya that time." He notices the assembled squad. "Oi, is that little Brother Grendelsbane? Off on a mission, are ya? Oh, I be so proud of ya, boy. When ya return, you'll walk these here halls and think, 'Damn me, but I owe all this here glory to Big Brother Javen Javensson,' and you'd be right ta think such, would ya nae?"

The Black Shield, for his part, merely attempts to cover his helmeted face with a gauntlet.

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun completes a rather lengthy list of appeasement rituals for the mighty Machine Spirit. His task, done, he offers his query at long last:

"O God of the Machine, in your beneficence, please inform your servant! Please display past Deathwatch reports of multiple Imperial personnel flayed of all skin. Reports with confirmed Xenos instigators (and notations thereof) would be graciously accepted first.

"If it does not displease you afterwards, I have a second query, mighty Machine. What correlation exists between these reports and Decavane crystal concentrations?"

[Whiskeyjack]

"Brother Javensson! Well met! Ha! And I do owe a fair share of my own glory to your teachings, Brother...have the scars and bone spurs to prove it, of course!" He offers his forearm in the near-ubiquitous greeting common to tribal feral-worlders across the Imperium. To the Black Shield, he somehow offers a polite bow. "And greetings to you as well, Brother Zarl." Yngvar tries not to be awkward...But it's so hard when Black Shields are involved, he thinks. You can't just bring up Chapter alliances or rivalries or past deeds or anything, since you have no idea about it!

Yngvar's eyes trace back his fellow Space Wolf: massive even by Astartes standards, and quite a bit longer in the fang than Yngvar. "Ah, Brother. Brothers. My Kill-Team and I find ourselves heading towards a mission with very little data that could be considered useful when thinking of how many guns to bring. I was hoping to run into you, Brother Javensson...wanted to ask if you might have seen anything like the evidence in our report before. And of course you as well, Brother Zarl," he adds.

[Wikiwaka]

As the Techmarine inquires to the vast archives, Astelan turns to nod respectfully to the approaching brothers. The Black Shield was...unsettling. He had seen so few of them, and it made him unsure what to expect from the Marine. Clearly he was to be respected, the Relic Blade he wore clear and undeniable proof of that.

As Yngvar brings up asking the fellow marines questions, Astelan chimes in. "The only information is that several Imperial staff have been murdered, and flayed of all skin. A Sister of Battle was murdered, and attempted to make it look like a suicide, after investigating the slayings."

[Arcanoi]

Javen takes the offered hand warmly, while Zarl calmly nods at the bow. As Astelan chimes in, Zarl turns to him. "Could always be a Cult of the Enemy, especially if it's targeting only Imperials. Might be a Genestealer infestation. Would also explain the lack of native casualties."

Javen cuts in, "Oh! Do ya rememmer tha' Slaugth syndacate on Hybris Primus? They mighta gotten away undetected, 'cept one of 'em couldn't hold 'is tongue!"

"Do you have any more information? That's a tad vague, Brother." adds Zarl.

Tulkorun
PROCESSING PRIMARY QUERY. ONE MOMENT... PROCESSING. SEARCHING ARCHIVES.

And the flood of data is released. Reports pile in in their thousands, all detailing morbid crimes perpetrated on humanity by dozens of xenos monstrosities. Uncorroborated accounts are quickly discarded, and the Spirit begins to assemble its findings.

COMPILING. ONE MOMENT... COMPILING. RESULTS.

4563 HITS - GENUS "TYRANNUS FURII"

2039 HITS - GENUS "KROOTIS AVIANUS"

567 HITS - GENUS "SIPUNCULA SLAUGTHUS"

411 HITS - GENUS "ELDARUS NOCTIS" MANDRAKE STRAIN

382 HITS - GENUS "VARANUS LOXATUS"

221 HITS - GENUS "TYRANNUS CHAMELEO"

134 HITS - GENUS "GNATHOSTOMULID DRUGH"

17 HITS - DESIGNATION "NECRON" FLAYED ONE STRAIN

NOTE: 13072 HITS - HERETICUS MINORIS/MAJORIS INCIDENTS

MAKE INDIVIDUAL QUERY FOR INFORMATION ON INDIVIDUAL GENERA.

PROCESSING SECONDARY QUERY. ONE MOMENT... PROCESSING. CROSS-REFERENCING. COMPILING. ONE MOMENT... RESULTS.

4 HITS - GENUS "TYRANNUS FURII" ACTIVITY ON DECAVANE CRYSTAL-HEAVY WORLD

2 HITS - GENUS "KROOTIS AVIANUS" ACTIVITY ON DECAVANE CRYSTAL-HEAVY WORLD

1 HITS - GENUS "TYRANNUS CHAMELEO" ACTIVITY ON DECAVANE CRYSTAL-HEAVY WORLD

[Whiskeyjack]

"Unfortunately, all we have is a listing of Imperial deaths, mostly guardsmen on-post or support staff. Most of the victims were found stripped down to the skeleton. The penultimate one was merely flayed; the authorities on site think that the attacker was interrupted. The next day, this Adepta Sororitas Hospitallier was found with a knife in her chest...she had been investigating the murders. Locals thought it was suicide but I have never heard of any Sororitas going that route unless pushed to it though psychic effect or other outside influence. They too sell their lives dearly."

He shrugs. "My suspicions lean towards tyranids just by the pattern not fitting any of the other main xenos out here in the Reach, but I have nothing but my gut to back it up. Hm, Genestealer cult...yes in light of the lack of native dead it could make sense. At some point the xenos are able to breed convincingly human replicas, are they not?"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

Alistayr suppressed an involuntary shudder at the mention of the Slaugth. His own Storm Wardens Chapter had more than its fair share of run ins with that particularly foul xenos breed. “We will need to trade tales of exploits against the maggot men at some later date brother Javen.”

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun was enraptured by the flow of data. Dissociated from all but the Machine, he continued to commune via his solemn prostrations.

"Thank you, avatar of the Omnissiah! Your eternal servant will be gracious to accept Xenos hunting profiles of Tyrannus furii and Krootis avianis into my memory banks. Your almighty wisdom will guide us in scourging your enemies from this universe!

"I humbly offer a third query, so that we might better strike against those who would defy the Omnissiah's will. What are the most common, vile group affiliations cited in your all-knowing reports of the Hereticus incidents? Under whose banners have these traitorous skin-flayers and Daemons marched?"

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan nods and takes a few steps towards the veterans, bowing respectfully on his approach. "Aye, heretics were on my mind as well, but the clean nature of the flaying, I am considering xenos. It could be the work of sorcery, and I shall check when we make planet-fall. All we have are the vague death reports, lack of Native deaths, and very little else."

At the mention of Genestealers, the Librarian perks up.
"How convincing are these replicas?"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The Storm Warden turned to brother Astelan and listened to his words carefully. "Can we be sure none of the locals have died in such a way? Perhaps they are losing people as well and are to proud or to ashamed to speak of it," he mused aloud.

[Whiskeyjack]

"Never fought the bugs, Brother Ezekiel? From experience, they can be pretty convincing. But I have no idea how they do it. Probably a better question for Brother Tulkorun or an apothecary or someone who knows more about that kind of science. I mean 'genestealers' and all, it sounds kind of self-explanatory, right? Something with genetics, and knowing the bugs, very unpleasant."

He turns to look at the Storm Warden. "Hmm, Brother Alistyr...good point. But unlikely we will be getting any more information about local troubles until we actually get there. That would be the sort of thing that would be disclosed were it known."

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel looks around upon hearing his name. "What? Oh, I apologize Brother Yngvar, I was ordering my thoughts in regards to my Genestealer interactions."Brother Ezekiel flashes back to pictures of people who look half man and half.....monster. With high sloping forheads, and near hairlessness. Oh yes, he has faced the Genestealer threat before.

"Actually brother, of what I recall, the Genestealers work in reverse. They begin by infecting the local populace, but their goal is to eventually create other purestrain genestealers. At least, that is what I've had to deal with. There may be other variations."

[Arcanoi]

"Oh, aye. Genestealers be right nasty. But a Sister, suicide? That smacks o' sorcery to me. Be on yer guard, little brothers. An' Brother... Ale-stair, war it? When ya get bahk, ye'll have ta tell me all abou' yer latest quest. In return, I'd be proud to tell ya 'The Saga o' Javen Javensson and the Slaugth o' Hybris Primus.' Meanwhile, I need ta go get drunk. Helps ease tha bruises." The mountainous Astartes meanders off.

Zarl, meanwhile, remains where he's standing, face still hidden by his helmet. After a moment, he responds. "Aye, the genestealers can make amalgams that are convincing at a range. But if you ever met one face to face, its abominable nature would be clear for all to see. No, the most dangerous are the first generation, who are almost wholly human. They might be infected and their friends and family would never know. Tread carefully, brothers, and bring Hellfire rounds. Best of luck to you."

Tulkorun

UPLOADING DATA ENTRIES ON GENERA "TYRANNUS FURII" AND "KROOTIS AVIANUS". COMPILING. UPLOADING.

PROCESSING TERTIARY QUERY. PROCESSING. ONE MOMENT... PROCESSING. COMPILING. RESULTS.

OF 13072 CONFIRMED REPORTS, 2349 REPORTS BELONG TO 'CULT OF THE FLAYED SKULL". CONFIRMED ACTIVITIES ON 17 WORLDS ACROSS THE ORPHEUS SALIENT. 1362 REPORTS BELONG TO "CULT OF THE VELVET VERNACULAR". CONFIRMED ACTIVITES ON 11 WORLDS IN JERICHO REACH SOUTHWEST. 932 REPORTS BELONG TO "SEEKERS OF PLEASURE". CONFIRMED REPORTS ON 3 IMPERIAL FLOTILLAS.

Uploaded Data

Tyrannus Furii

Commonly known as the Genestealer, this insidious vanguard of the Tyranid race is rightly feared for its talents in infiltration and corruption. Capable of inserting its genetic material into other species, it can quickly corrupt entire planets.

Typical specimens stand two meters tall with a humanoid bearing and are extremely fast and strong. They possess thick natural chitin and have claws known to cleave ceramite with ease.

Genestealers convene in groups known as 'broods' which are typically lead by a 'broodlord', which is much larger and has been known to deploy latent psychic ability.

Signs of recent Genestealer infection include loss of memory. Any suspected infectees should be purged with extreme prejudice, as even two infected of opposite genders could lead to a whole new infestation.

Genestealers manifest a limited hive mind similar to the Synapse Webs of other Tyranid creatures.

Genestealer infestations usually pass through four stages. Phase one, the primary vector infects several humans. Their offspring are half-human, half-genestealer hybrids. Visual identification is simple. The offspring of the second generation are subhumans, human-appearing but still noticeably abhuman. The fourth generation appear similar to the first, but will never manifest hair and have noticeably enlarged craniums. The offspring of the fourth generation are pure strain genestealers, as per the prime vector.


Krootis Avianus


The general name 'Kroot' is usually applied to these humanoid representatives of the greater 'Krootis' environment. Kroot are an established auxiliary member of the Tau Empire.

Kroot stand roughly two meters tall and are stronger than normal humans. They are documented as sapient, and are known to fight with rifles called 'Kroot guns' which they are able to use proficiently both at range and in close quarters.

The other notable feature of the Kroot is their practice of ritual cannibalism, devouring their foes. Kroot claim that they can absorb genetic memories from this practice, and preliminary tests suggest that this may be the case.

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar grins as his fellow Space Wolf heads off. His own thoughts turn for a moment to the best way to pregame this mission when he remembers the Black Shield standing before him. "Our thanks, Brother Zarl. We will bring the Allfather's full suspicion upon the population."

[Arcanoi]

The Black Shield nods. "See that you do, Brother Yngvar. Best of luck, brothers. The Emperor Protects." With that, he strides grimly off down the hall.

[Chimaera2000]

"Almighty Machine-Spirit, your insights are without equal; your vision spans the entirety of time and space. Praises be to your contributions to the Omnissiah's aims! Your servant leaves now to persecute your enemies. If I may, may I beseech you for the final piece of wisdom that may inflict glorious strife upon them?

"Puissant Machine-God, please sort Deathwatch reports of Tyrannis Furii, Krootis Avianus and Heretics Minoris and Majoris by proximity to Aurum. With this final doting of your wisdom, I will leave you to your cogitations. A million thanks for your aid!"

Tulkorun steeled himself for the exultation of one last act of communion, becoming one with an intelligence far more awe-inspiring than he might ever aspire to become. He was passingly aware of his brothers preparing to leave.... and resolved that to honour the Marines and Mechanicus both, he must receive this last gift of knowledge then join his brothers in their march.

[Arcanoi]

PROCESSING QUERY. PROCESSING. ONE MOMENT... REFERENCING. COMPILING. RESULTS.

245 HITS - REPORTS OF GENUS "TYRANNUS FURII" ACTIVITY ON NEARBY 'ELEUSIS' SHRINE WORLD. DISTANCE: 4.8 PARSECS, 37° TRAILING RIMWARD.

821 HITS - REPORTS OF GENUS "TYRANNUS FURII" ACTIVITY ON NEARBY 'CASTOBEL' HIVE WORLD. DISTANCE: 9.7 PARSECS, 22° SPINWARD RIMWARD.

NO REPORTS OF GENUS "KROOTIS AVIANUS" WITHIN 10 PARSECS.

3032 HITS - REPORTS OF HERETICUS MAJORIS ACTIVITY IN NEARBY 'BLOOD TRINITY' SYSTEM. DISTANCE: 7.3 PARSECS, 27° SPINWARD COREWARD.

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun free hand weaves haphard, byzantine patterns whilst his voice-box hummed cacophonous melodies punctuated by bursts of shrill static. A nearby servitor winces before moving through its pre-program routines. At last, the Techmarines interfacing probes withdraw from their union with the Watch Station's archives... one rather reluctantly, seemingly. Tulkorun tucks the trailing probe into his armored finger.

"Hum, hrr, perhaps a flaw in the body-mechandrite interface? I must strip out more of my neuroanatomy imminently. Brains will be best be replaced with circuits for efficiency.... I will schedule invasive surgery before our next deployment. Excellent!" Tulkorun puffs his armored breastplate noticeably outwards as he turns to his Battle-brothers.

"I have completed my communion with the Archives (Omnissiah be glorified), Brothers! Statistical probabilities suggest that we are most likely to face Genestealers (by the criterion of proximity to Aurum) or Heretics (by the criterion of frequency of activities). Kraken rounds should be effective against both foes. Squad Leader, I recommend that we use our remaining pooled Requisition for additional Kraken rounds and deploy immediately!"

Tulkorun's Mk. II Helmet sweeps from side-to-side. "Oh, we have no squad leader yet. Curses. One moment, brothers.... ah, vox-channel established! Watch-Captain Mikael, I believe that our research is complete. What are your orders, sir?"

[Wikiwaka]

As the techmarine comes back from his communion with the archives, the Librarian nods. "We've come to similar conclusions, but confirmation from the Archives cements it. We prepare for the worst: Both genestealers, and a cult of the Enemy. Doubtfully working in tandem, but, we shall see. Hellfire and Kraken rounds. Let us chose our squad leader before we meet the Trader, brothers. Does anybody have explicit experience with these sorts of cults, or the terrain we head into?"

[Whiskeyjack]

"I would volunteer to lead...the rocky hot parts of the planet are not dissimilar to parts of Fenris, and the Auran culture certainly reminds me of my own. And I am an old hand at fighting both the bugs and creatures like the big native predators the Trader mentioned."

He shrugs like a dire wolf might, armored plates scraping ever so slightly, the myriad of pelts adorning his shoulders shifting slightly.

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel claps his Battle-Brother on the back, "Glad to hear it Brother. You lead our Brother's into new heights of combat, while Brother Maxios and I provide a hail of Holy Bolter fire!" Picturing the ensuing battles in his head, Brother Ezekiel sees a small problem and grins "Heh, well, we'll try not to hit you too many times."

[Wikiwaka]

The Dark Angel Librarian nods. Smirking at the idea of Yngvar being in the line of fire, he says "Indeed. Let us gather our equipment and swear at the Vault our Oath for this mission, and be off. There are xenos to purge! And Worry not, brother Devastator. I'll be sure to keep the wolf out of the line of fire."

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar pulls a face. "Brother Ezekiel, I trust that while you and Brother Maxios probably are not as precise shots as a Long Fang, you can aim well enough to not riddle me with bolts while I relieve some bug of its visceral mass." He grins. "I should have a back-banner on, so just, you know, aim around the flag, not at it."

Yngvar looks around. "Well, we have better information now, from our Brothers and from the Omnissiah. Time to hit the Armory! And to grab a keg of Fenris Ale for the night before we drop onto Aurum!" He claps his gauntleted hands excitedly.

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel smiles at the Wolf, expecting some form of a snide retort. Clapping his Brother on the back he respons,"Do not worry Brother. I shall be sure to not shoot our Banner. Of course, if you were to paint your armor something more suitable to be seen....say....pink....then I might see you even easier. You know how fickle the Machine Spirits are of these ancient Marks of armor."

[Arcanoi]

After a pause, Mikael responds over the vox. "If you're ready, arm yourselves, take an Oath, and report to the docking bay." You can practically hear him smirk. "The Rogue Trader is beginning to get antsy. Seems someone forgot to turn the heating on to accommodate for guests."

_________________________________________________


As your squad enters the Thunderhawk, Lan greets you with a shiver-plagued gesture and signals the pilot serf to take off. As the craft takes off, the monolithic bulk of Lan's cruier looms before you, a flickering silhouette in the failing light of Erioch's dying star. "There she is!" exclaims the Rogue Trader, "The Horizon's Pride. And the pride of the Lan Trading Consortium too." He adds. Unlike other ships in the Imperium's Navy, the Pride is almost entirely form, the sleek, smooth lines of a predator rather than the baroque buttresses and cathedrals of a chapter Strike Cruiser or Navy vessel.

The docking bay is much like any other, but the instant you step out into the ship proper, the change is striking. Works of art from across the Imperium line softly-lighted carpeted corridors. Banners proudly display different campaigns the Pride was seconded to and regiments the cruiser fought beside. The trader leads you along, monologuing on various painting or sculptures. At one point, the trader leads your squad down a service corridor, not so opulently appointed, to an industrial lift. "I'm not sure the guest elevators would be able to convey the considerable bulk of your armour," he explains.

Eventually the trader stops and turns. "Here we are. He points to several doors. These are your staterooms for the journey. My astropath ensures me that the Empereal Seas are calm and we should arrive at our destination in less than two weeks."

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar stands in a loose circle of his Brothers in one of Erioch's ancient chapels, the smoke of incense and the low buzz of servo-skulls their only companions. He sips blessed mead from a huge silver flagon bearing the aquila and passes it around to his brothers as he intones the words of a sacred Battle Oath: "Allfather on Terra and Father roaming the ether, I beseech you: grant us your arms, that we might bear your strength...your strategies, that we might bear your cunning...your rage, that we might bear your fervor. Watch over us and drape us in your standard, that we might catch some drifting mote of your almighty glory and make it our own, honoring you with the blood of our foes and honoring us by living by the example you have led. We swear this oath to the Throne and the Allfather, to the Deathwatch and to Humanity, in the name of everlasting glory and the eternal dominion of Man. So say we all!" As the cup returns to him, he drinks again, then pours a few drops to the ancient stones, takes a deep breath, and roars like a charging dire wolf. "The Oath is taken and sanctified, Brothers! Let us ride the wings of the stars, and crush the hearts of these foul xenos!"

* * *

Once aboard the ship and escorted near the staterooms, Ynvgar turns to Lan. "If your astropath is confident, I can only imagine what your Navigator thinks about this trip!" he laughs. "Ahhh....so Captain, where do you keep the great hall around here? I have a couple of kegs of Fenris ale that will need killing en route."

[Wikiwaka]

Astatel stands in the circle, hood of his robe pulled over his head as he partakes, somewhat reluctantly, in Yngvar's Oath. The alcohol seems a bit much, and he would comment, were the wolf's Oath not so eloquent. He raises an eyebrow in begrudging respect for the young marine's piety. Well said, brother. Let us go, and show these xenos the meaning of fear, the wrath of the Emperor, and may we cleanse this world of any and all taint!


***

On the ship, the Librarian looks about the ship, taking in everything in stride. The Trader has a rich naval history, serving honorably in the Emperor's service, but that was the duty of all men, thus leaving the Angel fairly unimpressed. When they reach the industrial lift, Astelan frowns somewhat, but understands. The ship simply did not have Marines in mind.

Upon hearing the estimate of the length of the trip, he nods. "Then we shall not waste that time. Do you have any open areas, that we may keep ourselves sharp?"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The storm Warden bowed his head solemnly as brother Yngvar gave the oath. He lifted his head to drink from the silver flagon, before he passed it to the next brother in line. As the oath drew to a close he echoed “So say we all.”

***

He followed trader Lan as he led the Astartes through the ship and finally to their intended quarters. “What are the emergency procedures for the Horizon’s Pride Trader Lan? We will also need a download of the ship’s layout.”

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun gingerly removes his helmet, tenderly stroking its top upon removal. "Sssh, do not worry. You are adapting well to the new sensorium installed within you. Helm of Mordicae, you have adapted and prospered over these thousands of years since your birth in the Great Crusade! You.... my pardon, a crusade! CRUSADE!" The Salamander eagerly swipes up the goblet his free hand and drinks deeply.

"I am honoured to join my brothers in our quest through the fires of Glory! We fight for our father, the Father of Mankind, and through His righteousness will we slay His enemies! Almighty Emperor, sear your enemies with your radiance and anoint us with your smoldering shards of hate. Your sons stand firm.... together!"

***

Without hesitation (or permission), Tulkorun slides mechadendrite probes deeply within the nearest MIU port on the ship. "Not to worry, Brother Alistayr! We need not trouble Trader Lan for a layout of his mighty vessel! Here is the deckplan you require...."

[Whiskeyjack]

"Err..." Yngvar starts and then coughs a bit, then grins widely at the Captain. "So, uh, any more regalia around? Lots of history on this ship...maybe more than one might find on any given Navy vessel."

He looks at Astatel. "Oh, looking to have a 'Lion versus Wolf' rematch so soon, Brother?" He says with a wink. "Ha ha, well, true that we need to stay in fighting trim to deliver the Allfather's just wrath upon whatever foul xenos await. Captain, is there anyone else aboard who has firsthand experience with the Aurans or their culture or their planet? I really want to talk to them if so."

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel smirks while watching Yngvar gulp down that promethium he calls Ale. Hopefully this mission will bring with it a good fight. Something worthy of him and his Brothers. Something to bring honor.

He accepts the flagon of "ale" and drinks deeply. "As the Emperor Wills It."

*************************

"Trader Lan, you have a magnificent ship....in its own way. From what I understand you have travelled far and wide. Do you happen to have a library with accumulated works? I am specifically interested in anything that has markings or writings of Xenos make. I have found that, much in the manner of the people from the Imperium have different dialects of Gothic, so too does the Xenos have different dialects of theirs. I am always trying to track down new dialects so that I may better identify them while in the heat of battle."

[Arcanoi]

The trader clasps his hands. "Ah. I had intended for my guests to dine with me. However..." He pauses and thinks for a moment. "I could have Barracks Gamma turned over to your use. It has a small mess hall and extensive training facilities. As for emergency procedures, I assure you that the Pride is even faster and more dangerous than she looks, and my crew is excellent. My family's armsmen, though no equal of The Emperor's Astartes, should be a match for any trouble we might encounter en route. If you require an in-depth demonstration, I could have my First Armsman.."

He pauses as Tulkorun slides his mechandendrite into the data port. "Don't do tha-. Oh Emperor, she's not going to like that."

Some mammoth presence in the machine turns on Tulkorun's access into the ship's Spirit, some colossal predator immersed in its natural habitat recognizing an intrusion into its domain. With an enraged snarl of machine code, it cuts off Tulkorun's query with a security override and then slams out his access with the force of Basilisk cannon.

"By Terra, man, you should not have done that." The Trader winces as his vox-bead flares to life. You can hear the muffled sound of vehement screaming. "Err, yes, yes. It's alright. One of guests just got a tad overeager. No, no! No need to lock down the entire deck. No, don't mobilize the security teams. Calm down." After a while, the screaming dies down and he flicks his vox-bead off. "Ah. Right. Yes. That. Bad idea. Don't do that again. I like my hearing intact. I can get you a layout of the ship. Just don't do that again. Please.

The Trader nods at Ezekiel's request. "Of course. I'll open my study to you. I'll show you where it is after dinner. I also have several xenos artefacts in my collection. All approved by the Ordo, of course." He adds.

"Is that all, then?" He glances at Tulkorun. "I apologize, but I really must be going. If you need anything further, there are several servitors prepared to get you anything else you require. In, ah," he checks his wrist-chrono, "three hours, we'll dine and I can get you up to speed."

[brolthemighty]

"Yes, well. Let us take stock of this ship ourselves Brothers. Although amicable, something seems a bit....off, about Trader Lan."

Brother Ezekiel takes note of where the rooms are, and heads off down the hallway.

[Whiskeyjack]

"He's a Rogue Trader. 'Off' is relative. Unless and util he embarks on mass murder like Haarlock, I would not be too worried. Now, time to dig in before dinner. How many officers do you think will black out from my ale?"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The Storm Warden smirked at the Space Wolf's question. "That depends brother, how much ale did you bring, and are you worried about them dieing from the experience?"

[Wikiwaka]

At Yngvar's retort, the Librarian smirks wryly. "Was that a challenge, Yngvar?

As the trader speaks and the fiasco with Tulkoron happens, the Angel smirks a little more, before saying "That should work well. We will dine with you should you choose, but we simply require space to train and hone our minds."

As the wolf and Warden speak of the ale, Astelan remarks once the Trader heads off "There is something odd about him. It could simply be him as a Trader, as Yngvar said. I am not one to question our 'host,' just yet. I will watch him...in the meantime, let us have a look around. We have much time on our hands, Brothers. Let us spend it well.

[Chimaera2000]

"Ah, how disappointing that this space-going lady was not more amicable!" Tulkorun chuckles. "Perhaps you could allow a well-equipped Astartes an opportunity to appease her in the future. Two weeks in the Warp is an exquisite amount of time with which to acquaint one another!" Tulkorun's chuckle turns to an outright, booming laugh as he leaves the dataport behind.

"Oh, so the Trader left so hastily? Hrm, I hadn't noticed in the debacle. I was a bit stunned by being rejected so out of hand (vindictive Machine-Spirit, I do enjoy a challenge you know).

"Still, I have no desire to study more. We have perused the Watch archives enough. Until such time that we may obtain more unique knowledge (say, from examining those Xenos artifacts... and confirming the veracity of the ordination), I would enjoy the opportunity to discover the training deck of his Lan's Armsmen. It would serve the dual purpose of assessing the quality and depth of skills with which we should expect his security teams to exhibit should we be forced into action together.... and besides, it has been far too long without combat. For an Astartes, that is!"

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan nods at the Techmarine. As well, I would appreciate a chance to find where we shall be training for the next week. Perhaps we may shape up this Trader's Armsmen while we are at it. Now, come, Brothers. We could use this time to learn what we can of where we go, and perhaps spar."

[Arcanoi]

A cadre of half a dozen portly servitors rolls down the hallway, clicking noises emanating from their vox grilles. After a moment, they assume a rectangular formation and the foremost addresses the squad in Gothic. "Captain instructs unit to lead Guests to Barracks Gamma. Affirmation."

Tulkorun

You recognize the clicking as a primitive form of Binary. The phrasing the servitors are using is nonsensical, words intermixed with notation to create streams of worthless data. The only repeating bit of note is the phrase 'Soon'.

[Whiskeyjack]

"Well well well let's check out the staterooms before we go pawing around the rest of the ship, eh?" Yngvar opens the door carefully, trying not to break anything expensive and trying not to look too disgusted by the servitors.

[Arcanoi]

Each of the staterooms is outfitted befitting the dignitaries and high-ranking military personnel the ship often transports. Gleaming copper laurels trim the rooms of the decadent suites, and each one is carpeted with unique and exotic weaves. More priceless works of art, matched perfectly to the decor, inhabit each room. Most of the furniture is too fragile for a Space Marine, but the ludicrously large canopy beds look capable of holding even your Emperor-Blessed bulk.

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The Storm Warden walked into his appointed stateroom and took in the lavishly luxury and sheer decadence of the room and sighed. Over the squad vox net he said, “If Lan’s personal suite is even half as ‘well’ appointed, and I suspect it is in fact even more so, no wonder the natives were unimpressed with the good trader as a warrior. With all this clutter, how can one concentrate on one’s duty?”

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar enters his stateroom and pulls a face. "Ugh. Well. A Warrant of Trade surely does not account for taste. The dire wolf that nursed Russ could curl up with its whole litter in that bed with room to spare..."

He glances around the walls at the finery. "I guess this is impressive to most people, but give me a cold cave and a warm bolter any day..."

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan has similar views as his brothers to the rooms. "One of these beds could hold an entire family...you could clothe a hundred with the cloth alone....inefficient."

He huffs a little, before setting his extra gear, the grenades, his full Bolter and the clips, aside and simply keeping his sword and pistol on him. Examining the bed, he scowls a little. As a Marine and a psyker, he wasn't exactly used to comforts of this magnitude. Compared to the beds he was used to on Erioch, which were simply stone slabs, this was extreme. "It looks more like something you would wrap a precious and fragile artifact in, not a man." he comments over the vox.

Sighing, he heads back out and voxes out as he finds himself somewhat accosted by a small swarm of Servitors. "Our 'guides' are here to take us to the Barracks, Brothers."

[Chimaera2000]

"Affirmative," Tulkorun intones to the Servitors. "Lead us onwards, fellow machine-brothers!"

[Whiskeyjack]

"Left all your gear behind, Brother Astelan?" he grins. "Hope that bed does not up and eat it! Looked more like a well-dressed pit of quicksand than a proper sleeping shelf to me. Give me a pile of furs - or even a stone slab. Though it might be fun to try that thing out...for research, of course."

Yngvar peers at the servitors. "Hm, I imagine that a Rogue Trader of Lan's caliber would have quite well-outfitted servitors...I wonder if he has any leftovers that we can use for target practice..."

[Arcanoi]

The Servitors eventually puzzle out your intentions and begin to trundle along at a leisurely pace. As they begin to roll along the hallway, a man steps out of the suites beside yours, gleaming golden carapace armor sporting dozens of medallions and honours. He seems briefly taken aback as he nearly bowls into Astelan before noticing the even dozen Astartes filling the corridor. On closer inspection, the man is going to grey, though he has clearly recieved numerous rejuvenae treatments. That marks the man as an impressively well-traveled veteran, or a very pampered nobleman. He adjusts his monocle and runs a hand to straighten his impressive mustache before craning his neck to address the closest Astartes, Astelan in this case.

"Ah! The Deathwatch! Lan told me of his hopes you would join us on this excursion!" He holds out a gloved hand. "Lord- or rather, Brigadier General Archibal Heth, of the 89th Orsophan Janissaries, at your service."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

Alistayr stepped out and filed in behind his squad mates as the servitors led them to where they could drill. He nodded to the general as he greeted them and, ever so gently, clasped the man’s proffered wrist in a warriors greeting. “General," he replied amicable. "So then, I assume you are going to command the small Imperial contingent on planet, or is trader Lan dropping you somewhere inroute?”

[Arcanoi]

He nods. "The former, Brother Astartes. I have had the..." His voice takes on a decidedly bitter note " privilege of being assigned to command the dozen guardsman in their quaint native-built barracks on this delightfully out-of-the-way world." He puts a grim smile, which fades quickly. "Ah, I apologize. I don't suppose you don't have the time or the inclination take pity on an old man's woes."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

“If you can keep up, I can listen. So, why post a general to a backwater with less than a company of guard on it?” He asked as he continued walking.

[Arcanoi]

The general's face lights up slightly as he falls into step. He is apparently very eager for someone to talk to. "Yes, well, Solomon and I were never particularly good friends. When poor Achilus passed, Emperor guide him, Solomon tried to get rid of most of us 'Old Guard'. Looked for any excuse to demote us, or get us moved out of theater or back to the fortress worlds. Couldn't get me, though. I'm still too good for that sodding incompetent to outwit." A gleam of pride appears in the man's eye and then dies quickly. He sighs. "No, he had to be a bit more brute to get rid of me. He fed my Janissaries into the Blood Trinity. Eighty Four percent casualties. The best heavy infantry Solomon had in the entire Salient, and he fed them into the grinder to soothe his pride. Of course, he demoted me after that. Said I was going senile or some other doddering nonsense."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The Storm Warden winced. “A waste of good soldiers,” he replied. “Lives are the God-Emperor’s currency, entrusted unto his generals, they should be spent well, not thrown away to soothe any man’s pride.”

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar listens quietly, considering, actually a little taken aback. Doesn't sound anything like the glory of the Crusade that we hear about. Small men killing good men for nothing. Pah. That would never stand in a Chapter of Astartes. "Have you been down to Aurum before, or is this your first trip?"

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan frowns at the story of petty political intrigue, at the cost of massive casualties. "Could you not have him investigated? That tremendous waste of life, if done repeatedly, will cripple the Crusade entirely." Frowning a bit, he says "Assigning a general, once Lord General, to a developing guard station is much like bringing a lascannon to remove a bee's nest."

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun nods solemnly. "I suppose that is an object lesson: we must take eminent care not to alienate those around us, lest human pride provoke folly wrath. Oh, hrm, Ezekiel, would you please pull down those art pieces on the walls? One of these rude glow-panels is flickering and I... think... the circuitry connecting to it is right behind that 32nd Millennium tapestry. Ah, don't trouble yourself, I'll take it down myself!"

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel regards the General,"That is unfortunate that you were laid low by some petty scheming General. However, Fate has smiled upon you this day. It has brought us here, to this point. From the sounds of it, there will be ample opportunity for Glory. Stick with us, and if you live, you will have it again"

[Whiskeyjack]

"Ah, Brother...boundaries," Yngvar mutters to the Salamander. "Just pretty thread to us...and maybe a nice covering in the Fenris cold for my people...but to those of a more material bent, probably priceless."

He turns back to the General.

[Arcanoi]

The general scoffs at Astelan's suggestion. "Have the Lord Militant investigated? Do I look like an inquisitor to you?"

He grins at Ezekiel's words. "I appreciate the sentiment, Brother. But I think I would make a poor Space Marine. Too handsome, I'm told."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

“Not to worry General, a few strategically placed scars will remedy that nicely.” The Storm Warden replied with a straight face. “And we are more than happy to oblige.” He added, as he patted the hit of his sacris claymore.

[Arcanoi]

The older man stares for a moment, searching for a sign of humor. After a few moments, he lets out a hearty chortle. "Good man! Storm Wardens, eh? I've met a few of your Chapter Brothers with some right-nasty scars. Did you know Captain Maclir? Now he was a right-ugly bastard. How's that old dog doing?"

As this goes on, the Servitors round another corner and roll to a halt. "Destination achieved.Dispersing." You notice that you have indeed arrived at your destination. A small mess hall greets you at the entrance to Barracks Gamma. A few Lan armsmen are still seated, eating, though most stop and stare as your squad approaches. A man with a lieutenant's laurels approaches. "General Heth," he snaps a crisp salute. "My apologies, sirs, we were just clearing out. You'll find the training facilities through the door to your right. The armoury is directly behind me," he takes a moment to note the sheer volume of weapons your squad already bears, "but I doubt you'll need it. On your left is the brig, but we're just about to finish clearing that out anyway."

As he speaks, two flak-armoured armsmen walk up, a bound prisoner between them. Another man walks behind, covering his comrades with a void-safe shotgun. The prisoner's head is fixed on the ground until he catches the sight of Astartes boots, at which he perks up. His speach is a confusing, malformed dialect of Low Gothic. "Begs, sers, ya musten aids ai! Ai'z guilscoffed! Jat Gearfaace war muckad wit ja Serv'ters! Jat Gearfaace temptad blood ai! Has skull wer awn ham, wer!"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The Storm Warden suppressed a grin as the General decided he was joking. A bold man, most mortals would not venture so for fear of offense, he could see how Heth had come to be a lord General. “Aye, I served with Brother Captain Maclir for over a decade and he bares even more scars now. We should exchange stories some time.”

Alistayr’s attention is snared by the guards as they drag the pleading man toward the brig. Most of what the man babbled was difficult to follow in his heavy accented dialect, but some of the words stood out. He remembered his first deployment as a scout of the 10th company, and how difficult it was to communicate with others until he had worn down the rough edges of his oven Sancrissian accent. Even now, he sometimes drifted back into his native tongue. “Whoa there friends, what has this man been charged with?”

[Chimaera2000]

"Someone interfered with the Servitors?" Tulkorun turns angrily, servo-arm cracking. "Prisoner, name your attacker!"

[Whiskeyjack]

"Brothers, brothers," Yngvar says calmly. "Err, Lord-General Heth, who is this man? And what has he done? That particular dialect of Low Gothic is not quite, uh, discernable."

[Arcanoi]

Heth merely raises his eyebrows in bemusement. "I know nothing of this, Brother."

One of the armsmen jams a fist into the ragged prisoner's gut and drives the air from his lungs. The lieutenant steps in to answer your questions. "This ones a menial who we took on at last port. Killed an enginseer in the Servitor Bays. We're holding him in custody until we can turn him over to the Gearhe-" He takes a half-pause as his eyes find the skull-and-cog emblem on Tulkorun's shoulder. "To the Mechanicus at next call. Case was pretty cut and dry. He had the knife and the cogboy's blood was on it. Captain doesn't want trouble with the Mechanicus."

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

He slowly shock his head for a moment. They were guests on the Rogue Trader's ship and Lan undoubtedly had his own way of doing things and, given his profession and status, great latitude in how he did them. Still, Alistayr was an Astartes, trained and crafted to be an exemplar to humanity. Even if he had not aspired to be worthy of such a heritage, and he did, he at least valued being thorough. "Did the menial give reason for his attack on the adept?"

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel stands off to the side and listens to his Brothers, and to the tale of the prisoner. What purpose would it serve to get involved in such a menial matter? He was an Astartes. Literally made for war. Let the proper authorities deal with this he thought. He and his Brothers had grander tasks at hand.

"Brothers, I am sure that Trader Lan and his people can," Looking directly at the two armsmen,"and WILL look into this matter fully. Best be sure you're aiming at the right man before you pull the trigger eh? It would be shame to give the Mechanicus the wrong man."

[Arcanoi]

The lieutenant looks decidedly annoyed and perhaps a tad alarmed. "The menial claims he's innocent, claims the cogboy attacked him. Enginseer Krell had been a crewman for seven years. When the hired help kills one of the crew, we punish them, Sir Astartes. And yes, I did my homework. This man definitely killed Krell. Menial's prints on the handle with Krell's blood on the blade."

[Wikiwaka]

The Librarian looks just as worried as his fellow descendant of the Lion. "Brothers, let the Trader's crew handle their own disputes. They did fine before arrived, and they will do fine after we leave. And feel no rush to leave. If you'll excuse us..." With that Astelan walks past his comrades into the barracks to survey the surroundings. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, no, but he wasn't exactly looking very hard, just to see if it was spacious enough for melee combat.

[Chimaera2000]

"Hrm." Tulkorun strides past the gathering towards the barracks, stopping and straightening abruptly before having gone a few steps. "Crewmen, I go to train now, but I offer my services to your vessel for the duration of our trip should the loss of your Enginseer require another set of mechadendrites."

Tulkorun turns on heel and gives a satisfied nod before any reply may come. The barracks hold his conscious attention when he reaches them.... even if his abstract thoughts are mentally calculating the probable deckplan of the ship. What a rude machine spirit.

[Arcanoi]

The training facilities are relatively modest compared to what you're used to. The main training room is a wide, open room with a firm, artificial floor. Clear lines for combat are marked out in red on the floor, and an elevated, rope-bounded arena is set in the far corner of the room. A row of hanging dummies, vaguely resembling humans and some of the more common Xenos races lines the wall on your left. A four-lane firing range is immediately to the right of the entrance, and a sign above a door on the far wall declares the availability of training servitors for hand-to-hand combat, providing the reader has acquired Beta-Grade Close-Quarters-Combat Rating.

[Whiskeyjack]

"I think we should refrain from using any of our ranged weapons, Brothers. We will need the ammunition, and I doubt the Captain has Astarte-caliber bolt magazines in his armoury. Not to mention the potential for large holes and explosive decompression!"

Yngvar looks around for a moment before going to inspect the melee-servitors. "I suppose now we play the waiting game..."

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun scoops up a stray lasgun at the firing range and fires streaming red beams into Xeno-shaped dummies alone. Relentless Astartes training ensured that this would likely have been the most dazzling display of marksmanship ever recorded at this range.... well, until the rest of his Kill-team decided to hoist a las-gun. Tulkorun grinned with pride at the thoughts of what records that one of their Devastators might shatter in this arena!

"Huh-ha, a rather pleasing aside. Still, I agree with your assessment, Brother Yngvar. We have two weeks above this vessel and our daily preparations and training will take the majority our time here. Unless our presence is requested specifically, we may allow the Trader to manage his own affairs... and enable ourselves to prepare for our pressing mission."

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar approaches the Salamander as the echoes of the las's whip-smacking fire die down. "Good idea, Brother Tulkorun! Keep our ranged skills at top-notch without using precious bolts!" He heavily claps Tulkorun on one armored shoulder with a gauntlet, and leans in close.

"Between you and me, Brother...I think we should leave well enough alone with regard to that rating and his crime. Let the Cult Mechanicus punish him fitting his crime. However...his mentioning that the servitors were tampered with is troubling, a problem I can recognize in part because we are not of this crew and thus have no viewpoint on loyalties between a proven crew member and a new conscript. Granted, his allegations are probably just a lie spoken to avoid culpability, and he's shown no proof but...if you can, inspect one of those servitors after we have dinner and the shift has changed. We might as well not draw too much attention right now...Brother Alistayr's intervention in their prisoner transportation should have died in memory at least a little by the time we have all eaten, and I wish to avoid any other direct intervention in the workings of this ship if possible. Not our problem, after all, and I don't want the Captain, and by extension the Crusade, thinking that every little problem it has is a matter for Deathwatch to look into."

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan, meanwhile, observes the range on his own, before moving a bit to the side and drawing his sword and falling into a routine weapon's drill. Flourishes and jabs aside, he goes into a whirling dance, stabbing and slicing at imaginary, but for the purpose of the exercise no less dangerous foes.

"How fares your sword-arm, Yngvar?" the Angel asks casually, not missing a beat as he lops a shadow-ork's head off.

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

“Apologies lieutenant,” the Storm Warden said. “Sometimes my zeal gets the better of me.” With that he moved to weapons rack and picked up a lasgun. The weapon felt like a toy in his hands, his armoured finger would not even fit through the trigger guard. He removed his gauntlet and extended the weapon out one armed and fired. It didn’t even kick. It was more of an oversized flashlight than a gun.

[Whiskeyjack]

"Ah, Brother Astelan...sword, knife, claw, all good, all prepared to deal death in the Allfather's name. And remember, Brother, both arms are my sword arm," he smiles.

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel surveys the room, "Agreed Brothers, we should definitely refrain from using our bolters in here. However, I'm not sure if working with these men's lasguns will be much of a workout. Here, let me take a look at one." He grabs up a lasgun from the rack and examines it closely. Hefting it first in his right hand, and then in his left hand. "I feel like I might break it by just holding it." He turns and fires it without even looking, marking a headshot on the target. "Suitable enough though."

[Chimaera2000]

"As you will it, Squad Leader!" booms Tulkorun. His laughter discordantly fills the air before being his vox unit squeals and bursts into harsh static that encompasses the firing range. The squad vox comes online from within each Astartes helm even as the cacophony of white noise continues.

"I will investigate the Servitors after dinner, Brother Yngvar... huh-ha, I would likely do so even part of the Squad's vigil! Should any other Battle-Brother wish to... happen to be... in decks near the engine hold, their company would be most welcome.

I mean, do you remember one thing that menial uttered? The Mechanicus 'has skull wer awn ham, wer!' This may be inconsequential... or that Enginseer may have been displaying the skull symbols of the Great & Hated Enemy! It will be enjoyable to investigate the Servitors rather than simply sitting still, awaiting deployment.

"After all, frankly..." Tulkorun gruffly growls while his photolenses flash polarized-black. "Heresy grows from idleness!"

[Arcanoi]

The time spent availing yourselves of the Barrack's training facilities passes quickly and uneventfully. Three hours later, a brawny man with a colonel's laurels ambles into the cavernous gymnasium alongside General Heth. The colonel's face sports a nasty trio of parallel scars down the center of his face. Both his eyes are augmetic, giving his gaze a machine-like quality that might unnerve lesser men. The general clears his throat and addresses the squad.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Colonel Orus Joranskin."

"Astartes." The colonel makes strange gesture, likely a Feral-world salute.

"I believe his arrival suggests that the captain would enjoy our presence at his dining hall," adds Heth.

For his part, the stone-faced Colonel merely nods.

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

The Storm Warden set the lasgun back into the weapons rack and then reattached his gauntlets. “Well, let us not be rude to so gracious an invitation brothers. Come; let us see what is for dinner.”

[Arcanoi]

The colonel gives another brief nod and sets off down the hall, clearly expecting you to follow him. He leads down a winding labyrinth of winding corridors. For a while, the only sound is your boots on the ship's deck. As you take a turn, a vast corridor opens before you. Ratings and couriers run hither and thither, appearing from and vanishing into dozens of side passages such as the one you just entered through. Vast banners hang from the vaulted ceiling above your heads. Some of the scuttling crew stop in their business to stare, but the flowing throng of motion quickly pushes them along. Nevertheless, the flow parts to allow you through. Eventually, the flow dies out, though the corridor widens, and you reach an opulent sloped elevator. As the lift grinds upwards, a pleasant malcadorian chant plays from hidden voxcasters in the felt-covered walls.

As you ascend, one of the walls falls away, revealing a transparent ferroglass bulkhead showing the open vacuum beyond. You can see the dim glow of Erioch Minoris as the Pride powers out of its gravity well. Eventually, the lift grinds to a halt, and the door slides open. A dull chime sounds, and is followed by a scream of rage.

An ornate bulkhead opens and a cloaked figure rushes out, streaming towards you. You quickly identify this as the source of the noise and your hands fall to your weapons as the assailant closes.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS IT?" screams the figure. It is the voice of a women, roughened by age with a slightly metallic quality. A snake's nest of mechandendrites sprouts out from under the hood, clicking and whirring, as though scenting the air. You weapons lower as you realize the woman is unarmed. The diminutive figure rounds on Yngvar first. "WAS IT YOU, WOLF? NO, YOURS ARE TOO STUPID." She turns to the rest of the squad, mechandendrites writhing. "WELL?"

[Whiskeyjack]

Yngvar, uncowed, briefly considers pulling out his bolter and showing this thing the meaning of proper respect.

He refrains, for now. "Care to repeat that?" he murmurs in a low, dangerous voice. "I'm sure my Watch-Commander would not mind paying the expense of the Captain having to hire a new Enginseer should I tell him the insult one of the Priests of Mars directed at an Adeptus Astartes. Or...perhaps you should be perceptive enough to only insult whoever is 'responsible' for your issue, rather than an entire Kill-Team. Of course, why go through the whole process of investigation. I'm happy to settle this insult with a trial by combat." He stretches his back, the popping of his spine audible to everyone, and his armor creaks as muscles strain against it.

[Chimaera2000]

"It was ME! It was ME who attempted to commune with the (rather haughty) Machine Spirit of this vessel! I regret nothing." Tulkorun straightens up proudly, chest puffing outwards.

"Although, hrm, a lack of success in said achieving said communion is worth regret. My analysis requires imminent revision. Ah, fellow Tech-Adept! How would you suggest that I better communicate with your vessel's incredulously temperamental Ship-Guide in the future? Also, is that Machine Spirit always so monolithically boorish? If so, a trained Adeptus Mechanicus Astartes (coloquially, Techmarine) is at your service!

"Though, ah-ha, my pardon! I had not noticed that you were angry. What is the nature of your distress, fellow Adept of the true deux ex machina, God in the Machine?"

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

He looked back and forth between the tech priest and the tech marine and sighed. “Well, she’s all yours Tulkorun.” The astartes stepped out of the lift and past the augmented woman and then, as an afterthought, he added with a smile. “Vox if you need backup.”

[Arcanoi]

Glaring red blips blazing under the hood turn a baleful gaze towards Tulkorun, pointedly ignoring Yngvar. "YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER, OMNISSIAH DAMN YOUR PHOTORECEPTORS! MARS-TRAINED AND YOU GO ABOUT RAPING YOUR WAY INTO WHATEVER SYSTEM OR SPIRIT FITS YOUR FANCY? IF WHATEVER COGITATOR-BEREFT RECRUITER HADN'T SEEN FIT TO COVER OVER YOUR CLEARLY INEPT INTELLECT WITH THE EMPEROR'S BEST FLESH, I WOULD TEAR YOUR APART AND FLUSH EVERY SCRAP OUT OF THE AIRLOCK! DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GO WORMING INTO WHATEVER DATAPORT SUITS YOUR FANCY SIMPLY BECAUSE SOME FOOL TAUGHT YOU BINARY AND GLUED A 'DENDRITE TO YOUR SPINE? WHAT IN THE OMNISSIAH'S NAME MADE YOU THINK YOU HAD THE CLEARANCE TO WORM YOUR WAY INTO MY PRIDE'S DATA STACKS ON WHIM ALONE? IF YOU'D LIKE, I COULD RETURN THE FAVOR AND QUERY YOUR MAIN INTERNAL DATABASE WITH A PROSTHETILENE TORCH!" To demonstate her point, she raises a grimly glowing mechandendrite, which hovers close to your ear.

"I SUSPECT MY COGITATION BANKS WOULD HAVE TO SUFFER SEVERE INTERNAL DAMAGE BEFORE I COULD EVEN FATHOM THE REASONING AND JUSTIFICATION BEHIND YOUR ABSOLUTELY IDIOTIC ACTIONS! IT WAS FOOLS AND INCOMPETENTS LIKE YOU THAT MADE ME JOIN THE ADEPTUS, AND YET STILL YOUR KIND HOUNDS ME, EVEN AMONGST THE STARS! I AM AT A LOSS FOR WORDS AS TO HOW YOUR SURVIVED LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE IT HERE TO PLAGUE MY DAY! IT IS ALMOST AS THOUGH YOUR ARE SOME KIND OF TEST SENT FROM THE OMNISSIAH, BUT I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT IMAGINE WHAT I HAVE DONE TO DESERVE SUCH A PUNISHMENT!"

[brolthemighty]

Brother Ezekiel claps his Brother on the back, "We'll let Trader Lan know that you'll be slightly late for dinner, due to an....appointment with your fellow Mechanicus. I'm sure he'll understand."

[Wikiwaka]

Astelan, for all his wisdom and patience, glares at the tech-priest from under his hood. Despite any infractions she was spewing about, the sheer disrespect and tone was utterly unheard of and for one, unnecessary. "Mechanicus, I seriously suggest you watch your tone. Scold our Brother for whatever infraction he committed, but do not treat him like a blighted child. If you'll excuse us, we have an important meeting with this ship's captain. You can spew your rage at Tulkoron later. Understood?

[Chimaera2000]

"Hmm... why can we not do both?" Tulkorun doffs his helm hastily and gives the greatest grin that a genetically-engineered cyborg might provide. "Fellow Tech-Adept, join us at dinner as my guest! I would be pleased to listen to your prattling views while my brothers see to the business of wining and dining our most charming hosts!"

[Whiskeyjack]

"If this Mechanicus has many more disrespectful words to utter, I'm going to see how much organic tongue she has to be cut out of her mouth. Grievance is one thing; such insults to the grandsons of the Allfather is quite another," he murmurs darkly, turning aside with Astelan.

[Arcanoi]

The techpriestess gathers herself up for a moment, visibly preparing to release another torrent of rage, when Lan, veritably sprinting down the halls, bursts into the foyer. He is accompanied by a wispy-looking man, unnaturally pale and hairless, and a pair of naval provosts. The wispy man moves with surprising quickness, crossing the room in a few heartbeats. The man bears down on the techpriestess, extending slightly overlong arms and grasping her flailing hands. She attempts to fend him off but he bears her down to the floor, a serene, fatherly expression on his face. He leans down and whispers a few words into her ear, so softly even your enhanced sensors fail to pick it up. Joranskin, a bemused expression on his face, the first emotion you've yet seen out of him, motions the provosts, who help the techpriestess to her feet. She seems sedated, or drugged, and doesn't say a word as the provosts bear her out of the room.

After a moment, Lan speaks up, bringing a hand to his face with a tinge of embarrassment. "Erm, I'm sorry you had to experience that. Scya is a tad touchy about people interfering with the Pride's machine spirit." He pauses and coughs. "Ah, right. Yes." He holds an arm out towards the the pale man. "My seneschal, Veyoris Akioh." The man bows at the acknowledgement. "And I trust General Heth has introduced you to Major Joranskin. Now, if you'll just follow me, hopefully we can make the rest of the night less eventful."

[Whiskeyjack]

"Point me at your ale and I'm sure I can forget that unpleasantness, Captain," he says, grinning to show his long canines.

[Ceridan]

Brother Alistayr

"Aye," the Storm Warden agreed with the Space Wolf. "Lead on."

[Chimaera2000]

Tulkorun looks at the retreating Techpriestess for a long moment. He heaves a visible sigh. "Ah, what a pity, what a pity that she could not come! After all, us Astartes are engineered to engage in all realms of conflict... including the verbal arena!"

The Salamander's raised-on-a-lava-world-hardened face bears an expression of childlike disappointment. Abruptly, he shrugs and smiles. "Lead us on to dinner! We will win VICTORY in the hospitality arena! We will dine FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Tulkorun chuckles rather loudly.

[Arcanoi]

Diaz Lan beckons the squad onwards and leads the way through a wide, opulently-appointed corridor. A line of portraits, each at least two meters square, line both sides of the corridor, detailing each of the Horizon's Pride's previous captains. You approach an engraved set of double doors, topped with an even larger portrait of yet another Lan, a proud plaque proclaiming one Tiberius Lan's acquiring of a Warrant of Trade in M33.799. Lan lightly presses a hand to one of the gilded rings on the door and it swings open with an archaic groan. The Captain's Mess of the proud ship is indeed a sight to see. Catering to its ancient shipwright's penchant for open spaces, the hall resembles an primitive Terran amphitheater, stepped levels bearing semi-circular tables with a common focii centered on a low stage. Most of the tables are empty, but the lowest and smallest of the tables has been set for about a dozen individuals. A group of bridge officers greets Lan at the door and he exchanges a few pleasantries as he descends down towards the table. He glances at your squad and motions you towards a group of over-sized metal stools. You realize that the table has been elevated to accommodate your super-human frames. As Lan takes his seat, he speaks up. "I apologize brothers, but I was unable to acquire nalwood chairs capable of supporting the Emperor's Finest."