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Forbidden lore (Xenos) on the subject of what caused the Necrontyr to go into their current hibernation: it's not completely surprising that Andrew doesn't know a great deal about the subject, since, among Imperial scholars who are still in possession of their faculties, no-one knows about it. Andrew's pretty sure that current scholarly consensus is that it wasn't the early Eldar that caused this hibernation period, though - the timing's wrong, and besides a few raiding parties, there aren't any settled Eldar civilisations in the entire Reach. It's very possible that what Andrew does know might combine interestingly with some of the knowledge of other members of his Kill Team
Forbidden lore (Astartes) on the subject of who Pecos might be referring too - BZZT, insufficient data to narrow down the precise reference. Blood Ravens would certainly want to grab some sort of secret lore or arcane weapon; Sons of Medusa might well want to grab some sort of time-manipulating device from under the nose of the Iron Hands; Lone Stars themselves have an unhealthy fascination with hidden weapons of mass destruction; even Ultramarines and their Successors have been seizing and secreting weapons caches all over the Imperium of late. What this does imply, though, is that high-ranking Deathwatch officers harbour serious doubts about the intentions of wide portions of the Adeptus Astartes, which is fairly interesting.
Such a good Forbidden Lore result will also recall the fact that Lone Stars marines like Pecos use the word 'loyalist' with a particular edge to it - to them, the word carries connotations of ostentatious and self-aggrandising demonstrations of loyalty to the Imperium. Chapters that went all-out to show to the world how good and noble they are tend to get on badly with the Lone Stars, who see themselves as plain-dealin' and sure-shootin' (which is, of course its own form of self-aggrandisement, but don't tell them that). Contained in that dismissal of 'loyalists' is, therefore, a veiled and possibly subliminal reference to which Chapters in the Jericho Reach it might be a good idea to keep an eye on.
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Ciphers - the deciphering attempt fails, as Pecos appears to have been using her own Chapter's runes rather than Inquisitional ones. Dasin's infused knowledge of basic cryptographic principles lets her learn a little of what the Novus Ordo may have been up to. The pattern of lots of small regular transmissions out followed by a single colossal burst of a few exabytes of data - suggests that the Novus Ordo was carrying out a monitoring mission (lots of small 'check-in' communications followed by a big report), but nothing very specific.
Forbidden lore (Inquisition/Xenos) - Dasin isn't particularly familiar with the events surrounding the 13th Black Crusade and the Eye of Terror - she knows that the Inquisition has a heavy presence there, but her Grey Knight cousins keep a very tight lock on activity over there, and Deathwatch involvement tends not to be welcome. She does remember that there were a number of briefing papers regarding Necron activity in the closing stages of the Crusade, though, that were circulated at recent Watch Station Erioch convocations. These focused primarily on the Xenos race's military capabilities (for the first time, Imperial Strategii had the opportunity to gather a large amount of data on Necron space combat, in particular), as well as speculation about what the Necrons wanted (specifically, why they seemed willing to ally themselves temporarily with Imperial and Eldar forces to attack Abaddon's own fleets). The Novus Ordo seems to have visited a lot of the same places mentioned in that report, albeit with a focus on worlds where Necrons were believed to have sequestered themselves, rather than battlefields, as far as you can tell from the train of deleted data.
Tech-use - the ongoing attempts to optimise the system's fuel usage ekes out a further .2% efficiency, at the cost of dimming the lights across the vessel by a fraction invisible even to Astartes eyes. The ship is very well maintained and well-tuned, and even though Dasin - an eminently practical and technically minded Astartes Forgemaster - can't really improve it any further, just play around with resources on a zero sum level. It does, however, make her confident that she could probably do the same on another vessel - she's effectively read 'Imperial Navy Shipboard Power Redistribution for Dummies', and although it's highly unauthorised stuff, it's not all that tough to do if you get the knack[/b].
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He's kneeling in a cathedral.
At least, that's how it seems at first. The oppressively heavy air, though devoid of echoes, still has that distinctive cavernous quality that suggests either sanctity or complete isolation and solitude. The floor against his bare feet and knees - somewhere, he seems to have swapped his power armour for a monastic robe - is eternity-worn, etched by a fractal pattern of hundreds of thousands of micro-meteorite impacts, and feels just a little bit gritty, like unfinished ceramite. A droplet of hot wax drops down from above, scalding Thracian's skin for just a second, and he looks up. A ragged ocean of light fills the havens - a cosmos of chandeliers, great pendulous sconces and narrow wrought-iron candelabra fill the empty space above him. Some are so close he could nearly touch them, and some are so far away that they are almost invisible, their random patterns [a check against infused knowledge might be interesting here - half Int, perhaps] blending into faint veins and nebulae of light. In this gloom, though, they aren't nearly enough to illuminate the limits of this space, though, and he can barely see his own hands in front of his face. All is quiet, all is still, all is dark.
That's not to say he's alone, though. Giants surround him in this cavernous empty space, keeping a silent vigil over the empty space in which he stands. The darkness makes it hard to identify precisely what they are, but their silhouettes are shaded in a faint charcoal against the blackness of the void beyond. Some look like ships, with the bold outlines and unmistakeable jutting prows of Imperial vessels - others seem more organic or mineral, asteroids and chunks of planetary crust rivet apart by their now-cooled tectonic fires. They hang there in space, colossal in themselves but rendered small by the unimaginable distances between them and the Codicier. He stands there, awestruck by the sheer scale of the place, finding it somehow meaningful
He's not alone. Something moved behind him, in the darkness, and Thracian whirls, force staff clasped in a defensive two-handed grip. It's got close, too close, and he can't believe he let himself be blindsided by this, by this
thing. Odd. He quirks an eyebrow, eyes refocusing on what he'd felt sure was a leaping Genestealer or Ork Kommando, some horror dredged from his memory and brought into the real world to attack him now. But it's nothing of the kind - not some foul Xenos, or some monster stalking after him to kill him, but a door. Or maybe, a door frame - freestanding, some thirty foot high, its shape mirrors the arched profile that Thracian's seen across a hundred Imperial Gothic basilicas and temples. Closer examination reveals that it seems to be made out of heavily bruised flesh, which, when combined with its mysterious appearance (it certainly wasn't there earlier), and the fact that it doesn't appear to have an actual door in it, only heightens Thracian's confusion. He lowers his staff, reaches out with one bare hand into the space where the door should be, into empty space - and then his hand snags on thin air. And as he does, all of his confusion, all of his horror vanishes. A slow, warm smile spreads across his face, as he knows what's on the other side of the psychic meat-gate; the ancient warp-creature whose eyes he is suddenly seeing through knows exactly what's going on, and what it will have to do. Warplight spills out around the bloody door-frame as it grips the void, and, like a curtain, pulls it back -