They All Uprose (Dark Heresy IC)

[Destro_Yersul]

OOC Thread

They All Uprose
Chapter One: Grasping at Shadows

A trip to Klybo.

Throughout the Calixis sector, the planet's name was an ill one. A trip to Klybo meant one was headed for disaster, that their endeavour would end badly. But now here they were, on an actual trip to the blighted place, and Solomon found he liked it not one bit. The ship that had brought them here was an Imperial corvette, part of the Sector Fleet. There were only two types of people who ever bothered coming here: The Navy, and the Desperate. Staring out of the great armourglass viewports in the ready room next to the shuttle bay, the bounty hunter could see why.

Klybo was a dead place, a blasted world covered in sand. The whole planet was uniformly tan, without even the white of clouds to blot its atmosphere. It was a marked contrast to the grey and white of Sephiris Secundus, but not especially a welcome one. For the five acolytes of the Inquisition currently on the ship, it represented the scope of their world for the foreseeable future. Solomon and Gabe had been inducted by Inquisitorial order, recieved shortly after the psyker, Severus, had sent his report of the events on the ice world. There had been other changes, too. The Adept, Mouse, had been pulled from the cell to assist in cataloguing the research notes they had recovered. In her place were two others, newly assigned to cell Sigma. Novus Flavion, a distressingly grey little man who hadn't stopped twitching the entire time he'd been on board; and Joss Falkenrath, a predatory looking warrior from some low-technology world that Solomon had never been to. They had transferred onto the ship at the same stop where Mouse had left.

Now, the ship was at its last stop, for them. The shuttle bay alarms sounded as they filed onto a battered Arvus lighter with Navy insignia, the crew hurrying to vacate the deck. The bay vented, and the massive doors began to grind slowly open. The Arvus lifted off the deck, engines screaming, and shot out of the bay, its front viewport affording them their first view of their true destination.

The Navy waystation on Klybo's lone moon didn't have a name, just a designation. Navy Waystation 68743-Alpha. It squatted on the surface, a vast edifice of plasteel and armourglass. It had been built in an octagonal shape, with the huge cylinders of the plasma fuel storage tanks rising up behind it. The top levels were devoted to the Navy, containing living quarters and work space for the thousands of personnel that kept it running. The lower levels, the depths of the station, were filled with machinery and industry, vast hydroponics bays providing food for the population and restock for the ships that stopped here. The station was self-sustaining in nearly every way. It had to be. There was no help to be found anywhere else in system.

The mid levels, however, that was where they were going, their Arvus angling downwards towards a barely visible opening in the steel face of 68743-Alpha. Here was where the desperate came, the prospectors and scrap hunters and archeologists hoping to make their fortunes scrabbling in the dust amidst the ruins of the old colonies. Here was where they stayed, when their time on Klybo had ended one way or another, until they could barter a trip outsystem, to try their luck somewhere else. Some of them never left. Plenty more of them never returned to the station from the surface of the planet. Klybo took its toll on all of them.

The Arvus touched down in the single-shuttle landing bay, the scream of the engines lowering enough to permit conversation. Their pilot turned his head away from the controls, looking back into the passenger compartment.

"Here you are," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "I don't know what you're hoping to find here, but... well, good luck with it." Behind them, there was an echoing metallic boom as the bay sealed and pressurised, the hatch of the Arvus hissing open shortly afterwards. The acolytes stepped down off the landing craft into the shuttle bay, the last words of their pilot floating down after them.

"You're gonna need some luck, in this hellhole."

[Blarghy]

It wasn't too terrible, starting out. No more than usual, anyway, which is a natural default of about 7 on the 1-10 terror scale. But the closer the ship got to Klybo, the more nervous the already-skittish Novus got, until finally on the morning of arrival a harmless but sudden whistle of background machinery made him fling his breakfast against the wall and flee screaming to his bunk for over an hour.

Now, on the moon's waystation, Novus wrings his hands and shivers, eyes darting back and forth. He knows enough about the planet below to already hate this place even more than normal. To make matters worse, unfamiliar stations make him nervous anyway. Who can say what sinister people--and creatures--are either passing through or living here like fat spiders in the dark?

His new companions are no less unsettling. They all seem murderous (to be fair, so do most people in his opinion), and psykers always make Novus sweat. With horror in front and fear behind with no comfort in between, he pulls his mesh cloak around himself like a security blanket and tries to look small and unimportant while he waits for someone in the group to take the initiative and lead them forward.

But of course, Novus's mind is always whirling, and only a good two-thirds of his focus is on the evil they might find here. The rest occupies itself with lore. Novus Knows Things, you see, and luckily so, because he doesn't have much else going for him.

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Let's see if any of these get lucky:

Common Lore (Imperium) (for general information): (1d100)[48]
Common Lore (Tech) (for those STCs the Inquisitor mentioned): (1d100)[29]
Common Lore (Administratum) (to remember what the local arm of the organization is like here, in hopes that we can use it to our advantage): (1d100)[78]
Forbidden Lore (Cults) (to see if Novus has heard of any locals that might want to boil the group alive in the name of Chaos): (1d100)[48]
Scholastic Lore (Legends) (for the first wave of settlers on Klybo. You never did say what killed them all...): (1d100)[96]

[Calimos]

Severus completed his prayer, just before the Arvus touched down. During the travel to their destination, he had been thinking, bringing back to mind the events that led them here, in Klybo's lone moon.

*******

The space travel period that preceded their arrival here, was actually comfortable for the middle-aged psyker, thanks to his void-born origins. He had time to think, pray, reflect on the outcome of the previous assignment and prepare himself, as much as was possible for the one that was now ahead of them.

Solomon and Gabriel, recently inducted into the cell were there too. Good men, reliable, who had proven their mettle in the underground research facility of Magos Moreus, back in Sepheris Secundus. It would be reassuring to have them in Klybo as well. Unfortunately, Mouse could not be with them. Lady Inquisitor Valle had appointed her to a different duty. That was regrettable, given Severus' appreciation for her and recognition of her competence, but the Inquisitor certainly knew better. And then there were two new acolytes that he did not know of yet. An adept, by the name of Novus Flavion and a warrior, by the name of Joss Falkenrath. It would be interesting to see how they'd get along.

*******

As the Arvus was coming closer to reach his destination, he performed a regular weapons and equipment check, making sure that everything was in place. After this was complete, he read for one last time the mission report, commiting its contents to memory, his mind already racing to examine possible ways of locating this individual. Another investigation was awaiting them, yet the very nature of this place was somewhat depressing to say the least. After all its reputation preceded it. Despite those circumstances, Severus rejoiced for he had found peace in his unshakeable faith to the Emperor, which had been further reinforced from the long hours of discussion, fasting and praying alongside the ship's confessor. They would get to the bottom of this and discover what lay beneath.

He nodded towards the pilot, before exiting the Arvus.

"Thank you. The Emperor Protects".


OOC

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Requesting an Awareness and a Psyniscience check as soon as we're on/in the station.

Also, a couple of questions:

Do we have any contact that we are to meet in this place?

Do we have a description of Viator Raltus?

Do we have any orders/info regarding communication, course of further action and possible extraction, after (and provided that) we discover the man we search for and his purpose/associates etc?

[-Sentinel-]

As the shuttle neared the landing bay, Solomon finished cleaning his firing pin and reassembled his good old autogun with practiced ease; hopefully, this time it would not let him down at a crucial moment. Despite the heat from the engines inside the ship, the bounty hunter wore his bulletproof black duster like a uniform, its familiar weight comforting on his shoulders. It had gotten pretty torn up during the last mission, but Solomon was not planning to change it anytime soon.

He threw Joss Falkenrath a curious glance. He hoped his new comrade in the Department of Shooting Up the Place would prove to be much like the late Karel, as opposed to one of those stick-in-the-ass, bureaucracy-minded military men he too often had to work with. The man was from a low-tech world, at least; that was a good sign.

The other one, though, this twitchy-looking Novus... strange fellow. Whatever was his specialty, he had better be pretty damn good at it. And stay the Warp out of the way when the Grox dung hit the engine turbines.

---

1

"I don't know what you're hoping to find here, but... well, good luck with it. You're gonna need some luck, in this hellhole."

Solomon smiled at the pilot. "There's no such thing as luck, good sir."

As soon as he stepped out of the shuttle, he lit his first lho-stick since Sephiris Secundus with a satisfied sigh, then coughed a bit; he had lost some of the habit since his last smoke. Throne, did he hate long space travels... He offered lho-sticks to any of his comrades who would have them, then stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the landing bay he was in, a deliberate expression of boredom on his face.

No matter the planet, it felt good to be on solid ground.

[Artemis97]

Joss Falrenrath was quick to exit the Arvus. The Assassin still thought it strange to travel around in steel boxes, in the void of space, out among the stars. The stars, where the Emperor lived, out there, somewhere. Truly, they were blessed to travel among them.

Stepping out onto solid ground, he ran a hand through his long brown hair. His cat like eyes scanned the area, looking for threats, though he was fairly certain there would be none. Still, comfort led to weakness. He slung his bow across his back and adjusted his cloak to cover his body.

When Soloman began smoking, Joss stepped away. "No, thank you." He replies to the offer in a hoarse voice. Though he tried not to, the smoke made him scowl. Joss pulled up the hood of his cloak to hide it.

[Destro_Yersul]

The Pilot's laugh at Solomon's remark echoed down from behind them. "I were you, I'd be praying there was such a thing as good luck. Emperor protects, friend."

The hatch hissed shut, and then they were alone in the shuttle bay. Nobody had come to meet them, which wasn't surprising. Inquisitor Valle had mentioned no contact, and Klybo was even more of a backwater nothing world than Sepheris Secundus had been - it was unlikely that the Inquisition bothered to keep any agents here. The local authorities, likewise, were uninformed of their true allegiance. The Emperor's Inquisition, openly going to Klybo, would have drawn too much attention.

There were two exits from the bay, that they could see. It wasn't large by any account, the roof rising just high enough to accomodate small shuttles like theirs. The walls were heavy-looking steel, dotted with attachment ports for fuel lines and power feeds. Above them, jutting out from the wall opposite the massive doors, was a control room with a window of tinted armourglass. The furthest exit had a sign over it, bright red letters declaring the door was for "Authorised Personnel Only." All in all, there wasn't a lot of choice about where to go...

Novus

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Thinking it over, there was little the adept could recall. For all the rumours, no STCs or other significant technological discoveries had been made on Klybo, and neither the world or the station he ever recorded a cult presence of any sort. Klybo was a dead place, hardly significant enough to warrant attention from...

Well, from them. Novus didn't like to think about them. Busying his mind with other things, he ran over general facts. 68743-Alpha had a standing recorded population of ten thousand, or so, at any given time. Most of those, he knew, were Navy, but there were always the drifters and hanger-ons as well. The station was self-sufficient, as much as it could be, with extensive hydroponics bays for food production, and surprisingly good recycler units - water, after all, was hard to come by. It had been built as a re-fueling post, and there was always a Goliath-class ship nearby to keep the tanks full, leeching energy away from Klybo's star.

Severus Only

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The warp was a fickle thing, but it was inextricably tied to life. Here, on Klybo's moon, it was nearly silent, almost peaceful. There were undercurrents of emotion in the immediate vicinity, of course. Thousands of souls on the ships and the station. Beyond that, there was nothing.

[Calimos]

Severus took another look around the hangar, checked his micro-bead to confirm its functionality and headed towards the nearest exit, gesturing for the rest to follow.

"We're here gentlemen. Let's stay sharp and keep our eyes open. The man we seek, Viator Raltus could be anywhere. Remember, we're not here under official Inquisitorial authority, so we should be careful in our dealings with local authorities and general population. I still have my Adeptus Astra Telepathica credentials though, which could at least grant us a measure of legitimacy in our endeavour, as far as other Imperial authorities and officials are concerned".

He paused for a few seconds, then continued.

"Viator Raltus arrived here a month ago and still hasn't departed, according to our intel. First priority is to find a place to set up our base of operations, though any leads that are discovered on the way - if we get that lucky that is - will be evaluated and pursued accordingly. After our base of operations and general accomodation is taken care of, we will initiate properly the investigation on that individual. We need to find him, detain him and discover why he's here and what is his connection to the mysterious R.A. If anyone spots him report it via micro-bead for the whole team to take action. Let's move out. The Emperor protects".

[-Sentinel-]

The Pilot's laugh at Solomon's remark echoed down from behind them. "I were you, I'd be praying there was such a thing as good luck. Emperor protects, friend."

"My point exactly. The Emperor protects - luck's got nothing to do with it. Thanks for the ride."


Solomon let the psyker take command. He, himself, was no leader.

"I know the drill, that's my kind of job. May I suggest we make a quick tour of the outpost before we start announcing ourselves and our mission? Always best to keep a low profile until we know the place."

[Calimos]

"I know the drill, that's my kind of job. May I suggest we make a quick tour of the outpost before we start announcing ourselves and our mission? Always best to keep a low profile until we know the place."

"Very well said Solomon. Your expertise in this particular field I believe that it will be more than welcome and certainly useful in tracking down our man".

[Blarghy]

He hadn't considered that angle: both the outpost and the planet are small and sparsely populated, which might not feed twisted mutant conspiracies as well as huge metropolis-stations. The wickedness here seems more likely to be of the inbred backwater variety. Well, unless something ancient sleeps beneath the deserts...

Novus shakes his head briefly but rapidly like he's trying to toss a bug off his face. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

"May--hhhheeehhhhrmrhmrhmhrm..." The adept's squeaky voice cracks from recent disuse and he coughs to clear his throat before timidly trying again: "Maybe...there is a surveillance system here. If we could access it, we could see whether this Raltus is still here on the station or the planet, and where and when he's moved about. Even if we cannot find him that way, we might get a better idea of what he's doing here and who he's working with."

The local authorities probably won't just let them wander into control rooms and start reviewing files, but even if they're not openly flaunting their Acolyte status, they're still part of the Inquisition. To hell with what these people like or don't like; Novus wants to find Raltus and get out of here as soon as possible.

[Thanatos 51-50]

After his ill-fated assignment to investigate Mira's homicide Gabriel had been hoping to return to Tarsus. That hope proved futile.
Instead, he found himself on another cramped void-ship going to some other desolate, Emperor-forsaken warp-hole, without even a decent regicide partner.
At least it was bound to be warmer.

The young priest stepped lightly from the beaten Arvus and adjusted his brand-new round-shield's strap. He'd won it betting against one of the Baron's men who fancied himself rather good at regicide. Said soldier was, obviously, not. A good thing, too, because there was no way Gabe was actually going to part with his sidearm.
The Metallican gave his iron a reassuring pat underneath his robes. It was an old friend. They were ne'er to part.

"A tour of the outpost would be prudent, yes." Cortez agreed, wearing his most charming smile.
"If for nothing else, then the possibility of asking the other authorities to politely leave the room while I ransacked their surveillance tapes."
Gabe flashed a wide, warm grin to the nervous adept.
"You'd be surprised what happens when you just append 'Please' to the front of your words."

[Destro_Yersul]

Overhead, the dull blare of the void siren went on suddenly. Their pilot meant to leave, and the bay doors would be opening soon to admit the Arvus. They would have to leave. As if to punctuate that, the siren was muted for a moment by the mechanical drone of a recorded voice.

"All personnel to vacate the flight deck. Repeat, all personnel to vacate the flight deck."

[Calimos]

"We need to move quickly gentlemen. We'll discuss our course of action once outside of the hangar. Come on".

Severus proceeded to the nearest exit, gesturing for the other acolytes to follow. Their ideas of approach to this situation were all sound and Severus thanked the Emperor silently, for being in the company of such competent and faithful servants of the Imperium. He prayed that He safeguard his mind and soul from the perils of the Warp and that he fullfills his duties as best as possible, during this assignment as well

[Blarghy]

The siren makes Novus let out a high-pitched whine as his lungs empty in a whistling rush, accompanied by what looks like a standing seizure. His shivering convulsions turn into a sort of hopping dance as he moves for the door, only slowing and then stopping when he realizes he isn't on fire or dead yet. From there he stands awkwardly, twitching, until Severus takes the lead. Novus shuffles after him wordlessly, his head tilted down to hide his expression beneath his mesh hood.

It's going to be a long trip.

[Destro_Yersul]

The nearest exit proved to be a sturdy airlock, big enough to admit all of them with room to spare. The door shut behind them, the room they had left behind hissing softly as the atmosphere equalised with outside. A muted roar, all that was audible in the thin air of Klybo's moon, sounded as their shuttle took off, leaving them behind. The pilot had certainly been eager to leave...

They didn't have much time to think about that before the airlock's other door cycled open, revealing a sort of odd marketplace that had sprung up amidst the station's corridors. There were few proper shops, most of the 'merchants' making do with a ragged blanket or borrowed metal table. Nor were their goods the sort you'd expect to find on display under glass cases in Scintilla's fine stores. There were dozens of humans packed into the hall, with their backs to the walls, hawking their wares to the scant few people that passed by. They were dirty haggard things, their clothes covered in pale tan dust, and as the door opened, a few turned to look at the acolytes, something akin to hunger in their eyes. They were desperate, Severus realised, desperate for... what?

"You buy?" One of them called, holding up a badly corroded metal box, its surface marked and worn. The chorus was taken up by others nearby, thrusting their motley collections of junk out for inspection.

"Finest archeotech," the first man to speak told them, hefting the box. "I pried this from the surface, deep within the ruins of a colony. Many wonders I found there, most are gone now. Sold to fine people like yourselves. If you like, I will sell you the location of the colony as well, go down, see for yourselves, hm? I have the genuine article."

"Don't listen to him!" Another one shouted, holding up a little power cell, jumbles of torn wires protruding from its base. "Look at this! Mark IV power cell, guaranteed to last thousands of years, and may the Emperor himself strike me down if I lie. Hook this up, it will power anything you like."

Then he was drowned out, a grubby-looking old man brandishing an ancient laspistol and speaking far more loudly than his wasted frame looked capable of making his pitch. "This," he said, shaking the pistol, "Any man in the Imperium would be proud to own this. Dates back to the dark age of technology, but for you, I will give the best price. Twenty five thrones, sir, and it is yours. Tell me, where else will you find a bargain like this?"

The navy personnel were avoiding eye contact with the ragged merchants, Solomon noticed, hurrying past with their eyes down, ignoring the dregs around them. They had seen it before, were used to it now. One of them, a rating by his uniform, glanced up and caught their eyes. Looking away hurriedly, almost fearfully, as if the acolytes might suddenly pull their own ruined junk from their pockets and try to sell it to him, if he tarried. For that was what the merchants were selling. Junk. Junk pulled from the surface of Klybo and brought here, to the only place they might have a chance at earning back a little of the money they had wasted on their expeditions.

[-Sentinel-]

The burly bounty hunter strode through the crowd of unwashed sellers in a perfectly straight line without bothering to circle anyone. Let them get out of the way if they did not want to get bumped into; he had dealt with plenty of riots during his early days in the Adeptus Arbites, and he knew how not to give an inch of ground.

"Thank you, thank you," he grumbled, "I've got everything I need and not a whole lot of money."

They all want to leave, he realized. The sooner they can sell their junk, the sooner they can buy a trip back.

He could do nothing for them. It was their own damn fault for trying their luck in this hellhole in the first place.

[Calimos]

Severus walked behind Solomon, the middle aged psyker's unnaturally tall and thin figure looming ominously over the makeshift marketplace of Klybo's station, as he made his way through the gathered people. The air smelled of something...smelled of desperation. All of these people were desperate and seemed quite on edge. Severus didn't like that. People who had lost hope, may very well lose their faith to the Master of Mankind as well, and those who consider themselves as having nothing to lose can become unpredictable and quite dangerous in their reactions.

Not much of an expert in matters of tech, Severus wished he'd still have Mouse at his side. She was quite accumstomed to those things and she could quickly identify anything of real value or utility among the wares of those people. The only thing he could do at present, was to expand his senses, beyond the realm of matter and attempt to detect any special or strong psychic imprint on any of those items. That and keep his eyes open for anyone that could resemble the man they were here to find.

OOC

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Requesting a Psyniscience test.

[Blarghy]

They'll have a bit of a chain going, then, because if Novus had to navigate the crowd on his own, he'd be lucky to make it to the other side, and practically miraculous to do so with all his belongings. As it is, he tightens his armored cloak and puts one hand on each of his pistols while he walks to make sure they don't wander off.

It takes some nerve to walk behind Severus, although certainly not close enough to touch the psyker. He does feel slightly better than if he was in front. Then again, he's probably now got the assassin at his back.

All factors considered, Novus half-mutters, half-whimpers to himself as he painstakingly maintains the same pace as the man in front of him. Snippets of speech don't make it far past his hood; the memorized comfort-prayers to the Emperor for courage aren't meant for the people around him anyway.

[Artemis97]

Joss falls into line. He pulls down his hood to better keep an eye out behind them, and to better glare at any desperate merchant who came too close. One glance from those animalistic eyes should be enough to repel them, but should it prove insufficient the assassin rather conspicuously had a hand on the hilt of his sword. The man waving the laspistol earned a particularly wicked glare, accompanied by a bit of a snarl, as they passed by. "I hate to suggest this." He growls. "But perhaps one of these people know where our friend has gone? Might've sold him on a site?"

[Destro_Yersul]

Joss' eyes weren't quite enough to deter the wretched, though they seemed to give the warrior a wider berth than they did the others. The selection of goods on offer was wide and varied, the product of being torn from their natural place hundreds, or possibly thousands, of years after they had last been used. There were cogs and springs, more metallic boxes like the one the first man to speak had been holding, and a rough assortment of weaponry, ancient and worn blades stacked alongside the guns, but they were all so old and dusty, it was probable that half of them no longer worked.

And still, the offers continued. They were promised that a simple gearbox was actually an archeotech thought engine, that an iron disk would unlock a vault full of treasures. One man with a stack of grubby dataslates swore up and down that each one led to fabulous wealth, buried beneath the sands.

"Look at this," one said, holding up his offering of a weapon in both palms. "Real bolt pistol, one of my luckiest finds. Everything must go, alas, and I will sell it to you for a song, friend. A song! This is a steal, and you will never see its like again..."

Solomon

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Something else, though, had caught Solomon's eye. Resting against the wall behind one of the ragged merchants was a dusty laspistol, the charge pack that went with it sitting on a folded cloth next to the weapon. Unlike the other laspistol they'd seen, though, this one looked almost new. The dirt almost hid it, but there was no way that gun had been lying in the sand for hundreds of years. Looking around at the other items near it, he noticed something else that looked newer than it had any right to; a standard medkit, much like the one that had been stuffed in the crash webbing near the front compartment of the Arvus that had brought them here.

Gabe

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Keeping an eye on the assortment of junk they were walking past, Gabe found he could pick out the functions of a few of the pieces. There was one thing that looked like a broken vox set of a design no longer used, its entenna snapped off. Another of the many metal boxes proved to be an ancient pict recorder. The 'bolt pistol' was actually a Spitfire, and had almost certainly not come from Klybo's surface. Nor, indeed, would it have had the same stopping power as a real bolt pistol. One thing that caught his attention was an old augmetic eye, its lenses dulled from age. It was missing the cranial interface plugs, but other than that it certainly looked servicable.

There were other things too, bits of treasure amongst the trash. An unassuming silver cylinder looked like it might actually be an older model combi-tool, and one of the merchants had a whole box of auto-quills.

Severus Only

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Almost all of the items here were far too old to carry any sort of psychic impression, and the stink of desperation from the humans they were packed in with clouded out the ones that did. He thought he caught something, a hint of fire and pain, but it vanished as rapidly as it had appeared and try as he might, the psyker could not locate it again.

[-Sentinel-]

Solomon walked over to the merchant.

"This laspistol," he said, pointing at the dusty but new-looking gun and trying not to look too interested. "Any chance you can remember where you found it?"

[Blarghy]

If Solomon is leading the way through the crowd, presumably they'll all end up stopped in front of this seller. Novus tries to cautiously look around the taller Severus to see what's going on; his first reaction is to feel indignant that one of the acolytes got suckered into giving a second look at this trash. He can't actually see what's being offered, but he hears something about a song. It's probably just a scam to make them stand still long enough to pay with actual Thrones--or so the merchant's friends can rob them. Novus grips his pistols tighter under his cloak and tucks his shoulders in; he looks even more like a little old man than usual.

[Thanatos 51-50]

Gabe splits from the group and begins to casually pick through the items in the booth selling the augmentic eye, initiating small talk with the proprietor of the booth itself.
When he "stumbles across the eye, the cleric pauses.
"Where'd you get this little nugget?" he asks, moving as if to pick the item up before apparently thinking better of it and pointing, instead.

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Charm - (1d100)[54]
Scrutiny - (1d100)[29]
Dammit, Gabe! Your primary purpose is Victory Through Charm rolls! Why do you always fail?

[Calimos]

Severus almost halted entirely, the intense feeling of pain subsiding inside his mind, cursing his inability to pursue this fleeting hint. Standing there for a moment, as his comrades browsed the various wares, probably in search of something with real value, he nodded to Joss.

"You have a point Mr. Voss. he subvocalised via his micro-bead. I'll give it a try".

Concentrating, he prayed intensely to the Immortal God Emperor, to safeguard his soul and all others in the vicinity, as he carefully opened his mind to the vastness of Immaterium. Breathing still heavily, the middle-aged psyker, went forth to ask certain well placed questions to various merchants around him, in an attempt to acquire information on the man they were sent here to find. Viator Raltus.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Well," said the merchant, looking up at Solomon, "that one? I found that one in a ruined shuttle, I did indeed. It's nice, isn't it? Much nicer than the one old Hadum's got over there. I can give it to you for no less than 50 thrones, I'm afraid, such a fine weapon as this."

Gabe's chosen man, meanwhile, kept a wary eye on the cleric as his things were picked over. He looked quite high-strung, this one, and the unkempt beard he was sporting marked him as someone who had spent a great deal of time on the surface. "That? That's an.. an eye, yes it is. An eye. Good quality, hmm? From the ruins, yes. The big city. I had to go down below it."

Lowering his voice to a whisper,. the merchant glanced left and right. "They don't know, but there's hidden vaults down under the city. I found one, I did."

While his compatriats chatted to the individual merchants, Severus took a more general line of inquiry. He moved amongst the people, asking questions here and there, pointing at and inspecting individual trinkets to show he was interested, then moving on. The answers were, largely, somewhat dissapointing. He had been seen, or he had not been seen, or maybe someone who looked like him. One of the merchants said that Viator had died for sure, his shuttle going down in a fireball. Another said that they'd seen him go back and forth between the ground and the station a few times. Nobody seemed to have known him personally.

Eventually, the Psyker happened upon a spot of luck. "Sure, sure. I seen him." The grizzled old man scratched his stubble, peering up at Severus out of sunken eyes. "Fancy lookin' sot, he were, eh? Wif the..." he gestured at his nose, which was squashed and flat. Viator's had been hawkish and aquiline, in the picture they'd seen. "The nose thing. Yeah, I seen him for sure. You were lookin' for 'im, maybe? Well, my memory, it ain't wot it used to be like, see..."

The merchant looked pointedly at the psyker, then down at his collection of merchandise. Most of it looked fairly worthless to Severus. Individual gears and pistons and mechanical components torn from engines of varying sorts. There was a bowl full of batteries in different sizes. One of them looked like it would fit a standard power input for a laspistol.

[Thanatos 51-50]

Gabe leaned in towards the merchant conspiratorially and pitched his voice to a whisper.
"Seems to me, a man might be interested in the vaults under the city. A man might pay for that information. Anybody ever ask you for it before?"

Spoiler

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MOARSCRUTINY - (1d100)[53]

[Calimos]

Severus caught the merchant's gaze and nodded approvingly, his face a mask of sympathy and understanding.

"But ofcourse, sir. Time passes and memory, like so many other things needs to be recharged, right? I wonder, what would the price be on that battery?", he said, a long thin finger pointing to the battery that would most likely fit in his laspistol.

"Maybe with this I could help recharge dormant memories among other things, don't you agree?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"Mebbe you could, mebbe you could." The merchant nodded to Severus. "I fink I could let you have that one for... let's say, ten frones? S' a fine one, it is, to be sure." Grinning a gap-toothed grin at the psyker, he plucked the charge pack out of the bowl, holding out his hand for the money. "I fink mebbe my memory might be comin' back some."

The other man, the one speaking to Gabe, smiled nervously at the priest. "Well, maybe they did. Them vaults, though, I only found the one. It's mine now, see? Good stuff down there, very good stuff. I can bring you back some, if you like. Dunno what's in the others, but I'm sure there's more."

[Calimos]

Severus nodded to the old merchant, retrieving the sum of thrones to pay for the charge pack and the promise of further information on the whereabouts of Viator Raltus, without much negotiations on the price. He wasn't quite adept on the ways of haggling and if the information gained was accurate enough to provide them with a good lead on their man, he would be content.

"I think it would be acceptable, if it is as good as you say. I also believe your memory must be coming back already, am I right?"

[-Sentinel-]

"Well," said the merchant, looking up at Solomon, "that one? I found that one in a ruined shuttle, I did indeed. It's nice, isn't it? Much nicer than the one old Hadum's got over there. I can give it to you for no less than 50 thrones, I'm afraid, such a fine weapon as this."

Solomon did his best not to look too curious. Interest might reveal that such information was worth a bribe, and right now he did not have enough money for this. "Oh? A crashed shuttle? The Emperor have their souls... Wasn't too large a shuttle, I hope?"

Inquiry 42: (d100)[23]