14th Black Crusade - IC

[DrK]

The next 5 days pass quickly. The acolytes spending the time in their chambers with little contact with the rest of the crew other than those that bring their meals.

The ships is abuzz with activity. The mournful cry of the thousands of slaves taken in the raids, the buzz and metallic thudding of the repair crews welding great metal plates over the rents in the hulls and the cheering and cursing as loot was gambled and lost as captured Imperial crew and Arbites fight to the death in impromptu death rings.

Eventually on the viewing monitors the fiery red orb at the heart of the Limoges system begins to resolve into a selction of smaller points of light. And soon the voice of Captain Yang came upon the vox net. "All guests. Come to the Officers' mess. We must speak of how you'll be getting aboard the Imperial starbase. I've got some ideas, but you may not like them."

[Henry the 57th]

Finally. Vul thinks as the announcement came at last. He rose from his meditative position, in which he had spent much of the preceding time. Slaughtering the Corpse-Emperor's dogs had certainly been fun, but he could not help being irritated at the Inquisitor's escape and the reavers' subsequent failure to take the ship. Besides, the frank fact of the matter is that Vul is quite bored. He has had little to do beyond read the book of Ahirman's musings on the nature of sorcery that he had taken from the Tzeentchian cult leader not long before. He has had precious little else with which to divert himself, with one exception.

That exception now nestles itself into a crevice in Vul's armor next to his head. A female snake, its scales shifting color as whim or necessity strikes. A curious being, it slithers through the air, rather than on the ground. Vul has never seen its like before. The fact that it seems to amplify his powers with its mere proximity to him is also very helpful. Vul had encountered it in the halls by chance, when he had allowed boredom to motivate him to walk around the ship. He found it hunting rodents with its venomous fangs and deceptively strong body. Dominating its tiny mind and forming a link between them had proven child's play. Cybernetics had sealed the link. On a whim, Vul has begun referring to the snake as Esta.

Vul strides into the Officers' Mess, Esta now smoothly gliding around his shoulders, caressing his armor at random. "I'm here, as requested. What idea do you have?"

[Donan]

Katria had spent her time wandering the ship and getting a better grasp of its layout, her innate curiousty driving her. She'd also worked on sharpening her skills in various locations, members of the Reaver crew always keen for fighting in between real battles.

She appears at Vul's shoulder, though her head only comes up to the Astartes' chest. "Captain. We found him?"

Esta gets frequent, curious glances.

[watupwithdat]

On his way back from the reaver holdings and the piles of amputated limbs after the raid, Qaeviir felt an urge to inspect whatever loot the reavers had managed to get — in particular all the souls. They were a sorry bunch, just waiting for having their souls grounded down. Assuming they were on Q'Sal, that is. Sadly they weren't and he had not access to the facilities needed for such a thing here.

Among all the various massive amount of goods and loot the reavers had acquired, the Magister came across something which caught his interest. A caged double-headed xenos beast. This bird, if you could call it that, with seemingly hard feathers intruigied the sorcerer. He had asked the beast master what species it was and had been given "Razorwing" as an answer. It was obviously blessed by the Changer of Ways with its two heads, and various uses for the beast rumbled inside the Magister's mind. He had previously been commissioned to create psychic familiars from various xenos beasts on Q'Sal, but never one for himself as no beast had interested him in that way. But this beast he wanted. He had to get.

The beast master had at first refused giving the creature up, but upon seeing the power sabre newly taken from the corpse of the imperial penal transport the reaver could not turn the trade down. The brutes of a reaver ship have a hard time turning down a good quality power weapon.

Qaeviir invited the heretek Mortia, for the moment overlooking the latter's alignment to the hated Lord of Flies, to collaborate with him on the creation of the psychic familiar, his familiarity of the equipment on the vessel not great. They had worked over the next few days, and their work had born fruit. Qaeviir's arcane craftmanship had successfully turned the double-headed Razorwing into a thing greater than what it was. He found that as a side-effect the creature's power resonated with his own, theoretically allowing him to exert greater control when manifesting multiple powers at once — something he of course tested and confirmed as soon as possible.

However, realising the familiar's strange psychic trait was not the only thing the Magister Immaterial did at that time. He also noticed something off with his own form, something peculiar. At some point, most likely during the initial warp voyage, he had been gifted with the most generous gift of unremarkability by the Lord of Change. No matter how corrupt his form becomes, the appearence to those without honed psychic perception would not be able to see it — appearing just as his unmutated form previously. When, or if, he returned to Q'Sal, that blessing would be most appreciated considering those with overly corrupted forms there are sacrificed for the greater good. Qaeviir's view of corruption changed, with that. It was not something to be approached cautiously out of fear of turning into a mewling chaos spawn like so many other do, it was something to embrace to grow stronger. Now he needn't fear the perception of him would alter due to it, either.

------

A while after the captain summoned them to the officer's mess, the Magister arrived. The Black Legion sorcerer and a woman he barely identified as the medic from after the boarding action were already present. With a strange signing of his left index finger, a creature swooped in from behind and situated itself on top of the warp staff the Magister was holding in his right hand. The double-headed Razorwing was fairly large, it's plumage of razor sharp feathers taking on a multitude of colours from deep purple to light grey and is streaked with reddish brown hues. Too large to occupy the sorcerer's shoulder next to his ornate mask, not to mention its talons being too sharp and would ruin his robes if attempted, the head of the staff was a suitable place for the psychic familiar. The staff with a fearsome Razorwing on top of it seemed almost majestic, the combined staff and creature almost as tall as the hulking terminator at the other side of the room.

The sorcerer stayed quiet, waiting for the information they had been summoned there for.

[Emperor Ing]

Plasma Cannon in hand, Nephthys stands on the bridge. His tail once again creating a magnificent musk impossible to ignore by anyone within close quarters, which is to say the overwhelming majority of the bridge crew. For the moment he stands there silently, waiting to hear what "plan" this captain has.

[watupwithdat]

As soon as the stinking follower of the Lord of Flies entered the room the Magister became disgusted. To even imagine that he had made the mistake of seeking cover just behind that tail, something he'd regret for a while. Atleast the Weaver of Fate quickly took him out of that situation by allowing his displacer field to be activated, avoiding the blast of "holy fire" from the imperial psyker. In the presence of the musk even one of the heads of the razorwing seemed to show discomfort, while the other head only stared at the nurglite with its golden eyes. Qaeviir assumed it would have attacked the plague marine out of pure instinct if it wasn't under his control.

[Mekboy]

Aside from a few more visits to the ramshackle medical bay, a tedious few hours spent first with Mortia then reluctantly with Quaeviir trying to fix the field plucked from the lieutennant's corpse, and a few hours spent acquiring a more impressive set of armour, Alicia had spent the majority of interim practicing with her new weapon. She still had problems forcing the rebellious spirit of the blade away.

Annoyed at the interruption to her planned routine, Alicia strode to the mess, hellblade clearly sheathed at her side. She gave an indifferent nod to her companions, noting the two witches appeared to have found themselves some pets, and tried to ignore the stench of the plague marine.

[DrK]

The klaxons wailing around the vessel announced that all traces of heresy would have to be removed. All around them reavers and pirates grabbed and moved all traces of dubious material and aquillas and other loyalist momentos were pulled out of storage. The distant thrum of the engines also changed turning to a higher pitched whine. Obviously some more things may change as well but without an outside view or a detailed understanding of void craft it would be hard to know from within your steel catacombs.

The status updates on the Castellan class station on the edge of the Limoges system is highlighted on the auger readings. Alicia - a distant memory of having passed through once - remembers the place.



The station - a spinning heptagon some 3 miles in diameter - is a hive of activity. The outer layer a thriving arena of forges, workshops, storage hangars and space docks. The inner ring with power and communications and sensorium is filled with 7 large hab domes. Nutrient slime recycling and habitation for the dregs and the workers that live here and barracks for the large contigent of Imperial Troops and the Imperial Naval units stationed here. Alicia knows that there is a thriving underclass aboard the station, some on the outer struts where hab slaves and dreg workers trade illegally in narctotics and all sorts of similar things. Also a thriving smugglibg ring shipping contraband in and prisoners out of Prison transports heading to the penal colony orbing the blue gas giant of Limoges IV.


Entering the officers mess you can see a large throng of guards and officers and the crazed Captain Yang, the latter sprawled over the chair atthe head of the table. "We be 5 days out of the Port. Now... we'd best be thinking of how to get you lot in." He looks over the party, eyes resting on the humans. "You lot should be easy enough. Thrown on soe cloaks, wear a bit of make-up and drop the gear into some crates or boxes and I know some folks who can be paid to turn the other cheek." His eyes move to the terminators and the astartes. "More difficult. You do stand out like a traitor in a Judge's chambers. I can ship you in freight - but the gamma sterilisation is intense. Otherwsie... I can be shipping you as live freight (meat) but the weapons sensors will be set off so you'd be apart from yer toys." He smiles a lop sided smile. "Best be quick. We are 4-5 days tops till the tugs arrive."

[Henry the 57th]

"Would these weapon sensors be set off by my armor?" Vul asks.

[watupwithdat]

The Magister Immaterial might have been a little worried about how to get on to the station before due to his ornate mask and esoteric items, something he had issues with not wearing, but not now since being blessed by the Changer. It wouldn't take much for him to go as he was, though the suggestion of a cloak as cover could make it a little easier. It was not like strange outfits or fashion was anything rare even in the imperium.

If on the off chance that his presence was noted and questioned, a few choice words would be enough he figured, as it was highly unlikely that there would be any psychically gifted to see through his unremarkability among whoever checked transports and incoming travellers. And if there was any, that would be a massive waste of resources.

"A cloak will suffice. For me." the Tzeentchian sorcerer said as he reached inside his robe, pulled out a small finger bone and reached up to the strange bird sitting on the top of his staff. When the finger bone came into range the left head swiftly plucked it from his hand, which was followed by the cracking sound of bone being crushed.

[Donan]

Katria tapped Vul's shoulder lightly, then murmered into the side of his helmet, having to raise up on tip toes to get close.

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"If we go ahead, set something up with the smugglers, then we can try getting you in that way.

With weapons and armour

."

[Henry the 57th]

An interesting idea. Vul pulses into her mind. Do you plan to propose it to our "good captain"?

[Donan]

She straightens and looks to the Captain. "Too many variables, hm. They'll be found all too easily. We should go in before the Astartes." She indicates the humans.

"We'll set arrangements with the smugglers, have them bought in that way, armoured, armed, and undetected. From there, we can learn more of the underworld and factions in the station.

There are always tensions, and exploiting them leads to.." She flashes a sharp grin. "Chaos."

[Mekboy]

Alicia scowled. She remembered the place from her previous life. At least there was enough of an underworld to find someone greedy or stupid enough to work with them. Nevertheless, a fully armoured terminator and a plague marine, particularly one with such a foul stench wouldn't exactly be the easiest to hide.

"As sure as I am that we would be able to find willing smugglers, their usefulness is still limited by the question of how we actually sneak a pair of fully armoured astartes aboard."

[Donan]

Katria grins. "We can still get them in in crates, and call them weapons or something. We don't need to be honest with the smugglers either, after all."

[watupwithdat]

The sound of the razorwing crushing the finger bone and devouring pieces of it echoed through the area. The two heads were quite effective as they aggressively worked in tandem.

"Smugglers are simple creatures." The Magister said, interrupting the two women. "I will have no trouble in convincing them." He paused, as he tended to do mid-sentence. "Of that."

The sorcerer took out another finger bone which was quickly snapped up by one of the razorwing heads. "The Father of Lies and Deception will make sure of it." As he said that those who were looking could notice how the mimic mask slightly shifted to form a half-smile, the visage giving onlookers an unpleasant feeling.

[DrK]

The captain looks about before nodding. "I will put you carefully in with my crew and you can head into the station. I will give you a name and a bar. Then you can sort yourself from there."

He looks at the astartes. "I will be staying 72 hours no more. Then you can leave with me, or through the airlock, you decide."

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Is there anything else you want to do aboard ship or do you want move onto the station docking

[Henry the 57th]

"I agree to the girl's plan." Vul says. "It seems the preferable option."

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Not really. There's not much I need to do here.

[watupwithdat]

"Decided. Then." the Magister said after one of the Astartes had agreed to the scheme. He had more important things to get back to. He had no intention standing around waiting for the marines to discuss how they'd best get onto the station with being detected.

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As for me we can move on to the docking.

[DrK]

As the hours tick by the glittering silver orb of the station grows larger and larger in the viewing ports slowly resolving into the spinning hexagonal space station hovering at the edge of the system. The station is a hive of activity with flitting shuttles and lifters buzzing about a trio of larger vessels currently docked there. One cruiser sized and two frigate/destroyer sized.

It takes ~3 hours but slowly the retrothrusters burn and fire and the Damnation slowly docks up alongside the station on docking pier epsilon 4. A long docking pier slowly clipping into place alongside - Arbites and Imperial naval adepts checking identitichips of the crew as the prepare to disembark. A series of security scanners watching for any contraband as weapons heavier than a single sidearm or blade are prohibited in addition to heavy armour.

The captain grins at the heretics before nodding to the ramp. "Down there. It be back to the Imperial rules and laws. Ain't nothing you can do but scream. If ye are caught though.. you'll be on a fast ship to Annard's Pennance. But not how you want." He hands Alicia and Katria a data chip. "In the Pegasus habitat market. Head to the gambling den "6 Thrones". Ask for Gatrius and hand him the data chip. It'll call in a marker with him and he can arrange things further."

[watupwithdat]

Qaeviir was standing behind the captain as he spoke to the women of the group. He still did not know much about the newcomer, nor did he care in particular. She did not interest him at the moment.

Imperial rules and laws. The futility of casting oneself in chains. Admittedly, the Magister was not knowledgable very about the various laws and rules of the Imperium of Man, but he could assume it would be the opposite of what he'd prefer to do in a given situation.

He had most of his possession on his person, the large cloak given to him covering most of his fine robes and his grimoire. His staff was in his hand and his familiar was sitting on top of it, still as could be. His ornate mimic mask was the one thing that was unusual about him — but that wouldn't be any issues with his Blessed Gift of the Changer of Ways.

As the the captain spoke to the women, and handed them whatever it was, Qaeviir instead closed his eyes and sensed the area of the station for potential issues. Only psykers are able to see through his god-given blessing, so he needed to know if there are any present. To make perfectly sure he would not miss anything, seeing how important it was to remain undetected, he spent a good 30 seconds concentrating — even making use of the immaterium and catching glimpses of possible moments of the future to aid his warpsight. He had to make sure. A schemer and manipulator such as he was not going to overlook vital information if he could help it.

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Around 30 seconds is 6 rounds of actions. 3 Glimpses and 3 Psyniscience tests. Qaeviir wouldn't be Tzeentchian if he did not go to such lengths to detect potential threats, so he's able to react and plan accordingly.

Round 1&2:

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Half Action: Unfettered[@PR4] Glimpse, +0 Psyniscience Focus Power Test (1d100)[86] vs 85
Qaeviir gains a +20 bonus on the first non-Evasion Skill Test he performs before the end of his next turn.
Psyniscience: (1d100)[86] vs 74

Round 3&4:

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Half Action: Unfettered[@PR4] Glimpse, +0 Psyniscience Focus Power Test (1d100)[72] vs 85
Psyniscience: (1d100)[62] vs 74 | 2 DoS

Round 5&6:
Half Action: Unfettered[@PR4] Glimpse, +0 Psyniscience Focus Power Test (1d100)[9] vs 85
Psyniscience: (1d100)[30] vs 74

5 DoS obtained, able to sense the exact location of psychic thingies (though he prefers to know about psykers in particular, daemonic presences and disturbances/phenomena are of course welcome to know about if existent) in a range of 4 km radius (I'm not sure how large the station is, but probably over half).

[Mekboy]

Taking the data-chip, Alicia took a moment to examine it before dropping it into a pouch on her belt. How strange it felt to be back under Imperial law - not exactly the return as glorious conqueror she'd first hoped.

Regrettably the majority of her armaments had to be smuggled in, and so she was stuck with a single blade. Sheathed at her side underneath the heavy hooded cloak, she hoped it would be enough. "Well then? Should we not get moving?" With that, she began to stride off towards their destination.

[Donan]

Katria flowed off beside Alicia, walking with a casual gait and avoiding the refined agility displayed on the Reaver vessel. Despite that, it remained, concealed beneath the surface.

She lowered her hood to reveal she'd dyed her hair jet black, and her face was shaded a touch darker. "Shocking, but I don't trust the Captain. We should keep some of our cards hidden when we get to where we're going."

[watupwithdat]

Hm. The Magister's warpsight didn't detect anything in the immediate vicinity that could be an issue. But there was psykers in a large vessel near, and at a place in the center of the station which he assumed was the astropathic choir. A few signatures scattered around, but even though he could tell exactly where they were, he had no idea where exactly on the station that was as he did not know the layout.

As he opened his eyes from concentrating on his warpsight, the women had started moving. It was time for him too, then. Using the staff more as a walking stick, to simulate fragility and old age, he caught up to the women as they headed to the contact location.

[DrK]

The bustling star port is packed with passing ship crew and other Naval types. The security scanners allow you to pass through without drawing undue attention. The magister drawing barely a glance - no-one seemingly noticing the two headed razorclaw perched on top of the staff.

The base is busy and the stench of the righteous overbearing zealouts of the Imperial Creed are out in force. Adepts, scrivners and clerics on every junction and in every open domed plaza shouting praises to the dying Emperor at the heart of the crumbling Imperium.

Even moving through the crowds Alicia and Katria draw some strange looks and Alicia seems to garner snarls and looks of near contempt as her eveyr word, movement or deed seems taken in the poorest possible light.

Soon - though it still takes ~2 hours - you manage to reach a dingier sectio of the station. Flickering glowbulbs missing giving long lengths of poorly lit corridors with dangerous looking down and outs lurking in them and gangs of between work shipyard workers drinking cheap amsec or smoking long pipes filled with obscura.

The 6 thrones is a dubious looking hole through a hexagonal bulkhead filled with smoke and slightly flashing lights. A pair of heavyset bouncers standing outside the door. They look at the three of you as you arrive - "We are closed. Feck off." The packed cheap metallic tables within and semi naked dancer girls waiting on filled tables showing the lie for what it was.

[watupwithdat]

How unrefined. Qaeviir thought about the blatant lie. The bouncer did not even try. He was not interested in waiting here nor exchanging many words with this poor liar, unfit for the work of the Father of Lies. This would be quick. Especially before the aggressive khornate lost her cool and started hacking off limbs. There was a time and place for such things. Now was not it.

There. His mind's eye, looking into the great ocean, found a suiting moment in a possible future where they entered the cheap establishment. "Closed? Quite." the magister said as he slightly leaned on his staff. "That is why. We are here." he continued, and started to walk like he intended to go straight past the bouncer — as if it was obvious they were supposed to be allowed to enter.

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Half Action: Unfettered[@PR4] Glimpse, +0 Psyniscience Focus Power Test (1d100)[41] vs 85
Qaeviir gains a +20 bonus on the first non-Evasion Skill Test he performs before the end of his next turn.

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Retry in case of not finding a moment of success:
Half Action: Unfettered[@PR4] Glimpse, +0 Psyniscience Focus Power Test (1d100)[29] vs 85
Qaeviir gains a +20 bonus on the first non-Evasion Skill Test he performs before the end of his next turn.

Deceive test to convince him they are supposed to get inside: (1d100)[60] vs 95 -/+ disposition/modifier on how hard the test is (45+10+20+20)

[Donan]

Katria had picked up a bottle of cheap amasec at the market, and swlled the contents around in her mouth on the way, even letting some stain the front of her cloak. She gave a brainless sounding giggle as she attempted to stumble in behind Qaeviir. "Be nice now, bossman."

[Mekboy]

Letting her hand close around the sword at her side under the cloak, Alicia followed followed Qaeviir in, glaring at the mindless thugs. As much as she'd love to them the error of their ways, it would no doubt bring a little too much attention. Best tolerate them for now.

[DrK]

The two men stare at the two women in an appraising manner. A hint of the danger lying within the two young female killers. Taking in Quaevir they appear to only just now take stock of the mask and the staff and a look of consternation passes their faces.

One nods into the gambling den, the other pushing open the door. As you enter you are met by another two bouncers - this time they motion to a large selection of numbered cubby holes, each lodged with large weapons. "No guns, no blades. No weapons. Staffs, swords, pistols, they all go into the frame."

(assuming you comply) - a tall thin girl - violent neon blue hair and not much else stalks forward. "You play? Which game? Thrones? Emperor's Tarot? Have you brought a line of credit?" The question inludes a demand to see the colour of your thrones before you're allowed to enter into the packed and smoke filled gaming room.

[watupwithdat]

"Peculiar my staff. Would be considered. A weapon." the magister said as the double-headed razorwing flapped its wings and took off from the head of the staff where it had been sitting. On a fixture hanging from the establishment's ceiling the creature found a new place to sit, curiously overlooking what happened down below.

Qaeviir raised his staff and placed it in the hole numbered 9. Though the staff aided his warp powers, it was not needed here. It was his mind, body, soul and the warp which was the weapon. Not the staff.

Credit? It would seem she thought they were there to gamble. "I take part. In The Greatest Game." he replied. The game they all took part in. The game of the Great Conspirator.

He gestured to the women accompanying him. They knew how to contact whoever it was they were there to contact. Qaeviir hadn't been paying attention to what the captain was saying.