Deathwatch: Shell Game

[Inspector Valin]

Jaden's eyes narrow. He takes a knee to meet Rafen's gaze, looking into the priest's eyes with a serene, sombre expression. The Stormseer places a hand over his brother's outstretched one, holding the grip together. "Brother. Your actions on Zanatov were impeccable. You and Brother Karael did Bhaal proud, and you kept up the fight alongside the Joyless while I was senseless in sus-an. What happened was unavoidable, and you owe the Scars nothing. No penance is needed."

Leaving the knife in Rafen's hand, Jaden gets to his feet, offering his Battle Brother a hand to rise with him and a forgiving smile. Once they are both standing, Jaden hums contemplatively,"Still, Ogedai's seed being lost is an injustice. And one I don't appreciate. While you aren't at fault, perhaps we'd both rest easier if we worked to right the scales of fate a little?"

The psyker hums to himself, starting to speak almost as if no one else was there. "The Inquisition ask a tithe of every Apothecarium, I believe. There will be White Scars geneseed within an Adeptus Terra vault somewhere. If we could find a way to have a portion of that returned to Chogoris, I think Temur would rest easier for it. The loss of his son would mean less than the loss of a White Scar." Jaden is silent for a second, eyes wandering to the view-port. Then he snorts, turning back to his brother with a wry grin. "I've no idea where to even begin with something like that. I suspect it would require wading through bureaucracy. But if you're willing to join me on the quest Rafen, I'd welcome your assistance."

[Koris]

With the meeting dealt with, Karael looks to the rest of his Battle-Brothers and nods ''I trust I'll see some of you around the training cages, Brothers.'' he says before walking away to the armory. Whilst inside, he makes a request to see equipment of past Blood Angels aboard the Watch Fortress. It takes him many hours to find exactly what he was looking for. A blade that once belonged to a Brother from his last assault squad, used during his own time whilst clearing the Xeno scrum away from the rim of the Reach. A power sword still decorated by angelic wings by the cross guard, and a blood drop affixed to the pommel of the handle.

While investigating the weight, the Blood Angel also sees a peculiar relic of his chapter. A real Angelus Bolter, only used by the Sanguinary guard back on Baal. It had always been his ambition to join the very elite of the chapter, and to wield one of their iconic weapons was an honor beyond belief. With his armament chosen and his armor repaired after the new additions to the battle scaring upon his plate, Karael heads down to the Hunting Grounds to train himself once more against some more clever foes that could give him a challenge while not risking his life if he goes alone.

For the next day he spends his time hunting Kroot within grounds made to look like a civilized world. His aim not improving much more than what it usually was, but by combining his new power sword together with his chainsword he makes short work of any alien in his path, his bolter breaking apart those that flee or try to evade the whirlwind of death that he brings. Seeing the fallen foes stay down only raises his spirits even higher after facing the Necrontyr, a foe he despises yet also respects for their tenacity beyond life.

[Haval]

With the meeting dealt with, Karael looks to the rest of his Battle-Brothers and nods ''I trust I'll see some of you around the training cages, Brothers.''

Aldwin will shake his head at that. His leg is healing but he is trying to make sure he is properly recovered before they depart. 'I believe I will give you the chance to beat me again on the journey there.'

Spoiler: ooc

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Presumably all damage is healed by the time it matters. Also Karael has a lot of WS

While he could not properly exercise his body, Aldwin will try to exercise his mind instead. He has been spending time in the Great Ossuaries, as the bones displayed there offered a reminder of what Astartes and the Deathwatch specifically were capable of killing when they put their minds to it. Perhaps one day the skulls of the Necrontyr and their pet monster would also be laid here. When not simply meditating Aldwin is reading some of the works of military thought that have come with him to Erioch. The Codex, whatever it's limitations, was a useful starting point, but Guilliman seemed to leave out a lot of what other writers had covered better elsewhere. He will also be refreshing his memory by reading technical manuals on the proper use of explosives, which was a skill that he had barely had reason to use since he was a scout. He cannot compete with Vahn as a marksman, or really most of the others with a blade, but he can seek to fill the roles that the squad lacked.

When he has the time Aldwin will ask around anyone outside the squad that he has had any contact with if they can tell him anything useful about Captain Ulixes.

Spoiler: ooc

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I don't expect this to go anywhere but I'll roll Inquiry on this. If it helps and he's still around I'll ask Captain Smith directly.

Roll vs. Fel 36 / 2 - TN 18
(1d100)[48]

Nope

[Ascension]

Even aboard a Watch-Fortress of the Deathwatch, people's responses to being questioned by a seven foot tall superman, particularly one from a Chapter with as stern a reputation as the Subjugators, tend to be subdued. Though everyone Aldwin asks is properly respectful, nothing they share about Ulixes is particularly useful. Those who've heard of him generally give the same basic description, characterizing him as a man with a piratical spirit who has frequently pushed the boundaries of the permissions granted by his Warrant of Trade... which is nothing you didn't already know.

Aldwin does, however, notice something curious. The Gallant Blade is still being held in one of the Watch-Fortress's outer docks (ostensibly for repairs to the minor damage inflicted on it by Ulixes' ship during its flight from Zanatov's Harbour, but likely also so that the Cabal can determine that none of its crew knows any more than they are authorised to know), but when he goes searching for Captain Smith, the Rogue Trader is nowhere to be found, neither aboard his ship nor in the precious few spaces aboard the Watch-Fotress which are open to non-Inquisitorial visitors.

Where might Captain Smith be?

Spoiler: OOC

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This isn't a major sidequest, but it is a thread which could be pulled if you're interested.

[qechua]

"My thanks for your words, brother" came the reply, Rafen taking Jaden's hand up, and returning the knife to it's sheath, "Although I will still need to seek to improve my actions, every battle should be seen as a chance to improve one's self. As per the tithe, I am aware of geneseed being delivered to the vaults of the Adeptus Mechanicus for purity testing, I myself have overseen this task before, however I have not encountered any situation with the Inquisition taking such a stand on a chapter. If you do wish to investigate this, I would be honoured to help."

[Haval]

Aldwin is going to go looking for Inquisitor Jiang to ask him about Captain Smith's whereabouts. It was better to be as informed as possible about the battlefield before you entered in to it, and so any information he could dig up on their target might be useful.

Spoiler: ooc

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Was probably overthinking it. I'll pass on that speculation about Argentum when we're all together

[Inspector Valin]

"We can begin this after the diplomatic mission. For now, I feel we should both be making ready for it. It's a simple assignment in theory, but so many variables... a thousand petals scattered by a hurricane, same as always."

The Stormseer laughs heartily, as if at some private joke. Jaden bows his head politely to Rafen, before turning and striding into the distant corridors of Erioch. There are many possibilities for how to assist this mission. An augury is certainly in order, and some communication with the Mechanicus and Inquisition about captured Tau vehicles might provide a useful trump card. But first.... Jaden intends to pay a visit to the Telepathica Outpost. A ruthless Rogue Trader most likely has some navigator or warp witch on their staff: the Warrant of Trade makes such things within their power. The support of a psyker contingent could be highly a useful counter-measure.

And it will be... pleasant. To spend some time with a group who don't use witch as a slur.

[Ascension]

The Tower of Brass (Aldwin)

As a visiting Inquisitor with few connections in the Jericho Reach, Inquisitor Jiang has been allotted only a modest apartment in the lowest levels of the Tower of Brass. Fortunately, that enforced humility makes it easier for Aldwin to locate his accommodations. The scholarly Inquisitor answers his door with weary eyes and ink-stained hands, and, glancing past him, Aldwin can see that every flat surface in his hab-unit seems to be covered over with a layer of books, maps, and scrolls.

"Captain Smith? He ought to be aboard his ship... I'm afraid it will likely be a while more before my colleagues permit him to go. Here, let's try the vox."

The Inquisitor plucks an archaic wired handset from out of a nest of loose papers and hails the Gallant Blade.

"Could you put me through to Captain Smith? Thank you, yes. ...Captain Smith? It's good to hear you... No, I... One of my associates was looking to speak with you earlier today, and couldn't seem to get in touch with you. ...you were? Well, I suppose... Wait, one moment."

Jiang lowers the handset and looks up to Aldwin, frowning slightly.

"He says he was being questioned by one of my Inquisitorial colleagues. That's possible, but the interrogations started at the top... he's already been dealt with, and I'm not aware of anything that would have occasioned further questioning. Certainly none was scheduled for today..."

The Astropathic Choristry (Jaden)

Seen from the void, the spire housing Erioch's astropathic choir stands in the shadow of its infamous Tower of Brass, small and fragile-looking in comparison to the monumental Inquisitorial Enclave. However, as Jaden mounts the stairs spiraling to its summit, the Choristry seems vaster than the bustling, vital Tower of Brass could ever be, its halls magnified by their empty austerity and haunted air. Grief soaks the walls here, the quiet pain of all those who have lived and died over the millennia as messengers of the Angels of Death, screaming portents and warnings out across the troubled Warp of the Reach.

The choral chamber itself seems all but empty, as, like almost everything aboard the Watch-Fortress, it was built on a much grander scale than its current use requires. Long rows of psyk-cradles stand empty, ringing round the few in which active astropaths are ensconced. Walls of rune-marked iron pipes climb to a domed ceiling, the crystal window at its peak granting an unfiltered view out into the void. The pipes resonate with a odd melody, intoned by the touch of Erioch's chief astropath, who sits at the organ console at the center of the chamber.

It takes a moment, but Jaden comes to realize that the organ's music sounds odd because, heard only by the ear of the flesh, it is incomplete. Only by opening his senses to the Empyrean can he appreciate how it resonates with the psychic voices of the astropathic choir, their own songs framed as a vital piece of the organist's instrument. As the organist-chorister lifts his hands from the keys, so too do the voices of the astropaths die away in perfect unison with the organ's tune.

"Librarian," the chief astropath greets Jaden, turning his empty eye sockets' gaze on the Stormseer, "What brings you from the halls of books into the halls of music on this day?"

The Shooting Ranges (Vahn)

As Vahn practises his marksmanship, further honing his already considerable skill with lascannon and stalker bolter in hand, a polite cough, an oddly human affectation, draws his attention from the targets downrange. Chaplain Haman has entered the otherwise empty shooting range. The warning cough is, however, the closest to contrition he shows for intruding on the Raptor's privacy. Haman is here with a purpose.

"I don't know precisely what happened on your mission, and it's been made clear to me that I do not want to know," he says, forestalling any objection, "But I know that Temur Ogedei did not return."

Haman comes to kneel beside Vahn, leaning on his Crozius.

"I hope you understand that loss is what you should be feeling. He was not a brother of the Raptors, no more than I, but we are all brothers of the Astartes and of the Deathwatch, bound by oath and purpose. And, yes, he was under your command. No matter what principles your Chapter may espouse, that should hurt. You should feel that in your hearts.

"And yet..."

Haman disengages his gauntlet with a clank and hiss of mechanics, pulling it off to expose a thick, ridged scar on the back of his hand.

"We are Astartes. We endure our hurts. We learn from them, and we grow stronger. And we revisit our hurts a thousandfold on those who dare to strike us. Do not be disheartened. Use this loss. Let it fuel you. And watch all your enemies burn in that flame."

The Hunting Grounds (Karael)

Hours into the hunt, the bloodied corpse of a kroot falls at Karael's feet, dropped from the roof of a nearby building, its facade fashioned in approximation of an Imperial chapel. Looking up, the Blood Angel sees a grinning, filthy-faced Space Wolf clinging to the chapel's steeple. The Wolf waves his combat knife in greeting.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he says, "They fancy themselves predators. But if these are the best hunters the Tau can find, I don't know how we haven't wiped them out yet."

The Wolf leaps from the rooftop, landing with a heavy thud atop the corpse of the kroot, his boots crushing its head and cracking its spine.

"Just our luck that the only Marines close to the Damocles Gulf were Codex-thumpers, eh?"

[Toxic Mind]

Vahn - Shooting Ranges

"He was a Brother in deed and in name, and had I the chance I would have given myself to see him here in my place. It was my command, Chaplain. My responsibility."

He fire off a shot that drills into the head of the servitor target.

"My failure."

He looks at the Chaplain's skull mask, as if it were no obstruction to the face beneath. "My Chapter teaches that death is inevitable, that we should be pragmatic in our application of force and in our loss. If a resource was used to its fullest, there should be no sorrow in its loss."

"Temur Ogdei was not used to his fullest."

[Koris]

The Hunting Grounds

Karael cracks a smile and chuckles momentarily at the Wolves introduction ''Given your chapters hate of the good Codex, I sometimes wonder if your kind even knows it contents anymore. I wouldn't be much surprised to find that you order them by bulk to keep the hearth warm instead.''

He plucks a piece of Kroot brain away from the barrel of his Angelus Bolter while keeping a smirk on his face. He speaks up while he still has the word ''As you said, these evolved avians are just another proof that we have bigger troubles to deal with than another upstart Xeno empire. I sure as hell wouldn't overcomit to their genocide when more pressing concerns keep on mounting.'' Karael takes a step to the side to look at a track of the Kroot group he had been tracking for the last half hour. ''But where are my manners, the name is Karael. Brother of the Blood Angels.'' he salutes towards the stranger with his power sword. ''Had a good hunt sofar I hope, Space Wolf?''

[Inspector Valin]

His pace should be fast. There is much to be done, and time is uncertain. None the less, Jaden walks slowly through the halls of the Choristry. The echoes in this place are enough to harrow the uninitiated, but they are a strange comfort for the Stormseer. Whatever they may have felt, this is a place where psykers have lived and served the Imperium for centuries. He cal feel the shadows of those past and present, their steps, the echo of their voices... and it is a comfort to the Chorgorian Psyker. Pain, fear, entreaties; it is all still the stuffof living.

And the music! The organ and chorus in perfect harmony is beyond description to one without Warp Sight. Jaden could have listened to it for hours, standing stock still within the choral chamber, but alas, business must take priority. Having to interrupt the Choir is vexing though. Jaden'd wanted to speak to an aide, but such luxuries were not to be wasted on the psykers, presumably. He bows his head low to the senior seer, "I am searching for allies, choirmaster. I would not ask your own to join the fight, but I hope you might guide my path."

Some marines confess worries and sins to their Chaplin. Jaden is more used to confessing to Astropaths. They can see your feelings after all. Their shared bond with the warp has always left Jaden looking up to the senior members of the Psykana. Taking a knee to bring himself level with the Chief Astropath, Jaden endeavours to explain. "Inquisitor Bramimond is putting together a diplomatic mission to retrieve a dangerous fugitive from Tau custody. Brenden Ulixes, the Rogue Trader. I am... worried that he might take advantage of the xenos' gullibility. The Tau have little knowledge of the Warp, and Ulixes has made contact with both Samech and the Alpha Legion in recent days. He may well have a coterie of the unsanctioned aboard his ship, and his current hosts would accept whatever practices his delegation might attempt as innocent."

The Stormseer places a hand to his side, where the hilt of his combat knife rests. Where his blade grip would be, were he in full armour. "I and my battle brothers will strive to protect the delegation from assault. But I am a man of battle, not wisdom. I was hoping that the Telepathica might be able to spare personnel to accompany us with ward and augury. They would be well placed with Bramimond's team." He lets the request end at that, closing his eyes and focusing on the emphyrian above the material. His sight could not match that of the Choir, but...it was the principal of the thing, dang it.

[Haval]

The Tower of Brass (Aldwin)

Aldwin will try to remain impassive. So Smith had been questioned by someone who did not see fit to announce their identity. How many were involved in this Cabal anyway? He briefly wondered how likely an Inquisitor like Jiang would be to look into their colleages business as a matter of course and how the Cabal was likely to respond if he did. Would Jiang end up having his own introduction to the Necrontyr.

Without referring to whoever else might have been talking to Smith, Aldwin will explain his purpose. ‘We have been tasked with bringing the Emperor’s Justice to the Rogue Trader Brenden Ulixes. Captain Smith spoke of him aboard the Gallant Blade. I would hear anything Smith can tell us about Ulixes' ship and associates.'

[qechua]

As the other team members head off to their respective destinations, Rafen takes some time to reflect upon the revelations of the last few minutes, before wandering the halls of the Watch Fortress, loosing himself in thought upon his travels.

Some time later, maybe minutes, maybe hours, Rafen found himself at the entrance way to the training cages, and allowed himself an outlet to his fury. Keeping his knife sheathed, he set into the machines and servitors as they approached with nothing more than his body as a weapon.

Some hours later, with his bones aching and his muscles on fire, he called a halt to the exercise, and looked around, the cage littered with drones and dummies, the recovery servitors struggling to keep up with the rate of devastation Rafen had unleashed. Small amounts of servitor blood could be found upon the floor mixed in with the oils and unguents that had kept them running, the smell of it mixing with his adrenaline, and Rafen stood upon the knife edge of control and barbarism, as his flawed seed threatened to take control.

[Ascension]

The Shooting Range

"Leadership of a kill-team is... difficult," Haman says, frowning at Vahn's assumption of full blame. "As with most aspects of service to the Inquisition, a kill-team leader deals in far fewer absolutes than any Sergeant commanding a squad of his own Chapter brothers. Did you command the action which took Brother Ogedei's life, or did he act on his own initiative? Though you bear formal responsibility in either case... the Deathwatch understands the difficulties new-formed kill-teams face."

The Hunting Ground

The Wolf snorts as Karael names him "Space Wolf," as if the Blood Angel has just said something funny, but makes no comment on it.

"Surma," he introduces himself, "Formerly of Sven Bloodhowl's retinue."

He gives Karael a toothy grin and a langourous shrug of his shoulders.

"But I hear rumours he went and picked a fight with some Inquisitors while I've been away, so maybe I'm not any longer."

The topic of his possible exile from his Great Company doesn't seem to particularly trouble Surma, and he moves on to the topic of hunting.

"Too easy," he complains. "Any xenos here was already captured once by our brethren. The bravest died on the field of battle. The smartest escaped our grasp. That means that all we have here are their cowards and idiots. The least of their kind."

Surma waves his combat knife toward a lightly wooded area to the north, a space which would likely be a public park were this a true Imperial city and not a facsimile.

"I think I already found the pack you're tracking."

He traces a fresh scar across his breastplate with his thumb, and smiles.

"One of them was worth fighting. Can't say the same for the rest."

The Choristry

"If I may ask, which Chapter do you hail from, Honoured Librarian?" the elder Astropath asks. "Few among the Astartes have the humility to admit that anything lies beyond their sight... much less to ask the blind to see it for them."

The Tower of Brass

"Well," Jiang says, "that, at least, should be simple enough."

He adjusts the settings of his vox set, and a soft fuzz of static bursts from a speaking tube attached to the wall.

"What of Brenden Ulixes, Captain Smith?" the Inquisitor asks.

Smith's voice is attenuated by the antiquated vox-unit, but it comes through clearly enough to be understood.

"I first heard of him when he fell foul of the Navy in the Calixis Sector on charges of piracy. He'd been robbing ships as a kind of hobby... civilian vessels, tramp freighters and pilgrim ships. Nothing rich, nothing challenging, just vulnerable ships that might not be missed. The local admiralty strongly encouraged him to turn his talents against the enemies of the Imperium, rather than its citizens, and he took their advice to heart. That was what got him into the Cold Trade. Seems that he didn't see a point in waylaying xenos ships if he couldn't sell whatever he captured.

"That ship he's sailing now is a Shrike-class raider. Small, but potent... they were built with heretical technologies, even before whatever modifications Ulixes may have made. Throne only knows whether he got hold of it through piracy or trade."

There's a brief pause before Smith continues.

"I've never met the man personally. I only know him by reputation. But I would advise you to be careful. Going against the Inquisition, going against the Adeptus Astartes... I'm certain he knows he wouldn't stand a chance against you in a fair fight. That's precisely why he'll never give you one. He will have a backup plan. Maybe even a backup plan for that backup plan."

The Training Cages (Rafen)

In that moment of crisis, as Rafen stands on the precipice of savagery, a deep, rumbling voice, with the metallic edge common to those wearing an Astartes battle helm, calls out, "Viciously fought, Apothecary."

The man who strides into the cage is a giant even by the standards of the Astartes, standing at least half a head taller than Rafen in his Mk8 plate. The bovine mark of the infamous Minotaurs Chapter glares from his pauldron.

"I think lightning claws would be more efficient, if you want to kill with your own hands," he says, leaning over one of the fallen servitors to examine the blunt trauma dealt to the half-human machine.

His impassive eye-lenses sweep toward Rafen's face.

"But efficiency may not be your goal."

The accusation in the Minotaur's voice is clear.

[Inspector Valin]

The question wins a swift smile from Jaden. Pride in his world and chapter are things he has never lacked. He puffs up his chest, standing tall even by the norms of the Astartes. "I am of the White Scars, honoured one! The thunder of Chogoris beats in my veins. My brothers are of the hawk, the bow and the sword; and no chapter delivers the Emperor's Vengeance more swiftly than the Khan's own!"

The boasts come easy to the Stormseer. But they feel a little empty with this context. He sighs, though he still manages a smile for the Chief Astropath. "They would laugh to hear you call me humble. Upon the field of battle, I am nothing of the kind. I will stride out, proud as the sun, ready to meet our foes with a song on my lips, my blade raised high and the joy of the Emperor's grace in my heart."

"But such is the place of any Astartes on the field of battle. When removed from it.... well, I am young by the norms of the Stormseers. The old beaks drilled into me many a time that my way is not the certain way, to bow to age, wisdom and experience." The psyker snorts, before glancing around the choir chamber, "They meant their own, of course, but I prefer to apply the lesson more widely. The Emperor's blessings do not make me better than you. They are a tool, like my sword, or my mind. With time, I may do great things with them. But that does not make me, in this moment, any greater or more holy than you, or any member of this choir."

[Koris]

The Hunting Grounds

Karael looks a bit surprised at the dismissal of the Wolves brother so casually. For him, it would be an outrage if an inquisitor saw fit to seek out his sergeant. Instead of responding to it, Karael simply nods instead.

He looks towards the place that Surma is pointing with his blade, a slight frown on his face that his query had already been hunted. ''A shame, I'd been harrying them to see when fear overtook them. For I feel much the same, unfortunately. While they could put up a fight against the Imperial Guard, they hold no chance in killing one of our own in a place such as this. I was hoping for more of a challenge myself, but only their Shapers and mounts prove to hold any mettle.''

Karael reaches out his hand as he proposes something ''Shall we perhaps join forces for this hunt? I haven't seen too many of your kind fight beyond recordings, and it might prove a learning experience for us both.''

Spoiler: OOC

Show

I'm rolling a Common Lore (Deathwatch) to find out if I've heard of this Space Wolf around the fort before, and if he has any rumours surrounding him.

(1d100)[11] TN:40

[qechua]

His breathing still deep, Rafen sized up the newcomer for a moment, glad the giant in front of him wore the plate of an Astarte as it dragged his mind back to the side of control. A small smile crept across his face as the red mist was banished once more behind a wall of calm and serenity. His voice, was clear and even, despite the litres of Oxygen coursing it's way though his respiratory system, talking care to only emphasize his title among his words.

"We use our weapons when we want to kill something. We use our bare hands when we want to punish something. We should always use the correct tool for the job, lest we waste our Emperor given talents. I am Brother Rafen, Sanguinary Priest of the Blood Angels, and how might be of help to you today?"

[Haval]

Aldwin will frown at the mention of the attempt by the Navy to make Ulixes a privateer. A pirate for the Imperium was still a pirate and would likely continue to act that way while the Navy's back was turned. It should never have been allowed. That the man had since moved into the Cold Trade was only a natural progression. If was not stamped out, a smaller heresy would inevitably begat a larger one.

He was aware that Rogue Traders varied widely in their inclinations and some of them had served the Imperium well, but others fell all too easily into practices that undermined it from within. In that sense, a man like Ulixes might be capable of anything. 'So he is one of those Rogue Traders. I think our visit is long overdue. Your warning is appreciated Captain, but I have no intention of fighting fairly.'

[Ascension]

The Choristry

There is a pause, a moment of utter stillness, before the old astropath smiles.

"As I said... a very rare attitude. I don't know that your brothers would appreciate hearing you speak this way, but it will serve you well in pursuit of your goal."

He raises a hand, gesturing to encompass the choir chamber, or perhaps the void beyond. Perhaps something more expansive even than that.

"Think what binds the Imperium, Stormseer. What connects each and every distant star. The Adeptus Astra Telepathica is all around you. To call upon their aid, you need only have the sight to see them in your midst."

The Hunting Grounds

Clouds of rumour follow all the sons of Fenris when they travel beyond their own realms, but the whispers which swirl around Surma are more wild, more unbelievable than most. Allegedly, during his very first action as a member of the Deathwatch he challenged the leader of his kill-team, a brother of the Angels of Absolution, to a duel in the midst of an attack by Chaos cultists, lashing out at his commander with the combat knife in his left hand even as he carried on slaying heretics with the chainsword in his right. When his Watch-Captain demanded an explanation afterward, he said only that he'd gotten bored with the cultists and was seeking a better challenge. Or so the story goes.

Even if his antics have grown more outlandish in the telling, Surma is undeniably a loose cannon, and is currently on his third kill-team since coming to Erioch. Word has it that he would've simply been dismissed from the Deathwatch by now were it not for the fact that communications between his Wolf Lord and the Inquisition have broken down to the point where it's currently impossible to send him home.

His smile shows the enlarged canines which are a hallmark of his gene-seed.

"There aren't many in this Watch-Fortress who would learn from a wild-man... but I see the gore on your blades, Angel," he says, approvingly. "Perhaps you're more than just a pretty face."

He scrapes drying blood from his combat knife onto the thigh of his armour, then cleans the last traces from it with his tongue before returning the blade to its sheath. That frees his hand to draw a sword from his back... a sword instantly recognisable as one of the Space Wolves' fabled Frost Blades. He spurs its arcane machinery to a soft idling purr.

"On, then. Let's see how we kill together."

The Training Cages

"Punishment..." the Minotaur's deep basso voice echoes. "An interesting choice of words. For which crime do these drones deserve to be punished? For daring to raise a hand against a Sanguinary Priest? For following the dictates of their programming? For daring to exist?"

He reaches down and picks up one of the broken servitors by the neck, hauling it up level with his helmet so that he can stare into its dead eyes.

His tone shifts to a more menacing timbre as he asks, "For failing to bleed?"

He tosses the servitor carelessly aside and strides over to the weapons rack standing beside the entrance to the training cage, stocked with barely-blunted training blades for the use of sparring warriors.

"Tell me, Blood-Priest," he asks, scraping a gauntleted finger across the edge of an antique labrys, "were you to find yourself facing a brother of the Adeptus Astartes, would you take up a weapon... or would you use your fists?"

The Tower of Brass

There's a brief pause on the line as Captain Smith determines whether or not to be offended by the tone with which Aldwin speaks about his profession, but he determines it far wiser to let the comment pass.

"Good hunting. Emperor go with you," he says, and the line fuzzes dead.

Inquisitor Jiang rubs his tired eyes before looking back up to Aldwin.

"Is there anything else I could help you with?" the Inquisitor asks.

[Toxic Mind]

The Shooting Range

"He made his own choice, a choice I would have forbid of him given the chance." Vahn says softly. "It is not formal blame that I worry for, Honored Chaplain, but the blame within my own heart. I have never held such doubt before. Could I have altered his fate?"

Vahn looks up as if snapped free of a trance. "The enemy will suffer for this, Chaplain. I am set on the hunt for the scum who put Brother Ogdei in such a place. Were it not for his treason, Temur Odgei would be alive. I will find him and end him, and only then will my soul be at peace once more."

[qechua]

The Training Cages

"Their failure is, as ever, obvious..." Rafen replied, taking a brief look at the carnage around him again "...however, they are not the ones being punished. Through pain and suffering, we may seek forgiveness our own failings, or, at least, be better equipped in future."

"Would this hypothetical face off with a brother be training, or battle?"

[Koris]

The Hunting Grounds

Karael smiles at the Lone Wolf, drawing his blades and shrugging his shoulders to release some tension. His fangs match the Space Wolf in the ferocity it hides behind a mask of self-control. ''If you were nought but a savage, with only your raw power to wield your blade, you wouldn't be wielding that relic of your chapter. And more likely, you would be polishing that blade like a serf instead.''

He begins walking towards his next prey while there is still blood in the air that he can follow ''Keep up and try to keep that mouth shut. Don't want the Xeno to smell us before they see us.'' Karael says with a smirk on his face that he keeps from the sight of Surma.

[Haval]

The Tower of Brass

Aldwin will look at the Inquisitor for a moment and consider telling him of Brother Argentum. As a member of the Ordo Xenos the man likely deserved to know everything, even if only to better understand the threat represented by the Necrontyr. Yet he says nothing. Even if Jiang was trustrustworthy and was willing to treat the information with the seriousness it deserved, how many others might he tell? Would the slow dispersal of the secret of the Necrontyr's existence bring closer the time when they would be awakened and in open conflict with the Imperium. The virtue of ignorance indeed.

'No, that will be all. A pleasure working with you Inquisitor.' Perhaps Jiang would soon return to Ultramar and be away from all this. With a brief nod, Aldwin will turn and leave Jiang's quarters. Despite his leg wound he will visit the shooting ranges and find something he can take his frustration out on.

[Ascension]

The Shooting Range:

Chaplain Haman frowns slightly at Vahn's first words, but nods in affirmation of his conclusion. He stands to his feet and places his hand on Vahn's shoulder.

"Yes. Vengeance is the surest penance. Bring a just death to the heretic, and Temur Ogedei's spirit will smile. Now..."

He inclines his head toward the distant targets downrange, riddled by Vahn's precision fire.

"I will leave you to your Emperor-blessed work. I have every faith in you, Brother Vahn of the Raptors and of the Deathwatch. You and your brothers will see justice to all those who deserve it."

The Training Cages:

The Minotaur lifts the labrys from the rack of training blades, hefting the heavy axe easily in one hand. He holds it up toward the dim lights set above the cages, scrutinizing it.

"I have fought brothers of the Astartes," he says, his voice calm and even, simply matter-of-fact. "I do not refer to the Traitor Legions of the Archenemy, thrice cursed be their names. It was in the years of the Macharian Heresy, after the death of the Lord Commander Solar. The Doom Warriors and the Inceptors came to blows. I know not why, nor do I care. We of the Minotaurs were sent in to stop their fighting... and that we did."

He sets the labrys back into the rack and turns toward Rafen, flexing the gauntleted fingers of his right hand.

"That battle could be rightly called an act of punishment, but we did not use our fists."

He tilts his head to one side, and despite his helmet Rafen can hear the sudden smile in his voice.

"Nevertheless, their pain and suffering was instructive. Perhaps our definitions of punishment are not so different, after all."

[qechua]

Training Cages

Rafen had heard rumours of the Minotaurs deeds during the Macharian Heresy, but had presumed them false. To hear one talk of them so candidly, it set Rafen back on edge again, although years of acting as council for Blood Angels who had begun their fall stopped him showing a look of disapproval.

"The Emperor gives us what we need, as well as what we deserve. Above all, he places us where we need to be. If we had been there instead of you, maybe things would be different, but we weren't there, you were, and there must be reason for that. Regardless, it is done, as my time in these cages draws to it's close, it's job complete."

Giving lesson to the Minotaur, Rafen found truth in his own words. Ogedai had died for a reason, he geneseed lost for a reason; to see them all escape from the abominable xenos. The matter was settled with Jaden, the appearance of the Minotaur had set his own daemons to rest. To continue to feel his failure as anything other than a learning exercise would be to doubt the Emperor's plan for all.

"Enough talk of the past, we do not inhabit it. Do you have time to spar, brother? I've tired myself out to give you a chance."

A large smile erupted across the Blood Angel's face as his character returned.

[Ascension]

The Training Cages

The Minotaur laughs. His laugh is deep and ugly, but genuine in spirit.

"I have time," he says, and settles into a pugilist's stance.

[Ascension]

A few days more pass before before Inquisitor Bramimonde issues her summons, time enough for all your wounds to finish mending, for any necessary maintenance on your wargear to be performed, to attend services at the shrine or chapel of your preference, and generally to settle back into the rhythm of life aboard Watch-Fortress Erioch, almost as it was before your fateful mission to Zantaov's Harbour.

In that time, Brother Jaden is able to perform another reading of the Emperor's Tarot, leaving him with much more Warp-spawned prophetic babble on which to dwell.

Spoiler: Jaden's Reading

Show

When Jaden sits to perform his reading, it takes an effort of will to summon up his connection with the cards, the Empyrean, and the distant Emperor beyond, but when the vision comes upon him, it takes him by force, guiding his hands and mind through a seven-card spread.

Past
Unsurprisingly, the first card Jaden draws is The Rogue Trader, inverted. The sight of the iconic merchant of the tarot card, weighed down by furs and jewelry, soon gives way to another glimpse of prophecy.

"-failing, Captain!"

"Mobilise armsmen to the landing bays! Prepare to repel boarders!"

The metal-and-sulfur scent of the aether fills your lungs as a boarding party appears directly on the bridge, bypassing your remaining defences entirely. Your first officer, always quick with his reflexes, manages to draw his laspistol and fire, drilling a hole directly through the head of one of the boarders just as he materialises.

"Oops," Brenden Ulixes sneers, his fractal image juddering into view centimeters away from the spot where your XO's shot found its mark. He laughs with three faces. "You missed."

Four phantom images of the pirate's power sword stike out-

Present
The card that follows is The Jackal, opportunistic and hungry.

-blandly smiling human man in alien garb stands beside the emissary.

"We are very pleased," the man says, an odd accent tinging his Gothic, "to hear that you have decided to contribute your considerable resources to the Greater-

The Near Future
The Magos, inverted, is an echo of Jaden's last reading, but-

-the hands that lift the Necrontyr flayer rifle are grey-blue and four-fingered. An unintelligible voice-

The Querent Himself
The Harlequin appears again, but it feels different this time, nothing like it did in Jaden's last spread. An uncomfortable smile forces itself onto Jaden's face as he looks at it, stretching his lips into a rictus grin.

-laugh as we kill...

...do we laugh as we-

External Influences
The familiar Serpent sneers at Jaden.

"-want to hear a different story?" the man asked, his face showing surprise that couldn't be heard at all in his voice. "Oh, very well then. This is another old tale, which you have likely heard before, but I doubt that you've heard it the way I tell it. You see, there once was a family of frogs, many, many years ago, and these frogs were as hungry as they were cruel, and as cruel as they were hungry. Oftentimes they would offer an animal passing near the river by which they lived a ride upon one of their backs, offering to help them cross the mighty river. Then when any of the animals accepted, like, say, a trusting country mouse, they would take that mouse out only as far as the middle of the river, and then they would duck under the water, drowning the mouse. Then they would eat the mouse, or whatever else they might have tricked, for their dinner.

"Now, word slowly spread of the frogs' cruelty, and fewer and fewer animals were willing to trust them. After a while, the only friends they had left were a family of scorpions who were equally cruel, nurturing deadly venom within their tails. Sometimes the frogs would ferry the scorpions across the river to help them get at larger prey, and then when the scorpions' deadly venom struck, all the frogs and scorpions ate well. Even human flesh wasn't beyond their reach while they worked together.

"But even as the scorpions and the frogs learned to cooperate to hunt their prey, resentment began to grow between them. Each remembered how things had been before, when they had hunted only for their own benefit, using their own skill. Each thought that their method, deception or venom, was clearly the superior one, and secretly wished to prove it. The simmering tension between them reached its peak during a river crossing, while three scorpions happened to be riding atop three frogs all at the same time.

"One scorpion suddenly struck the frog on which he was riding with his venomous sting. The second frog, at that very moment, without having seen what was happening to his fellow frog, decided to dive beneath the waves, carrying his scorpion passenger down to drown. The scorpions and frogs still gathered on the banks of the river then fixed their eyes on the third frog and scorpion who were out on the water, to see what they might do to break the stalemate... and suddenly a bird swooped down to eat them both.

"Thus, the moral of the story is-"

What Should the Querent Do?
Seeking a bit of direct personal guidance, Jaden draws The Cleansing Flame, and-
-shots came from somewhere above, but he can't be sure, can't get a bead.

"If we had a damn missile launcher, we could-"

The Final Outcome
A genuine laugh might come to Jaden as he draws The Hulk as the final card of the spread. As a strong signifier of death in the void, practically any path the coming mission might take, for good or for ill, would likely end in The Hulk. He may wait for a further vision to come, to help explicate that last card, but nothing comes to him. The trance is past.

It is only then, however, as he comes out of the grip of his visions and looks around himself with eyes untethered from the Warp, that he realizes that the pattern in which he dealt his cards is not precisely the ancient "horseshoe" spread he thought he was reading. Rather than forming a single U-shaped arc, the line of cards he dealt out instead undulates, forming a shape that looks like nothing so much as... well... the body of a snake.

Word that Bramimonde is ready to move to the final stage of preparations for the coming mission finally comes in the form of gilt-edged formal invitations, delivered to the door of each of your sleeping chambers. Buried amidst the letters' baroque greetings and elaborate flourishes of High Gothic calligraphy, each contains only a partial set of directions, requiring you to come together as a group to fathom out how to reach the location she has set for your briefing. The trail starts near the Tower of Brass, but leads you on into a maze of little-used maintenance passages, winding across decks, vaguely headed in the direction of one of the Watch-Fortress's docking arms.

At last you find yourself approaching an unassuming hatchway, notable only in that it appears to be guarded. The serf standing by the door is a large man, by the standards of the unaugmented, whose corded muscle hints at a lifetime of heavy labour, likely dock work, but all the colour drains out of his face at the sight of five of the Emperor's finest, and he immediately steps aside, bowing and waving you on through the door.

As you step close enough to open the door, the sounds coming from the room beyond distinguish themselves from the omnipresent dull hum of machinery audible on any void station. The sound is muffled, as if shrouded by audio baffles or some more exotic technology, but it has a more lively tenor than anything you've heard on Erioch before, a murmur of laughter and conversation, overlaid with a musical beat found in no votive hymns approved by the Ecclesiarchy or the Astartes.

The festival noise rises sharply in volume as the door is unsecured and pulled open, only to crash to a sudden, panicked halt as your massive forms loom into view. You find yourselves looking into a comfortably-sized compartment furnished as an upscale pub, the usual steel and stone of the Watch-Fortress giving way to warm brown hardwoods. The concealed bar's shocked patrons are split between throwing themselves to their knees in obeisance and simply freezing in place, fixed by their shock. Captain Smith falls in the latter category, still clutching at the young woman seated beside him even as his face turns ashen.

A beaded curtain at the back of the room rustles, and Inquisitor Bramimonde emerges, her initial look of confusion transmuting to a delighted smile as soon as she lays eyes on you.

"Ah! I am so glad you could make it," she greets you. "I hope your journey wasn't too unpleasant... I'm afraid this establishment stakes an awful lot on being difficult to find."

She looks around at the terrified occupants of the bar, smirking to herself at the murmurs which ripple through them at the revelation that she herself invited you.

"Now, I'm afraid my friends and I have some rather serious business to attend to, so I'll have to ask that you all clear the room. Go on, scurry on!"

There is some slight hesitation at that command, as the five of you are standing by the only exit, but after a moment the realisation works through the crowd's collective brain that leaving is the only way to get out of the way of the wrath of either a kill-team, an Inquisitor, or all of the above. That's worth a hasty walk of shame past your ranks. After that moment of tension, the bar clears out quickly.

"You too, now," she hisses at the harpsichordist, still paralysed by her fear, "I dearly wish to go the day without threatening anyone."

The girl breaks into a run, leaving you alone with the inquisitor. Bramimonde beams another smile and claps her hands.

"There we go. Much better."

The long-legged inquisitor slides smoothly behind the bar and takes up the bartender's dropped cocktail shaker with practised ease.

"Would any of you care for a drink? I know the Wolves of Fenris are partial to mjod, but I don't know that other Chapters drink..."

Her eyes dart up at the two Blood Angels among your number, and she smirks.

"...amasec."

[Toxic Mind]

Vahn shakes his head with a wry smile. "There is never an end to the games among you Inquisitors, is there?" he says, almost to himself, declining the drink with a wave. He never understood the fascination people had with imbibing poison willingly, no matter how enjoyable its effects.

[Koris]

Karael is irritated by the behaviour of the Inquisitor, as he so often was. If you asked the common man living in a hive what they thought of Inquisitors they would tell you such tall tales that you would never expect them to be anything but the right hand of the Emperor. Yet here was just another example of their overflowing ego. In ancient times, before the oceans of Terra were boiled away in an atomic holocaust, there was a human who said; Unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it. And nowhere is it as true as the Holy-Inquisition.

With a short look to the others, Karael frowns and raises his hand to indicate that he will pass. ''I'll pass thank you. The Purifier ensures that any ethanol-based beverages only survive on their taste alone. And I don't think this is the time for a wine tasting.'' He takes a step forward to look at this place of decadence, wondering if even bringing it up to the Watch-Captain was worth the effort. The wolves obviously brought their own rumors to the behavior of Astartes, but Karael is quite sure that nobody has missed the rumors of the Blood Angels enjoying the taste of warm crimson on their tongue. It was true of course, but outsiders could not hope to grasp at the full use of the Omophagea organ and the traditions that Sanguinius created ten millenia ago.

Moving even closer to the counter, he speaks what is truly on his mind instead of attempting any pleasantries. ''Our bolters are loaded, our swords cleaned and sharpened to perfection. The only thing we now need is to hear your breathing, Inquisitor.''

[Haval]

Aldwin is confused by the sight of this place. Whatever else it was, Erioch was a Fortress Monastery, and a place like this seemed like a frivolous waste of resources. The Inquisition did things very differently.

He thought it unlikely that they would serve water here, so he doesn't respond to the Inquisitor's question.