[DH] The Ceremony of Innocence: Inquisition (OOC)

[dhenn]

]Link to the recruitment thread

Welcome to the OOC thread for the Inquisitorial Acolyte Cell! Please include your character sheet with your first post in this thread and, if desired, choose a speech colour.

---

The Rules

Activity

• The expected post rate is no less than one post every two days. If you do not meet this, I will autopilot your character as necessary.
• If you don't post for a week and haven't given any reason, I reserve the right to kill off your character.
• Going on hiatus and giving a reason for it is totally fine, as long as you let me know and give me a good idea how long you'll be gone for. In this case, I'll autopilot your character until you return.

Posting

• It's not necessary for you to colour your speech, but you're free to do so if you want to.
• As a minor note, I will tend to write in the past tense, but you can go with past or present as you prefer.
• Good spelling and grammar is somewhere between highly appreciated and necessary.

Dice rolls

• All rolls should be made with the forum dice roller, either in a spoiler in the IC thread or in a separate post in this thread.
• You're free to, and indeed encouraged to, make most of any necessary rolls yourself. The exception is that if your character shouldn't know whether they've succeeded or failed - leave those to me and I'll roll in secret.
• Psychic Phenomena and Perils of the Warp are always a secret roll.

Combat

• When combat starts, I will roll everybody's initiative (if I remember to), so that we can jump to the action faster.
• You can post out of initiative order. Please do! Once everyone has posted their actions for a round, I will resolve it in the correct order with an IC post and an OOC explanation. Such posts by me signify that one round has ended and another has begun.
• I'd really appreciate it if you could try to post at least once per day when we're in combat time.

Spoilers

• If a spoiler in either this or the IC thread is marked X or X only, in general please do not read it if you are not X. If it's not clear from context, I'll be specific about when the information contained is meant to be secret.

---

The Inquisitorial party begins the game with a briefing by Inquisitor Olianthe Rathbone on Scintilla before traveling to Lo, a nominal Hive World in the Drusus Marches. If your character has heard of it before, they've probably done so in the context of the Loi Metalworks Armoury; the Drusus Marches have a number of war worlds and frontier worlds, and Lo is both a regional hub and an important supplier of weapons to the rest of the subsector. It's only a "nominal" hive world because it doesn't sport the average super-dense hive, due to unfavourable seismic activity making such megastructures even less safe than normal; rather, its megacity is a sprawling metropolis covering over a hundred thousand square kilometres.

Your transport to Lo will be arranged by the Inquisitor and occur immediately following the conclusion of the briefing.

Inquisitor Rathbone is one of the more prominent members of the Inquisition in the sector. She doesn't formally belong to any Ordo, but spends the majority of her time on Scintilla, among the wealthy and the powerful.

Once everyone's set with background and such, the IC thread will start.

[Kiranvonstrom]

Tybalt Constantine

Spoiler

Stats

Spoiler

WS: 32
BS: 31
S: 35
T: 35
Ag: 33
Int: 36
Per: 32
Will: 34
Fell: 24

Age: 23 Terran Standard, Slightly more by Dusk standards
Gender: Male
Mass:
Colour: Raven hair, fair skin, yellow eyes
Build:

Wounds: 10
Fate Points: 2
Insanity: 2
Corruption: 3

Divination: “Corruption within, Mutation without.”
Quirk/s: Cat's Eyes
Feral Superstition/sDusk Survival Traits: Lonely Dead, Power of Names. They aren't superstitions. They're precautions.

Feral Worlder Skills
Speak Language: Tribal Dialect (Dusk) (Int)

Feral Worlder Traits
Bad Blood
Primitive
Dark Tales
Wilderness Savvy
Little Left to Fear

Skills:
Common Lore (Underworld) (Int)
Security
Intimidate (S)
Dodge (Ag)
Silent Move (Ag)
Awareness (Per)
Speak Language (Low Gothic) (Int)

Talents:
Unremarkable (through some miracle, seeing as he's a cat eye-man in an armored trenchcoat...)
Melee weapon training (Primative, Natural)
Pistol Training (Las, SP)
Basic Weapon Training (Las, SP)

Gear:
Black Stormcoat, Designed for Stealth, Flak Reinforced (AP3) [100TG]
Black Bodyglove (Good Quality Clothing)
Charm (Corpse-Hair, woven into a braid)
Pack of Lho-Sticks
Longlas with Overcharge Pack and RDS (Longlas is Matte-black and dissassembles for easy carrying) [165TG]
2 Hotshot charges [30TG]
1 Charge Pack [15TG]
Clip harness [25TG]
Stummer [25TG]
Mirco-Bead [20TG]
Mark III FG Grenade [10TG]
Carrying Case for Rifle
Retractable Finger Rasps (Prehensile, muscled tongues covered in teeth, length of one meter, extend from fingers, can retract at will. Also usable as a sense instrument, allowing for taste. Tybalt has also been observed eating using them. Deal 1d10+3R, Primative.)
[roll0] TG

XP Spent (700, 0 Remaining):
Sons of Dispater [100xp]
[REDACTED:Code623491]: [400xp]
Basic Weapon Training (Las) [100xp]
Silent Move [100xp]

Backgound

Spoiler

Born on the feral world of Dusk, the boy who would become Tybalt Constantine was marked from an early age as an outcast from society. This is hardly uncommon, some worlds have caste systems or biases against certain ethnicities, but every world dominated by the Imperium, mutation is a sure sign of a life spent on the fringes of society- or further.

Tybalt was born with an extra, retractable tongue set in a deep slit at then end of each finger, covered with tiny, sharpened teeth. While the additional, meter long prehensile digits would indeed be handy, and, indeed, not uncommon on dusk, that was, in Tybalt's tribe, no reason to let the whelp live. Shortly after his birth, the bo, yet unnamed, was thrown out of his tribe.

Tybalt spent his formative years attempting to survive the myriad perils of Dusk, scrounging for what food he could find and avoiding all of the wildlife unless he was certain he could kill it with his talon-tentacles. Rather than have the dark campfire stories told in Dusk's tribes to inform his actions, the boy was forced to develop his own, so as not to offend the dark powers that lurked in the swamps of Dusk. If he had not been incredibly lucky, he would have died shortly before his eight birthday, if he kept time.

It was then that, by pure coincidence, he was found by the Sons of Dispater. The Imperial Guard is not the only organization to recruit from feral worlds, and the Assassin company found the world of Dusk very helpful in acquiring emotionless killers, if one did not mind a few superstitions. If they were trained early enough, they could even be taught to be polite.

When the Sons of Dispater visited the tribe that had thrown out the boy that would later become Tybalt, they heard stories about a wild child, a son of the swamps. The villagers thought they were giving a warning. The Sons of Dispater thought were being given the opportunity of a career. Or one of the opportunities of a career. There's no need to get too excited.

It was not hard to capture the boy. An offer of food was sufficient to get it into a cage and offworld, where its training could be begun in earnest. It was then given a name, to fit with its new life: Tybalt Constantine.

It is there that Tybalt's real memory begins, and where half-remembered dreams end. He remembers being painstakingly taught how to speak Low Gothic, which he now does with only a slight accent, and being taught how to use a gun, a memory he would, in a flight of fancy, call his happiest memory. And, above all else, Tybalt remembers having the beliefs of the Sons of Dispater pounded into his skull. He was sent on his first assignment by the age of fifteen.

Professionalism. An assassin is always professional. He remembered that when he first locked the door behind him and shut off the lights after emotionlessly putting a bullet in the skull of his first target.

Clean. An assassin's kills are clean, no fuss, no mess. When he killed the precinct captain when he was 17, that was the only person in the building he killed.

Faithful. An assassin respects the Emperor. When Tybalt killed the bishop of Hive Glorianus, after he fired the shot, he bowed once to the statue of the God-Emperor at the head of the cathedral. He felt nothing.

Emotionless. An assassin does not shed tears for those he kills. Tybalt worried people, with how little concern he showed for the lives of those he killed. Most assassins cared a little bit about those they forged very sudden, strangely intimate connections with. Tybalt cared only for the job. Once a woman cried for mercy, pleading so that she might retire so as to better serve the God-Emperor. Tybalt emotionlessly allowed her to reach him, although perhaps quicker than she had intended.

Intelligent. An assassin plans. A killer does. When Duke Malhas of Sepheris Segundus took his morning walk through his luxuriant gardens, secure in the knowledge that no-one outside his citadel knew of his routine, Tybalt silently disabused him of this notion.

Tybalt took a certain element of pride in his work. Not happiness, the concept was foreign to him, but the pride of a job well planned and well executed was a sensation he kept close to his heart.

Tybalt was a rising star in the Sons of Dispater, lacking the messiness of other assassins, capable of miraculously slipping weapons through even the tightest security and lacking any emotional attachment to those he killed. His services commanded higher and higher prices, simply because the inhuman feral made it a point of pride to never fail.

And that was when he accepted the one contract he ever failed. It was simple, child's play even. Kill an adept. Octavia Quintus. Not even a high ranking adept. No protection. Hardly worthy of one with his talents, but Tybalt didn't complain. A job was a job, and he was a professional, not some bounty-hunting sadist.

What he wasn't expecting was for the adept to be a beta-range psyker with an inquisitorial rosette and a team of ex-Jannisaries protecting her. It was a testament to Tybalt's talent as an infiltrator that he got as close to the inquisitor as he did.

But, nevertheless, he failed, and, with no choice as a professional to make amends, offered up his services for as long as the inquisitor should have need of them in recompense. Shortly thereafter, he was ordered to kill the person, a minor cult leader, who had issued the contract. Although the Sons of Dispater have a policy against killing those who contract their assassins, they have an even stronger policy about being lied to and directed at one of the few people they consider to be off-limits.

And so Tybalt entered the services of the Emperor's Inquisition, despite lacking any particular faith in the Emperor. He's seen the way a cleric dies. The die the same way everyone else does.

Between missions, Tybalt does nothing but practice for the next mission. His only vice is the occasional Lho-stick, which he indulges in at the end of each mission. Not that he's spectacularly addicted. He just likes the smell.

Habitually, he wears a black stormcoat over a black assassin's bodysuit, which he considers an item of style any good assassin should affect.

Portrait

Spoiler

I shall speak in Dark Red, as is my custom.

[LeSwordfish]

Alis Kaster

Stats

Spoiler

WS 31
BS 41
S 31
T 28
Ag 30
Per 27
WP 30
Int 35
Fel 36

Wounds 11
Fate 3

Skills

Spoiler

Common Lore (Imperial Creed, War), Speak Language (High Gothic) are basic skills.
Intimidate
Decieve
Scrutiny
Speak Language (Low Gothic)
Literacy
Inquiry+10
Common Lore (Adeptus Arbites, Imperium)

Traits, Talents

Spoiler

Blessed Ignorance
Basic Weapons Training (SP)
Melee Weapons Training (Primitive)
Rapid Reload
Quick Draw
Peer (Underworld)
Resistance (Cold)
Pistol training (SP)

Gear

Spoiler

Shotgun + 32 shells
Armsman-10 +silencer +40 bullets
Club
Mesh Vest

Uniform
ID
Chron
Pack of Lho-sticks
Manacles

10 thrones remaining.

Background

Spoiler

+++ Personnel File AK-40-7 +++

Alis Kaster

Height: 1.70m
Mass: 65kg
Age: 33

Hair Colour: Black
Skin Colour: Pale
Eye Colour: Green

Service record: See Case File 765:099 MBQ

+++ Case File 765:099 MBQ +++

Tribunal file: Alis Kaster

While ten years excellent service cannot be merely discarded, I regret to reccomend the tribunal that Arbitrator Kaster should not be returned to active service. To use the vernacular of the streets, she should be considered a "Loose Cannon."

Issues arose last year when Kaster was reassigned from the central cities to the Maccabean wastes. As the sole arbitrator assigned to several thousand kilometers of populated outposts and frontier buildings, Kasters role was, as repeatedly described to her, control and co-ordination of local arbitrators. Instead, she immediately delegated this duty to Enforcer DeVell- "I think it was because i was the only person in the room at the time."- and left to continue on her own agenda. DeVall reported multiple cases of seeing Kaster briefly, usually at speed while she pursued some other member of one of other of the local gangs. Kaster is believed to be behind the domination of the area by the TrueShot gang, and, although under her jurisdiction instances of murder, rape, and multiple other capital crimes reduced by approximately 50%, Blasphemy, selling false imperial symbols, and multiple minor crimes rose by 67%, an unacceptable margin.

Personality analyses indicate sincere signs of psychopathy, including lack of empathy, superficial charm, shallow affect, impulsivity and irresponsibility, and pathological lying.

I must strongly recommend revocation of badge.

+++ Addendum 0001 +++
An attempt by officers Drew, Cuthbert, and DeBull to apprehend and confiscate the badge of Arbitrator Kaster failed. As Arbitrator Cuthbert explained: "We asked, and she said no politely. Then we asked again and she incapacitated us and left. She left a note saying she would be doing much the same thing whether she had official licence or not, but that she preferred to keep the uniform."

Story

Spoiler

It was nearly midnight when Alis returned to the space she called her own, a scrap of space above the boilers of an abandoned crematorium. Not the ones they'd used for the bodies. Probably. Alis always arrived across the rooftops, and the final entrance to her space was along a line of piping with one of the finest views in the area, of sunlight and cold dust for hundreds of miles.

Something was wrong, she realised as soon as she dropped into her space. Someone was here: in one of the dark areas of the room, which was all of them. Her hand dropped to her gun, and then shifted to her baton instead. While she was thinking, she took off her badge and laid it on the desk. Most likely a bored teenager, or at worst a stimm-kid. Deserved a few whacks and a boot up the arse, not a bullet to the skull. Baton in hand, Alis headed purposefully for an area just behind the darkest spot in the room.

Exactly when she'd predicted, a knife glinted and a man pushed himself from the dark to meet her. She was already swinging the baton, and the knife went flying. With the backswing, she knocked three teeth out, and followed it with a knee to the gut that left the man gasping and winded, kneeling in pain before the knife had hit the ground.

She sensed more than saw the second man, and was too late to hit the knife wrist, instead bringing the baton down hard on his shoulder. He yelped and dropped into a -frankly, shoddy, she considered- boot to the crotch. Alis reversed the baton, and delivered a strike to the side of the skull that knocked the man into the boiler hard enough to set ringing echoes to shaking dust from the ceiling spars.

It was the noise, she considered later, that had got her, throwing her senses off just enough that she missed the first man grabbing the second man's knife and digging it into her side between the seventh and eighth rib.

Or it might be sixth and seventh, she thought. Sek, this hurts. Lung damage, perhaps.

The next strike was hard, but she made it, a full-force blow with her considerable strength behind it, breaking the man's arm. Two slamming blows to the side of the head broke his jaw and probably his cheekbone too. She pulled herself up before the third, killing blow, but allowed herself the mild luxury of imagining the sound it would make in detail.

She kicked the knife away- always deal with the weapon, and grabbed the man by his collar, noting how much blood was on her hands with disinterest. It was just liquid. White cells, red cells, platelets. What was the sentimental value? Maybe it was hers.

"Who are you?" she growled at the man. "A random theif would be out for the count. You're tough, but you don't have stimm-traces in your eye. So something's pretty sekking wrong."
The man worked his shattered jaw fruitlessly.
"You'll live." Alis said dismissively. "But if you don't answer i'll break both your legs and you'll be crawling to the hospital."
"I'm..." a spurt of blood across Alis's chest. "I'm the, the-" -her side was really painful now- "The distraction."

One by one, seven shaped charges blew the room apart.

Her injury made her sluggish, but by the third charge Alis was curled in a tight ball, apple-sized chunks of stone bouncing off her back and arms. One hit her in her knife wound, which she felt was jsut unnecessary. The "distraction" fared rather worse, a nine-inch chunk of wood penetrating the meat of his leg. He squealed like a stuck pig.

When Alis arose, her scarf flapping in the sudden breeze, she had her pistol in one hand and her shotgun in the other. The recoil would probably break her wrist, but at this point every ace was needed. It was too late though: the three men picking their way through the dust each had a lasrifle aimed at her. Crook-clips, snub barrels. Imperial make. Not arbite design. Who were these people?

More out of curiosity than anything, Alis didn't shoot. She didn't raise her hands either.

Behin the three armed men came another man. He wandered over to the badge on the table, held it up, and tossed it idly in his hand. "Alis Kaster. You have no licence for this badge, i believe."

"Give it to me."
"No, arbitrator. I cannot."
"I'll give you this." She gestured with the gun. Aims shifted.The man gave her a long look, and then threw her the badge. She caught it, and threw the gun back. "Who are you?" Using the badge to pin her scarf back in place felt a lot safer.

"I am interrogator Tarses. And we need to talk." The man beside her was still screaming. Alis swung her shotgun around and hit him in the side of the head with the butt. He stopped screaming, and fell unconcious. Probably brain-damaged, too.

"About what?" Alis asked.

EDIT: Woah, longer than i thought. Anyway, that's what Alis has been up to; using up every good character idea i have.

Also, the closest thing i will have to Alis images! Warning, non-giantitp language I guess. Couple of labio-dental friclatives.

http://www.freakangels.com/comics/FA0065-4.jpg
http://www.freakangels.com/comics/FA0065-5.jpg

And another: http://www.freakangels.com/comics/FAV03TPB.jpg

I won't use a speech colour, if that's alright, because it's a bit of a PITA.

[Donan]

Caio will speak in blue.

Spoiler

Character Name: Caio
Age: 25
Career: Assassin
Homeworld: Feral world
Rank: 1
Build: Rangy
Height: 1.90m
Weight: 65kg
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Skin: Fair
Handedness: Right
Quirk: Eyebrow piercing
Divination: Do not ask why you serve, only ask how.
Thrones: 8
Supersistion: Thirsty blade

Background Package:

The moritat (300)

Experience to spend: 0
Experience spent: 300

Total Wounds: 9
Current Wounds: 9

Total Fate points: 1
Current fate points: 1

Insanity points: 4
Corruption points: 0

Movement: 3/6/9/18

Characteristic Increases:
Agi+5
WS+5

Characteristics:
WS: 40
BS: 36
S: 35
T: 32
Ag: 33
Int: 25
Per: 33
WP: 24
Fel: 14

Skills: (B= Basic, T= trained)

Navigation (Surface) (Int) B
Survival (Int) B
Tracking (Int) B
Secret tongue (Moritat) (Int) T
Speak language (Tribal dialect) (Int) T
Speak language (Low Gothic) (Int) T
Climb (S) T
Shadowing (Agi) T
Silent Move (Agi) T
Awareness (Per) T
Dodge (Agi) T

Talents:

Jaded (No insanity from 'mundane' horror)
Melee Weapon Training (Primitive)
Ambidextrous
Thrown Weapon Training
Basic Weapon Training (Primitive)
Pistol Training (Primitive)
Heightened senses (Sight)

Traits:

Iron stomach (+10 to carouse tests to resist poisoning)
Primitive (-10 to tech use, and -10 fellowship in formal/civillised settings)
Rite of passage (Full action, int test to stop blood loss)

Armour:

Flak armour: 3 (arms, body, legs)

Weapons

Name: Throwing knife
Class: Thrown
Damage: 1d5
Type: R
Pen: 0
Range: 5m
Special rules: Primitive

Name: Flick bow
Class: Pistol
Range: 15m
Damage: 1d10
RoF: S
Type: I
Pen: 0
Clip: 1
Rld: F
Special rules: Primitive, concealed

Name: Compound bow
Class: Basic
Range: 40m
Damage: 1d10+2
RoF: S
Type: R
Pen: 1
Clip: 1
Rld: H
Special rules: Accurate

Name: Mono sword
Class: Melee
Damage: 1d10
Pen: 2
Type: R
Special: Mono

Gear

Mono-sword, six throwing knives, crossbow pistol and twenty bolts, grapnel and line, equipment harness, 3 doses of stimm, protective bodyglove, flak jacket, 24 man stopper rounds, 40 bullets, camoflauge cloak (urban), camoflauge cloak (wilderness)

Advances purchased:

Agility+5: 100
WS+5: 100
Heightened senses (Sight): 100
Background:

Caio was chosen for testing from his now mostly forgotten homeworld, one of several survivors of vicious infighting between two tribes. Being one of those to be accepted by the Moritat, the next decade of his life vanished into their harsh training methods and the inscribed culture of the assassins.

He was selected to serve the Inquistion during his travels and the trials to become a full assassin, having found himself involved in stopping a heretical plot to murder several of a city's priests. So far he seems to savour the work and what it brings, his manner unable to completely hide a certain wanderlust to see a wider world.

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Once again, my thanks for accepting my application, chief Dhenn.

Well, well, well. Looks like Axe's original DarkOrange is still open. So be it, then.

AXE Yaal, formerly of the Yawakat Burning Eye Tribe [Feral Scum]

Backstory:

Spoiler

It is said that there is a natural order to all things and that all beings have their Emperor-assigned lot in life. There are times, however, when things do not fall into place as most expect.

So it was with young Yaal, known to most as “Yow” or “Y’axe” or “Yargh”. Though she was the sole child of the Wise Woman of the Yawakat Tribe, she manifested no warp-craft as she grew and indeed, loathed what lessons her mother showed her of “seeking the Sky-Chief’s mysteries”. Far more than the woods-lore and the water-lore, the sky-lore and the sand-lore, the herb-lore and the hearth-lore... more than even her love for her mother’s stories, Yaal liked nothing more than a good brawl.

Even when she was but a girl, she was already a giant amongst her peers. Yaal was blessed by the Sky-Chief with bones like a great ape, muscles of a panther and ferocity of a badger, such that she relished simply wading into a flood of fists and feet and fury. Such was their play and such was her regret that she could not join her tribe’s cadre of warriors when she came of age.

And yet tis true that a dozen dogs can bring down a lioness. And not the greatest of cats can truly leap from tree to tree on the vast plains in a single bound. So it was that often the young Yaal got into more trouble than she could have handled by herself alone. Thus, much time she spent in bandages and brews swathed, cared for by a mother ever-understanding, knowing all too well the burdens of blood--- that all are bound to be the best at what they do, whatever it might be... the woman with the weals and woes of warp-craft, the girl with the gift of grit and gristle.

Though disparate of interest, mother and daughter did have one bridge beyond simple blood and birth--- the turn of the tale. On waking and on sleeping… and most often while Yaal recovered from her escapades, gazing into the eternal vault of the starry night through a haze of steam from a bowl of broth, she listened. She listened to the tales of her tribe’s past… of the long feud with the Khev-gar Red Maw savages and of the great drought that had ravaged the land for leagues on end and how the Yawakat had finally found their salvation by the shores of Udnam-dau Long Water. Long she listened to the tale of Wedgren’s Walk when their long-lost chieftain had returned from beyond the heavens a chariot of fire with a hundred doughty comrades. They were scarred and war-torn but proud and victorious warriors from every tribe faithful to the Sky-Chief who had come back to take their due rest and send in the next wave of tribal champions. And at her prayers, she remembered how a great man, long ago, had come down with wings of lightning, showed men the light of the Sky-Chief and smote down the daemon-kings who had ruled the lands in elder days. Such lore of the tribe and much more, she listened to, and tried to remember for the after-days, when she would eventually be Wise Woman of their tribe, though her blood bade her otherwise, she was bound by blood to do so.

And yet it was by blood and by fire that she learned that the Sky-Chief’s will was not written on stone tablets that one could hold.

One dread dawn the tribe awoke to fire erupting from the black sky, a great black dragon of blacker iron disgorging warped warriors and beastmen, wielding terrible weapons of thunder and growling fanged swords. The best of the Yawatak were no match for these fiends from beyond the stars. The survivors of the massacre were herded into the belly of the beast, and there, together with countless other throngs of slaves from other lands… and other worlds… put to work on vast machines, the purpose of which Yaal’s primitive mind could only begin to fathom.

In that dark, dank hold, she and her peers came of age, beneath the lash of the heretic fiend, shuffled to other chain gangs, sent to work and die for whatever the vile crew needed… or wanted. In the rust-riven veins of that great dragon… which she eventually learned was an immense ship, sailing through the Warp, in the void amongst the sea of stars… there were only ever the growls and roars of the vast machinery, the snarls of the beasts that crewed it, the cries and groans of their millions of captives… and the howls of the daemon-things laughing just outside the windows.

Through it all, though her sanity almost snapped, by simple faith, she persevered. Yaal thought of the vain valour of how the Chief and his men had died in trying to defend their people and of how her mother had burst asunder when the heretics had knocked upon their door. It was the small things, the simple things… a word, a smile, a morsel, a pat, a glance… a hidden blade, a snapped chain, a slit throat here and there… Why would the Sky-Chief help those who would not help themselves?

She had seen countless times how their captors used their strange staves that spewed fire and thunder. Eventually, Yaal, with the most able amongst her chain gang, slew their warden and slipped off into the bowels of the ship. From the shadows, they struck and faded, living in the voids of tubings and ducts, living off stolen supplies and relishing every breath of their freedom. Though they knew in their minds and in their guts that they were doomed, their hearts told them otherwise, that every moment spent living… and fighting… for the Sky-Chief… for the Emperor… is worth it.

Yaal could not remember the number of times they fled from unspeakable horrors, nor the times that heretic security squads dispersed them, sending them scattering into the shadows. She fled down a long and winding corridor, avoiding jagged rents in the rusted floor, reeling from faces in the walls that leered and cackled. Thunderous footfalls pursued her, a lumbering hulk of malformed flesh with an arm melded to a writhing, hissing whip. Looking wildly behind her, she fell headlong into a morass of reeking muck where dead things rusted and rotted. Yaal held her breath beneath the foul water, praying for deliverance. The twist brute still came, wading in, sniffing about. The Sky-Chief answered her prayers when her frantic hand met a length of solid steel and just when her pursuer was right on top of her, she surged out of the filth in a frenzy of stabbing and hacking. When finally the thing lay still and she recovered her breath enough to actually look at the weapon she had snatched from the hands of a miracle, or so it seemed. It was a broad-bladed, short-hafted axe with the design of an eagle rampant on one face of the axehead and a cog-skull on the other. There was some writing engraved upon the handle, but back then, she knew little of letters, and could not tell that it read “A-- Imp--ato- -v- Deu- --- Mach--- ~agos Zweik--“ It was with this axe that Yaal carved her name.

On another such raid, with bullets and las-bolts blasting in from one side corridor and a bladed, horned, tentacled mutant horde bearing down on them from another, Yaal’s misfit band of rebels thought that they had met their end. Suddenly, an explosion collapsed the corridor on the guns pinning them down… and a man with metal arms waded into the mutants with berserk fury, quiet comrades mopping up behind him.

In this way, Yaal the Axe came to know and serve the long-lost Inquisitor Gorran of the Ordo Xenos… although those days, he no longer spoke, save the Emperor’s name, and only ever truly came alive in battle. Through his long tribulations, he had lost a great part of his once great mind and had to be cared for by his faithful retainers. Amongst them was a man whom Yaal only remembers as Words and through him, she learned that Gorran and his cadre had long ago set out to the aid of a world of the Emperor that was falling under the xenos yoke but on the way fell prey to a mishap of the Warp and were left adrift. They became easy pickings for the Chaos marauder that was the very ship that had raided Yaal’s world of Saint Bartholomew’s Bane.

There came a time that, suddenly, the whole ship began shuddering, again and again, as if the Emperor’s very fist was battering outside. When it became evident that doom was imminent, they ran for the nearest escape pod, blasting through any panicked heretics they met…

…and at the last moment, Goran turned, ripped off his rosette, tossed it to Yaal and Words, then closed the pod’s doors and launched them off into the Void where they saw a warship in the Emperor’s colours, finishing off the Chaos marauder with volley after volley. The last thing that they saw of their lost lord was the ironclad Emperor’s man laughing as he leapt into the arms of a hundred heretics and mutants, ripping and tearing unto his last breath.

With a vox-signal that had been rigged by the one among them whom Yaal remembered as Sparks, requesting rescue, the escape pod was eventually found. She never found what had become of the rest of her tribe. Most or all had probably already gone to the Sky-Chief’s eternal embrace. But for she who yet lives and knows not what destiny is hers? She has her honour and her ancestors’. She has her faith. She has her duty. She has her fists and feet… and fire.

The Burning Eye… still smoulders, but though the night is cold and the wind strong, an ember remains.

Stats

Spoiler

WS: 32
BS: 40
S: 35
T: 37
Ag: 42
Int: 34
Per: 42
Will: 31
Fell: 31

Age: unknown, estimated 28 Terran-standard
Gender: Female
Mass: 1.68 m / 71 kg
Colour: Brown skin, black hair, green eyes
Build: Muscular

Wounds: 13/13
Fate Points: 2/2
Insanity: 5/100
Corruption: 6/100

Divination: “A mind without purpose will wander in dark places.” +1 Fate Point
Quirk/s: Scarring, Tribal Tattoos, Thick Jaw, Joined Eyebrows
Feral Superstition/s: Warrior Death and the Power of Names

Feral Worlder Skills
Speak Language: Tribal Dialect

Feral Worlder Traits
Bad Blood
Primitive
Tales of Bane / Grew up as a Chaos galley slave
Wilderness Savvy
Little Left to Fear

Skills:
Speak Language [Tribal Dialect]
Speak Language [Low Gothic]
Blather
Charm
Dodge
Deceive
Survival
Tracking
Awareness
Navigation [Surface]
Common Lore [Imperium]
Common Lore [Bartholomew’s Bane]
Forbidden Lore [Mutants]
Forbidden Lore [Daemonology]
Scholastic Lore [Occult]

Talents:
Ambidextrous
Melee Weapon Training [Primitive]
Melee Weapon Training [Shock]
Basic Weapons Training [Primitive]
Pistol Training [SP]
Basic Weapons Training [SP]
Peer [Underworld]

XP Spent (700 Spent, 0 Remaining):
[100] Background Package: Beast Slaver
[100] Basic Weapon Training [Primitive]
[100] Fellowship Advance
[100] Agility Advance
[100] Awareness +10
[100] Swim
[100] Charm

Inventory:
Ragged Patchwork Clothing [Poor-Quality]
Backpack and webbing
Quilted Vest
Aquila necklace
Provisions
>[2 packs of combat rations, 1 canteen of water]
>[1 flask of rotgut liquor (kept in the left boot-sheath)]
>[1 lighter, 1 flask of extra lighter fluid, a packet of tinder, a packet of herbs, 1 mini-stove]
Wallet
>[ID papers, 2.25 Thrones' worth in 1-cent coinage]
~~
Autogun [Poor-Quality]
>[150 rounds in 5 magazines]
>shoulder-slung
Compound Bow [Poor-Quality Modern Archery]
>[20 arrows in the quiver]
>back-slung
Stub Revolver [Poor-Quality]
>[18 rounds in the belt]
>holstered at the left hip
~~
Axe
>hooped at right hip
Knife
>right boot-sheath
Punch Dagger
>sheathed at the small of the back
Brass Knuckles
>worn on right fist

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Right. Apologies for the double post.

No offense meant to anybody... and... To whom it may concern: It seems the three Ferals have their shepherd / straightlace leader. Do we have any contingencies regarding the Priest and the Darkholder?

[Kiranvonstrom]

Originally Posted by Nexus-R.C._Mina

Right. Apologies for the double post.

No offense meant to anybody... and... To whom it may concern: It seems the three Ferals have their shepherd / straightlace leader. Do we have any contingencies regarding the Priest and the Darkholder?

Tybalt's willing to shoot anyone who becomes a threat to the mission. Of course, he'd rather minimize collateral, wandering around like a mad gunman is unprofessional.

No real contingencies here. Caio? Axe?

[Donan]

Caio comes with numerous weapons and the will to use them when needed. The feral aspect to the cell is going to prove most interesting. ^^

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

shnarf-gramf-schlp-munch-slobber-chomp

"Hwatta yoush shed? MMMF-grrrmff-AMF... Who neeshd bullesht? AMMF-glug-glug-ahhhhh. Dig in, y'all, dunno wot these be, but 'Quisit Ratbone sure don't have ratbones inn'er kitchen!"

[LeSwordfish]

Alis would, by the way, not have a problem with sanctioning someone going off-course- but it would be her definition of the course. Point a gun at someone she doesn't want killing, and she'll point a gun at you.

[Kiranvonstrom]

Umm...who are we waiting on?

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Originally Posted by Kiranvonstrom

Umm...who are we waiting on?

Err... I do believe that we're waiting on the Cleric and the Psyker. That's what I was trying to be, well, polite about, earlier. We're also waiting on the chief's go-ahead as well, I suppose, my good fellow.

Saying it more bluntly [but still succumbing to the urge to utter horrible quips, ha-ha] --- I suppose the three ferals can manage to not turn their assignment into a complete Klybo, with the guidance of their oh-so-straightlaced fearless maverick lone wolf bronzecoat leader. If two of their number might have been caught in a warpstorm and their arrival thus delayed, well, I'm sure they could catch up, eh?

[Kiranvonstrom]

Originally Posted by Nexus-R.C._Mina

Err... I do believe that we're waiting on the Cleric and the Psyker. That's what I was trying to be, well, polite about, earlier. We're also waiting on the chief's go-ahead as well, I suppose, my good fellow.

Oh. Oh well, I don't do politeness too well, I guess...

Originally Posted by Nexus-R.C_Mina

Saying it more bluntly [but still succumbing to the urge to utter horrible quips, ha-ha] --- I suppose the three ferals can manage to not turn their assignment into a complete Klybo, with the guidance of their oh-so-straightlaced fearless maverick lone wolf bronzecoat leader. If two of their number might have been caught in a warpstorm and their arrival thus delayed, well, I'm sure they could catch up, eh?

Well, we have a sociopath, a professional assassin, a face member with an axe and problem with Chaos and, of course, a ninja. We should be pretty good. And by good I mean horribly and amazingly dysfunctional. Or possibly functional against all odds.

Let the heretics pray to whatever gods they feel appropriate. Their salvation has come.

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Originally Posted by LeSwordfish

Alis would, by the way, not have a problem with sanctioning someone going off-course- but it would be her definition of the course. Point a gun at someone she doesn't want killing, and she'll point a gun at you.

Ahhhh. The sweet smell of leadership.

Originally Posted by Kiranvonstrom

Oh. Oh well, I don't do politeness too well, I guess...



Well, we have a sociopath, a professional assassin, a face member with an axe and problem with Chaos and, of course, a ninja. We should be pretty good. And by good I mean horribly and amazingly dysfunctional. Or possibly functional against all odds.

Let the heretics pray to whatever gods they feel appropriate. Their salvation has come.

Somehow, I doubt that, my good fellow.

Indeed, well-put. Aye, which is indeed why the ferals need their shepherd, especially since the chief said we're to be hot-dropped into a HIVE-world. On paper, all three ferals still have their Primitive on, and that's bound to make wonders of their interactions with the locals, not to mention with each other, as you had said.

And aye... well, that is, if we make them repent and then absolve 'em through execution. Then again, ha-ha, I doubt any of our characters knows the finer points of doctrine to distinguish between purging in combat and purging out of combat.

[LeSwordfish]

Everything alright with this, after Forumpocalypse?

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Originally Posted by LeSwordfish

Everything alright with this, after Forumpocalypse?

Affirmative confirmation, yessir, just standing by. And with ye?

[Kiranvonstrom]

Originally Posted by LeSwordfish

Everything alright with this, after Forumpocalypse?

Tybalt's like a cockroach. I'm still around.

[Donan]

Caio is ready and waiting.

[Thragka]

Dear all,

I'm glad to see so much eagerness from both parties, but I'm afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news. Before the forum outage, dhenn and I were waiting for both teams to assemble before kicking off either of the in-character threads. Unfortunately, I have not heard back from dhenn since then. I note he hasn't been online here in over a week, and I haven't noticed him on Gchat or accessing the Google Docs we've been using to collaborate about the plot and setting information. I don't want to be the one to give up hope, or to overrule his position as a GM, but I think that as the other GM I have to say that it's looking increasingly unlikely that the game will start as planned.

I'm not quite sure what I ought to do next. Ideally, I would be happy to try to kick off the Inquisitorial team's thread myself and hope that dhenn returns, but I'm afraid that I just don't have the time to (effectively) GM two new games right now. The way I see it, there are two options: try to recruit a second GM to replace dhenn, or simply ditch the Inquisitorial team and run the game only for the Arbites team.

Neither of these possibilities make me all that happy. As I mentioned, I am loath to launch a coup, as it were, to oust dhenn and bring in another GM; after all, this was his idea in the first place, and since rather a large proportion of the plot and background ideas were his, I'm not sure somebody else could pick them up comfortably. Similarly, ditching half of you seems pretty unfair - although the team allocations were made as impartially as possible, it seems a little callous to drop the Inquisitorial half after the fact, when the team lists had already been drawn up.

That's where we stand. I'd appreciate your input, and I'll try to reach a decision swiftly as to what to do. In the event that this entire grand ambition of a two-party game has to be ditched, let me say that I am still eager to run a Dark Heresy game in the future, and am open to porting over the characters you guys generated for this game - possibly with some sort of completely random method of whittling down the numbers if everybody leaps at the call.

I'm cross-posting this to the other OOC thread as well. For the sake of keeping things concise, I'd appreciate if everybody replied in the Arbites OOC thread.

[Thragka]

I've opened the IC thread, simply using dhenn's draft of a first post - sorry for the delay.

As I mentioned in the other OOC thread, I'm happy for Nexus to take over if we don't hear back from dhenn by Sunday, so maybe Yaal can avoid introducing himself until then, or he might need to suddenly disappear ...

[Donan]

Well, one possiblity could be us giving dhenn a little more time to come back, to see if he/she does and introducing ourselves to one another in the meantime.

[Thragka]

Urist, Mekboy, LeSwordfish, you guys about?

Unfortunately I have not heard anything back from dhenn, by e-mail or otherwise. I think that having Nexus take over on a more or less indefinite-temporary basis would not be a bad idea, unless anyone has a major problem with this. Nexus, can you PM me your e-mail address? It'd be pretty fantastic if it were a Gmail account since we've been using Google Docs to collaborate, but obviously if you don't use Gmail then we'll work around that.

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Done and done, sir. Waiting on your GMail reply. Be advised, your GITPF box is full.

Mekboy, attendance and sheet, lacking.

Urist, you might want to befriend "Ctrl+C" and her sister "Ctrl+V". They help in not losing your posts to Daemonica Electronica.

Kiranvonstrom, LeSwordfish, Donan... here goes something. Soon as chief Thragka gets through on that answer.

If ever chief Dhenn comes back, I'll gladly step down. This is merely stewardship, not a coup d'etat.

[Thragka]

Originally Posted by Nexus-R.C._Mina

Be advised, your GITPF box is full.

Ah, thank you - knew that was going to happen one of these days.

[Donan]

Poor Caio, with his effective fellowship of 4.

[Urist]

Samiel can finally make his way here! IRL+forum downtime combined to make me lose track of this thread, but I finally found it again! Here he is, shortly followed by an introductory post.

Spoiler

"And then the Saint Drussus, blessed be he in the name of the God-Emperor of Man, did walk to the kneeling Grammaticus, before the whole of the Council, and did these words proclaim to all:

Blessed be all who spring from you, Grammaticus, and all who are linked to you, in all of their endeavors, for all time. But to the God-Emperor, in my memory, you shall gift all of your second born sons, forever and ever. They shall preach His words and subjugate His enemies. And thus Grammaticus did, and his sons were blessed."~The Works of Drusus the Blessed, Book 182, Book of Tribes 180-185


From the day he was born, Samiel Grammaticus was destined to be a Cardinal. At least, that's what he was told by his family, tutors, and society. A small noble family on Scintilla, the Grammaticus clans' fortunes have been linked since time immemorial to the Ecclesiarchy, producing a multitude of famous officials, and themselves receiving stipends and favors from the Calixian Sector Synod.

Samiel, however, took to a life of zealotry rather more vehemently than typical of even his distinguished lineage. He excelled at his religious studies, and was blessed with pleasing features and a honeyed voice, perfect for preaching to the faithful. However, even in youth, his religious studies tended to the militant; he was far more interested in the stories of St. Drusus' conquests than in his displays of faith. He convinced himself that the true way to serve Him-On-Earth was to display his martial might. Rage had found a foothold into his heart.

Ecclesiarchical families, of course, often have enemies. Rivalry for positions in the ostensibly most powerful organization in the Imperium are often in high demand, after all. The Grammaticus were no exception to this, and Samiel had evaded 5 assassination attempts by his 14th birthday. One attack stood out from the rest, though, in both its impact on the developing mind of Samiel and the political ramifications of its lack of success. George de'Lexitan, the youngest son of the de'Lexitan family, had been tasked with his elimination. A rising star in the Scintillan Ecclesiarchy, George was being groomed to take the place of his father, Aaron de'Lexitan, a Cardinal in the System Synod. Threatened by the possibility of his son being displaced by a Grammaticus, and eager to test his mettle, Aaron gave him an ultimatum: to kill Samiel, or to be himself killed.

The attack, when it happened, was a complete failure. George had never been combat trained, and had little idea of how to wield the autopistol he had been given. His opening shots went wild, and completely failed to harm Samiel, or indeed anything other than the wall Samiel was standing near. The return fire from Samiel and the house guards, by contrast, ripped Aaron to pieces, and he fell, broken and bleeding, not more than two paces from Samiel. Looking up through blood-clouded eyes, George begged for mercy, asked that he be forgiven for his trespass. The hard core of fury deep within Samiel seemed to awaken at this display, and whispered that Samiel couldn't, and shouldn't, show mercy to this swine who had dared to attack him.

The last sight that George de'Lexitan ever saw was the barrel of his own Orthlack MK IV Autopistol pressed between his eyes, and the blast of fire accompanying a slug into his brainpan. The corruption that had attempted to break Samiel's purity had found a chink in his armor.

Incensed by the death of his son, George de'Lexitan attempted to frame Samiel as a heretic, drawing the ire of the Inquisition. Upon finding no hints of heresy, though, the Inquisitor offered Samiel a decision: work with the Inquisition, and have the charges dropped, or refuse, and have his whole family burned at the stake. Samiel chose the first option, of course, and has thus been working with the Inquisition, rooting out heresy with sheer rage.

Rolls:

Spoiler

Alrighty, dice gods favor my rolls upon thy altars.

Preacher Samiel Gramaticus, Noble Born Cleric
WS:(2d10+20)[33]
BS:(2d10+20)[31]+5([36]
S:(2d10+20)[36]
T:(2d10+20)[29]
Ag:(2d10+20)[40]Switch with Fellowship(24)
Int:(2d10+20)[34]
Per:(2d10+20)[30]
Wp:(2d10+15)[21]
Fel:(2d10+25)[29]Switch with Agility(45)+5([50])
Corruption:3
Insanity:0
Wounds:(1d5+8)[13]
Divination:(1d100)[4]

Gear-

Spoiler

646+101(Sold Gear)=747 Thrones
Orthlack MK IV Thollos Autopistol(75)+Fire Selector(25)+Silencer(10)-Bullets 200(10)-220(with special ammo, below)-30 Meters, 1d10+4, s/-/6, Pen 0, 12
Clip 2-(Dum-Dum/Regular Staggered, DD/R/DD/R, etc.)-6 Dum-Dum, 6 Regular
Clip 3-Manstopper 12,
With Manstoppers
Long-Las(Accurate, Reliable)(100)+Red Dot Sight(50)-1 charge pack(15),1 overcharge pack(15), one Hotshot Pack(15) 150 Meters, 1d10+3 E/S/-/-, Pen 1, 40
With Overcharge: 1d10+4 E, S/-/-, Pen 1, 20
With Hotshot: 1d10+4 E, s/-/-, Pen 5, 1, Tearing
Good Quality Mono Sword-Starting+Mono(40)+Good Quality(30)-1d10+3, Pen 2, +5 to WS tests(38)
Dum Dum Bullets(Thollos)(60)-50
Manstopper Bullets(Thollos)(60)-50
Flak Jacket-100
Flak Helmet-25

Data Slate(25)
Writing Kit(20)
Personal Grooming Kit(2)
Whistle(5)
Microbead(20)
Stummer(25)

50 Thrones
Aquilla necklace
Ecclesiarchy robes (Good Quality Clothing))
4 candles, charm (skull), backpack.

(Sold for 101 Thrones: autopistol and 1 clip, crossbow and 10 bolts flak vest)

Skills:

Spoiler

Speak Language (Low Gothic) (Int)
Common Lore (Imperial Creed) (Int)
Literacy (Int)
Performer (Singer) (Fel)
Trade (Cook) (Int)
Speak Language(High Gothic)(Int)
Inquiry(Fel)
Common Lore(Ecclesiarchy)(Int)
Decieve(Fel)
Common Lore(Imperium)(Int)

Talents

Spoiler

Melee Weapon Training (Primitive)
Pistol Training (SP)
Pistol Training(Las)
Basic Weapons Training(Primitive)
Peer(Ecclesiarchy)
Peer(Nobility)

Advances:

Spoiler

Ballistic Skill(Basic)
Fellowship(Basic)
Common Lore(Ecclesiarchy)
Inquiry(Fel)
Sound Constitution

Spoiler

Basic Weapon Training(Las)
Common Lore(Imperium)
Deceive(Fel)

Traits

Spoiler

Noble Born
Vendetta
Wealthy
Supremely Connected

[LeSwordfish]

Remind me what the penalties for difficult and very difficult and such are?

[Nexus-R.C._Mina]

Originally Posted by LeSwordfish

Remind me what the penalties for difficult and very difficult and such are?

-30 Very Hard
-20 Hard
-10 Difficult
0 Challenging
+10 Ordinary
+20 Routine
+30 Easy

Hmhm. Yeah, my bad, should've put 'em up.

~~~

Annnnnnnnnd hallo-hallo, welcome aboard, Urist, hope all's well there.

[Urist]

Kirvanonstrom, psychotic faithful tendencies is a wonderful description of Samiel, very, very accurate. This should be fun!:D

[Kiranvonstrom]

Originally Posted by Urist

Kirvanonstrom, psychotic faithful tendencies is a wonderful description of Samiel, very, very accurate. This should be fun!:D

And very worrying for our friend the mutant.