Dark Heresy - Wisdom is the beginning of fear.

[Kelne]

"A good thought," Cryvus said, taking a micro-bead and set of filtration plugs for himself. The drugs he cast about for a small container for. Not something to be carrying about the hive, but perhaps worthwhile to hold in reserve. Otherwise, he felt he was ready to move on to the costuming.

[Ben Smash]

"Ahm then'kin good thoughts all round, friends! Ah'll take the ahrmor, fake a hunch or some frailty teh cover it... I'll for certain take a micro bead and sahm dehtocks inna case tha' brats inna spires poison me. 'Owevah if I'm to relinquish Dear 'Crescent' Here to yeh: I'd like a single-shot bolter mechanism worked into it. None of tha' silly knifey pansiness. Lastly my boy, Emperor's Light Watch over ye, is there a clothier on premises? Ah may not pass fer twist, but I'd sure as hell like to pass fer navy or aht least no' a missionary!" Brother Gear chortled and got a mite serious in between laughs "Seriously, mah boy, what about those bloody knives?!"

Brother gear straightened his red vestments again and cracked his neck and back in a swift, jerky motion. Mumbling to himself you could barely over-hear "... Must see a Monseigneur ahn get the proper blessin..."

[Jak Snide]

"Sounds like we've both been ignoring each other. You're off to see the tailor once you're done here. As for a bolt mechanism....that'll be a trick. No promises, but I'll see what I can do. Now knives, I can get you some of those. Not got them on hand, but I'll get a few to you before you leave."

(Going to move things onto the tailor's tomorrow, so if you want to grab any more gear then do so now.)

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis pondered for a second--the Venom is something that is...concealable...to say the least.

...unfortunately, that's all it really had going for it. Concealable, but not a good holdout. But then again, his other autopistol should be able to fit the bill for that. Its rounds had nowhere near the stopping power of the Orthlack, but it was a serviceable gun.

There was another issue...

'I'll have to decline on that,' he responded, shaking his head, before writing again, 'However, do you think you have a silencer that can fit this?' With that, he held up the Orthlack, the heavy barrel being notably...unsilenced, while he grabbed a few odds and ends from the room, examining a data-slate, microbead, set of filtration plugs...and disdainfully, the lamp pack and glow globe. 'Also, is there anything in here that could assist me in seeing in the dark without alerting everything within eyeshot to my presence? Underhive is not well-lit at all, and I would prefer to be able to take advantage of that if necessary.'

[Jak Snide]

"Got silencers, but nothing that'll fit the Orthlack with some work. I can try and modify one and get it to you before you drop, but no promises. Shit out of luck for any night-sighting devices. Another cell cleaned me out on photo-visors and I haven't had a chance to replace them. You can probably find some on the ground, though. Money isn't going to be a problem, from what I hear." Izak grinned, exposing teeth browned by his constant smoking.

(Going to see if Crisis has another post to make and then move things on in a few hours.)

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis nods in response, checking out the data slate, and what--if anything--is on it...or any other intricacies about it. If any.

[Jak Snide]

Crisis, while only passing familiar with such devices, understood their basic functions. These ones, roughly twice as long as his hand and twice as wide, seemed to be blank and capable having text entered into them via the numerous small runes on the face of the device.

A minute later the acolytes had finished selecting their equipment, Izak having dispensed new kit bags and ammunition to each of them. A man dressed in the livery of the Mecather line, his high collared green uniform lined with golden-brown thread and adorned with burnished brass buttons, arrived mid-way through their final preparations. He waited silently until they were finished, speaking only when spoken to and leading them through the halls and passages of the Verdant Glory. It was small for a warp-faring vessel, though not minuscule as the Revanche had been. Barely over a kilometre and a half long, the journey was a mere twenty minutes of dark wood-panelled walls and bustling petty officers.

The tailor's workshop was a far cry from the glamour of the meeting hall. Errant scraps of thread and cloth littered the floor, half-finished clothing lay draped across work surfaces and a dizzying array of machinery lined the walls. The tailor, a plump woman who appeared to be in her fourth decade of life, introduced herself as Caleigh Wenda in an extraordinarily common accent. If it hadn't been for the fine silver augmetics that had replaced the fingers on her left hand and the exquisite garments worn by the few dummies that stood around the workshop the acolytes might have thought they were in a down-hive sweat shop.

"Milord says ta not spare any expense fer the lot of you." she remarked, smiling widely. "Your lucky to 'ave a master wit' deep pockets. What you all got in moind?"

(Edit: All your weapons are fully loaded. Las-weapons have one spare charge pack, bolt weapons have one spare magazine and SP weapons have two spare reloads. This is on top of whatever ammo you might have been carrying before.)

[ChristianC]

Mithras had been suitably impressed by the arsenal put forth to them for this mission by Izak, but this... this was... unbelievable. He looked around in amazement at the cloth, the interior of the ship. Even though he'd been on a few long trips, this was nothing like it, the wooden panels, the fancifully dressed servants... Even after spending weeks amongst the holy order of the Inquistion, an honor not granted to even a percentage of the people of the Imperium, there had been little of the grandious and and pompous splendor that a ship of the nobility had... He wasn't sure he preferred it.

The tailor, the spinster, was humble, but if she found herself in the employment of a noble, and even relied upon by the Inquisition... it spoke greatly about her skills.

"Yes..." he began, stroking his beard slowly, "I was planning to go as a military officer, a colonel perhaps... Fenksworld." He nodded and added as an afterthought, "perhaps a scabbard for a chainsword and a holster for a Garm-Pattern Bolt-Pistol... if it is alright with you, m'a'm."

[Capntastic]

Mik held up the black carapace.

"I wanna get this done up into somethin' a rich dude would wear. Some black and red checkers would go well too, if you can work 'em in."

He ran his hand back through his hair, thinking.

"Maybe some sort of tie for my beard. I used to be able to braid it up pretty well, but it's a hassle I'll re-learn."

[Kelne]

Cryvus took some time to examine the outfits on display, impressed by what he saw. If the disguises din't hold up, it would be through no fault in craftsmanship, but in the deportment of those who wore them. It was a mixed reassurance. Nonetheless, he felt somewhat more confident.

"A naval dress uniform for me," he said, "Lieutennant commander's rank."

[Ben Smash]

Upon walking into the seamstress' domain Gregaryus seemed to positively melt into a relaxed posture. His mannerism changed from an upright Preacher to that of a kindly shepherd. Pushing his weapons out of sight, behind his back and tugging on his red coat he addresses the seamstress in a most surprising tone: "It is a sight for my old eyes to behold a true craftswoman plying her wares. It is truly ah Gift to His Light, Bless it and keep it, when you weave such beautiful fabrics from it. I must say my band ahn I are gr'tful that you would do these works for us. Bless your service here. I wish to remain in my smock, although a smart blue cloak - somethin' like the Imperial Navy Clerics wear - would suit me fine. Ahn if you 'ave a sack or leather briefcase that would suit a holy man and his books?" He beamed confidence and grace at her with the most genuine smile.

He turned to the group: "Yeh shoul' thank tha madam, All! Without ones as deft as her we'd be forced to do our Holy Work in the Buff! Hah!"

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis' stance, however, did not change at all whatsoever. Throughout the walk down the hallway he had fiddled with the data-slate he had taken, he stowed it and pulled out his writing kit instead, since he found it would be more effective to write quickly...

He cringed at Mikolas' request, and felt a lack of hope for the other three as they made their requests for disguises that would easily have the potential to bring up questions, dismissing the cleric's statement in hand--the tailor already worked on Skane's coin. No further thanks would be necessary in her case.


Writing down his list quickly, he then showed it to the seamstress:

'I am requesting my disguise to be that of a hired bodyguard, specialized in projectile weapon usage. However, there are some specifications that I feel must be met:

1 - It must allow for full mobility in and out of combat. I wish to not end up in a situation where my disguise interferes with my abilities.

2 - It is highly preferable if it would incorporate, or involve modifying the appearance of, my flak cloak. Armoring is important no matter where, but particularly underhive.

3 - It would also be highly preferable that the disguise would involve several pockets in which to stow ammunition, explosives, and other such gear without suspicion, as well as accomodate one hand-cannon and two autopistols--one an Orthlack Mk.IV--without difficulty

4 - It would be preferable, though optional, if my gas mask were incorporated. Were my face to be exposed, I would undoubtedly easily blow the cover for the rest of the squad on my side, undoubtedly causing a failure.

5 - I would prefer the disguise to be as conducive to stealth as possible. While I do not wish to cause the mission to be a failure by looking distinctively out of place, I wish to be able to take advantage of my surroundings when possible and necessary.'

[Besyanteo]

Well, now Gunner had the tacky guns, it was time to move to the next phase: the weird outfit. In theory, he was going to look like some hastily dressed up thug; Only technically appropriately dressed, and barely that, his lasguns and bolters on display to make his purpose as a guardian and a ruffian plain. No one would question when he left the main group later, done up like that. Just a bruiser sent downhive to take care of some of the bosses' business.They would probably be glad to see him gone, too.

"I need to look out of place; Dressed up, but not dressed well or particularly fashionably. I'll need a pair of fitting gunbelts for the outfit, too: Enough room for four pistols, anyway. I need to look like some noble's hired firepower, and completely lacking in taste or refinement, playying subtle without really knowing how."

After a moment, he couldn't help wondering if he couldn't have simply asked to have an outfit similar to Mik's request be made for him. Ah well, let her have some fun with it. Probably not, though, considering the nature of the request.

[Jak Snide]

The tailor nodded as she listened to each of them, committing their specifications to memory. Measurements were taken, weaponry was taken to be fit to holsters and after a good hour of endless chatter on the part of Caleigh they were shooed out of so she could get to work.

It was many hours before the acolytes were ready to descend from orbit. Identification documents were fabricated, equipment delivered and stowed in kit-bags. The extras that had been requested of Izak showed, mostly. Crisis was disappointed to find that the man hadn't been able to fit a silencer onto the Mark IV. After that it was a simple matter of whiling away the hours until their clothes were ready, confined to a small dining room and waited on by serfs clad in now familiar livery. One of the vessel's chapel was made available to them during this time, a high-vaulted chamber capable of seating hundreds, each of its surfaces adorned with frescoes and tended to by a score of white-robed novices. Other than this all there was to do was converse, abuse the lavish hospitality of their host and read over the brief on Fenksworld that had been delivered to them along with a letter of credit addressed to the Goldenhand Trade Bank Association. Instructions accompanying the latter detailed how to go about setting up a banking account to allow the nobles among them to "spend modestly" while on Scintilla. Closer inspection of the credit note revealed exactly how much a "modest" amount was considered to be. All of the acolytes, low-born as they were, found the sum of 250,000 Throne Gelt quite staggering.

Their clothing arrived a few hours after that particular shock, delivered by the now familiar serfs. The quality of the garments was immediately apparent, and doubly so once they had changed into them.

Brother Gear:

Spoiler:

You receive a set of ornate black robes, High Gothic scripture embroidered along the hems with silver thread. A polished golden aquila can be afixed wherever you like. A pair of smart black boots and white undergarments accompanies the robes, as have a variety of religious iconography.

Crisis:

Spoiler:

You receive a black doublet with matching trousers along with a dark leather jerkin. Your flak cloak is barely recognisable, now appearing to be a thick black velvet cloak, the inside lined with pockets of varying sizes. Only the weight of the cloak gives away its true nature. Your new boots, smart, low cut and made from black leather, are conspicuously quieter than you expected them to be. Lastly, there is a mask made of some strange black material. Pulled over your head it obscures all of your features, along with your entire head. Somehow, though, you can still see, breathe and smell through it.

Cryvus:

Spoiler:

You receive a single breasted blue sleeveless waistcoat embroidered with gold, featuring a high collar. A shirt and pair of trousers, both brilliant white, accompany it, along with a pair of finely crafted standard-issue boots and a belt with a gemmed buckle.

Gunner:

Spoiler:

You receive a gold brocade vest and a long, dark blue coat. Both feature large, gaudy golden buttons. The burnished gold trousers and gold-buckled boots are almost too much. You've also been gifted with a set of cross-belts, designed to be worn across the chest, sporting four holsters.

Mikolas:

Spoiler:

The carapace chest piece has been turned a dark blue somehow, the edges detailed with brass-coloured patterns. As for actual clothing, a red longcoat with large cuffs is presented to you along with a black doublet and matching trousers. Your new boots have their heels and toes capped in iron, both leather and metal polished to a mirror shine.

Mithras:

Spoiler:

You receive a dark blue colonel's uniform, though not of standard Imperial Guard design. PDF, perhaps? It has silver epaulettes and sports two columns of silver buttons across its single breast. The last touches are a belt designed to hold the weapons you specified and an orange sash with tussles that hang down to one side.

All that was left for them now was to have the Strophes notified of their arrival and make planetfall.

(The names and exact details of your cover identities I'll leave up to you.)

---

Hive Sibellus loomed before them as they came down out of the raging clouds. A vast structure, formed of ornately carved stonework, shaped in countless styles and built up over more than ten thousand years, the hive stretched to the horizon. Immediately below them, a series of titanic black granite cliffs marked the Western edge of the hive, which still threatened to spill over them and into the churning sea. As they drew closer more details emerged. Thousands upon thousands of scaffolds were constructed over the cliffs, small moving forms that must have been men scurrying up and down rope lines or disappearing in and out of the uncountable caves that dotted the face of the granite walls. Where there weren't scaffolds there were great sections cut away and teeming with activity, hive divisions carved out of the cliffs themselves. All this was dwarfed in spectacle by a gleaming, solitary tower that stood alone from the rest of the hive. Surmounted by what resembled a immense stone flower and host to hundreds of banners, the Lucid Palace, seat of Sector Lord Marius Hax, was truly a sight to behold. Then it was gone, the unmarked aquila shuttle the carried the acolytes angling its descent towards a large docking port, thrusting out from the lower portions of the massive upswept spires that rested atop the hive.

They emerged from the lander into a light drizzle, the rain smelling faintly of gunmetal, to be greeted by two figures. One, a stiff looking man clad in the black clothes of a servant, stood two paces behind a short figure swathed in a grey hooded cloak who, as they acolytes stepped off the boarding ramp, suddenly swept forward towards Mithras. Arms were thrown around his neck and a girlish squeal issued from beneath the hood.

"Welcome to Sibellus, cousins!"

[ChristianC]

Mithras spent the next hours intently reading a dataslate, eyes transfixed on the small monitor in his hand, the fingers of his other slowly rubbing his bearded chin. True to his style, however, his eyes occasionally traversed the room, glancing up at movement and sound, or simply on a regular interval. An occasional yawn or sigh broke his face as he thumbed down the wall of text he was presented, and he seemed hard at work memorizing the most important details.

Mithras had received a few magazines of rounds for his Boltpistol, all delivered in hard leather ammopouches, discreet in design but for the silver aquila printed on them. He attached them to his own belt for the while, hoping they wouldn't clash with whatever the tailor was making for him. He'd seen a few pictos of the PDF and raised regiments of Fenksworld, but subtle nuances of color were usually hard to distinguish on them, so he kept his hope up.

He spent an hour or two in the chapel, clearly overwhelmed by the size of it on board a spaceship. It was common knowledge that troop carriers rarely came fitted with such extravagant rooms, mass instead held in mess-halls or the staging rooms by the regimental clergy. He humbly prayed for good fortune on their mission before once more coming back to the dining room to resume his study of Fenksworld.

When it was declared what kind of money they would be handling, Mithras paled visibly, stammering the amount before quickly arguing for reasonable living unless it compromised their hidden identities. Spending such amounts were... inconceivable to the guardsman, clear from the almost panicky look in his eyes.

Then, at the arrival of his uniform, Mithras sort of vanished away.

He reappeared once more as they were to make planetfall.

The double-breasted, dark blue coat with matching pants fitted him perfectly, silver stripes at the sides of his legs. Silver was the color of the buttons as well, as were the espaulettes on his shoulders. Thankfully, the belt matched his ammopouches quite well, and he had clipped them on, together with the holster for his boltpistol and the scabbard containing the slim chainsword. Finally he had tied an orange sash with tussles around his waist. His goatee was carefully trimmed, areas around it carefully shaven.

"Colonel Rubeus Strouke, Fenksworld PDF..." he spoke with a drawl, quite different to his usually short-cut and to-the-point way of speaking. "XO of the 212th Infantry."

He chuckled and drew a hand through his hair, "Let's just hope this works..." For the duration of the descent he sat rather stiffly, hugging his knees, occasionally brushing out the small wrinkles in his clothes, adjusting his collar, and countless other small, nervous ticks. Then, as the carrier shuddered and died down he cleared his throat once before stepping up, adjusting the holsters on his belt and stepped out, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword and the other gripping the roof of the opened hatch for support.

Then, came the hug. For a moment, a brief moment, he blinked, then he laughed, returning the hug, "Is this the parade promised to a great warhero?" he chuckled. "It's good to see you again, dear!"

[Kelne]

Cryvus had taken the opportunity to take Crisis aside for a word before their departure. Yes, he was aware Mikolas wasn't one of the galaxy's leading minds. Nevertheless, he had his skills, and was a comrade. It was very possible the two of them would be paired together for the remainder of their working lives, short as these might be. Cryvus could not make him lay aside his enmity for the man, but he would appreciate it in the interests of harmony among the group. He who trusted nobody would have nobody to take the knife, and if Crisis went to Holy Terra, he would die.

This last part was probably not strictly relevant to the conversation.

The remainder of his time had been spent examining the information on Fenksworld and working out the details of his cover. He had settled on the name Gilgamesh Bludnoch (Gil for short), for reasons best known (or perhaps not) to himself. Gilgamesh, he had decided, was capable and had the family connections, but laboured under some manner of career-degrading cloud. Politics, old grudges, who knew? Already middle-aged, he would be unlikely ever to make captain, a source of some bitterness to him.

Now, clad in a formal uniform consisting of white trousers and shirt with a high-collared, sleeveless blue waistcoat, he certainly looked the part. For now, he affected the amused smile of an older relative at the antics of the younger generation. "Good to see you as well, youngster," he said, "You've certainly grown."

[Jak Snide]

"It'd be a surprise if I hadn't! You really should make the journey more often." The girl flashed a smile, brushing her red, short cut hair back behind her ear with a hand as she released Mithras. "There'll be time for talk later, inside." she stated in a pointed fashion, gesturing towards the black-clad servant. The man brought forward a series of parcels which turned out to contain soft-grey hooded cloaks similar to the one the young lady was wearing. "A bit too drafty and wet out here I think. Make certain you bundle up, you could catch a chill." She linked an arm with ex-guardsman. "So, how was your journey?"

---

The acolytes, once off the landing platform and out of the rain, found themselves in an ornately decorated corridor, no surface untouched by artifice. Bas-reliefs covered the walls and ceiling, darkly sombre cracked tile mosaics beneath their feet. Some of the artwork depicted recognisable Imperial figures, but the majority had been worn away with the passage of time. The girl engaged them in small talk as she led them, discussing trivial local events while steering the conversation away from any weighty topics. The reason for this became apparent when they stepped through an archway and into a massive chamber. Easily a hundred feet high, the geodesic dome's open space was dominated by a gargantuan tree, easily three-quarters the height of the room itself. A hundred or more balconies looked out onto the tree, each brimming with activity. They were all immediately aware that they were being watched. Grey-robed servants passing by, the gaily attired entourage of a feather-clad matron on a nearby balcony, the armed men swathed in dark green robes that stood around the base of the tree, everyone had taken an interest in the new arrivals, studying them as they carried on with their activities.

Their guide led them through the chamber, not seeming to spare a seconds thought for the spectacle around them, and down one of many seemingly identical passageways. After several twists and turns they arrived at a large metal door covered with a silver and blue pattern pierced by a single red dagger. The young woman gestured with a ringed hand and it swung inwards silently. As they entered the building she dismissed her servant with a wave and guided them into a richly attired chamber where a man stood in the corner, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. The door closed behind them and girl turned to face them.

"Let us try that again, shall we? I'm Julia Strophes, welcome to Hive Sibellus." She smiled impishly. "Cousins."

[ChristianC]

Mithras had, unfortunately, not revealed much about his intended persona before landfall, but he made a mental note to tell the others what he'd come up with. It wasn't anything fancy, but no one expected Fenksworld PDF to have much to do anyway, aside from the odd toussle with the local hive-gangs when the Arbites needed support, which wasn't very often.

So, with that in mind, he laughed at the girl's remark, took one of the cloaks and fastened it around his neck, making sure his scabbard and holster didn't get stuck in the cloak. His laspistol he'd secreted away in a shoulder-holster that was hidden fairly well under the espauletted cloth. Although he'd have to reach inside his coat to get it, it was only stuck with a velcro-bond and came loose easy enough. He took his 'cousin' by the arm and escorted her, although she obviously led the pair. He spoke a little about the hard work of rolling your thumbs, the recent warp-turbulence they'd encountered in the immaterium, just useless chit-chat as they walked on. He tried to hold back his amazement at the splendour of the passage they walked, smiling broadly (although, in honest, with a glint of panic in his eyes) at the sudden attention they got from all around. He held himself with the stiff back and march-like pace of the guards, although he of course had to adapt to his cousins pace as well.

---

As soon as they had passed into secrecy, and then bowed his head deeply to the lord and his daughter, a look of humble revereness on his face. "My lord, my lady..." he muttered, clearly somewhat startled by the revalation he'd been hugged by one of noble birth, and had treated her as a like when she was far above his standings. "I..." suddenly he was tongue-tied... should he tell his real name, or merely use his alias?

[Capntastic]

'Dulov' was a character that was all too common- a figure from the Volg hellholes that managed to make a name for himself through cunning and brutality. His notoriety was not based on some high minded notion of revolt or escape, though; Dulov was content to be a warloard and maintain the status quo, solely so that he and his group of fellows could maintain a slightly higher level of comfort. A hardened invidivual who had a bleak outlook on life, detailed with the fervent desire to squeeze every drop of it he could out of his short time- made all the more manic due to the atrocious conditions of his hive surrounding him.

Through some star crossed luck, Dulov was contacted by the PDF for his knowledge of certain activities taking place, certain people of interest, and certain abilities to prevent those activities and people from becoming a problem for the order of things. Enjoying the benefit of support from the powers that be, Dulov came to appreciate the PDF in a new light. After some time, he was paired up with Colonel Rube to act as mentor and bodyguard for duties pertaining to Volg. His true dedication and prevention of a few attempts on Rube's life has assured has been a trusted family friend ever since.

~~~

He simply nodded sternly as they exited the shuttle, walked sternly through the corridors, and was less than talkative as they made their way to the chamber. But, once behind closed doors, the facade dropped easily.

"Hey there. I'm Mik. But call me Dulov."

He shot a quick fingergun thumbs-up to indicate he wasn't, as previously portrayed, a humourless bastard.

[Kelne]

"Cryvus Valnik," Cryvus said, displaying the wry smile of someone with a revelation to make, "Lately of our Lord Emperor's blessed warship Lux Imperialis." He directed a crisp naval salute to the elder Strophes, "A pleasure to serve with you again, captain."

Cryvus had few unalloyed enjoyments in his life, but this was surely one of them. It had been many years since he had spoken with anyone from home. Few left, after all, and his own return was out of the question. He kept tabs one his home vessel's deployments, of course. So far as they were publicised at least. Unfortunately, by virtue of what he was, his old place among her crew was forfeit. A pity, but such was the way of the galaxy.

[Jak Snide]

The brief shock that registered on Julia's face in response to the appalling state of Mikolas' teeth was replaced by a mischievous grin as Mithras and Cryvus addressed the older man. The latter had begun to suspect that something was amiss, the man's features being familiar but not quite as he remembered, when she walked over to the welcoming figure and knocked on his head. "Great Uncle Thallus led House Strophes in dark times." she explain, a trace of amusement in her voice. "We nobles of Sibellus appreciate our antiquity so much we keep honoured dead about to remind us of past glories. He has his uses I suppose." She said as she tossed her cloak over one of the cadaver's outstretched arm, revealing the garment she wore beneath; an elaborate and brightly coloured piece, all frills and long trails.

"Make yourselves comfortable, there's refreshments in that alcove. I'll bring Father and you can introduce yourselves again." She nodded with a slight bow, making no attempt to hide her amusement at those who showed astonishment at Great Uncle Thallus and departed. The man, or taxidermy as they now realised, was still shockingly lifelike, the lack of breathing and complete motionlessness being the only things that gave him away. The room which they found themselves in resembled a large study, various plush furniture analogous to couches and easy chairs arranged in a pleasing manner. Each of the little end tables that stood next to seating was a host to some artefact or curiosity; a complex timepiece, a warn leather bound tome marked with the symbol of the Adeptus Ministorum, a head of a statue, worn and cracked and a strange looking device, currently inactive. The alcove Julia had indicted before leaving did indeed hold refreshments; several squat glasses and a crystal decanter filled with a golden-brown liquid which, if sampled proved to be quite beyond anything they acolytes had ever tasted before.

[ChristianC]

Mithras's jaw went stiff as he realized the man was... preserved... like a stuffed animal. What. In. The. Warp?

He resisted the urge to question the reasoning for this, but already his image of nobility and pure blood began to warp and change, this new input of information... disarming, and very, very disturbing. And the way she treated her ancestor, like a coat-rack... Clearly there was something rotten in the state of Sibellus.

"Ah, I'm Mithras Avel...ock..." he began to say, but she'd already disappeared before he'd finished his half-mumbled sentence, and with his ears going somewhat... red, he looked around, suddenly no longer the impressive commander, but the constantly baffled farmboy from Dreah. He resisted the urge to fish up a packet of lho-free sticks. He was trying to quit the narcotics, and the cravings only became worse when he was stressed.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis, of course, was not going to have his opinion changed by Cryvus. Yes, Mikolas does have his uses. Those are primarily alternating as a human shield, a decoy, and an extra gun on the field. His behavior, however, is such that in this mission, he appears to be nothing but a liability. And regrettably, he would once again have to deal with the Feral's erratic and attention-drawing behavior. At this point, the only thing that could convince him would be to turn him into a servitor; he felt that the Feral would become smarter from that, anyway.

During the wait, he had experimented with the blank data-slate. Regrettably, he had not been trained in technology, so it had been trial and error to get the thing to start displaying what he wanted, how he wanted. A few hours of that, in particular. And when presented with the money...Crisis' reaction was different from that of Mithras'; the sharpshooter in particular had certain pieces of gear that he had his eyes on, and with the issue of cost out of the way, he would just have to find any of them for sale.

...more likely than imaginable since they were going underhive. If it's able to be obtained anonymously, even better. Disguises are one thing, but getting notable equipment is completely different.


He had just hoped that Mikolas wouldn't blow it all on amasec, haute cuisine, and whores. Hope didn't translate to faith, though.


---

A guise had to be matched to the identity, and Crisis had limited options available. So far, he had settled on a for-now nameless individual from Magnagorsk, formerly having served under a particularly ruthless guildmaster--he wasn't a helot as much as an agent to help undercut the competition; by, of course, killing key personnel. Other guildmasters, and so on, as well as anyone even thinking of organizing an uprising. Unfortunately for the agent, while he was off on one such mission, his own guildmaster had been killed. Thus, out of a job, he was forced to wander as a freelancer--and he looked as if a noble had indeed hired him on a more permanent basis. His new clothes were looser than the bodyglove he was used to--a bit of an adjustment, but hopefully not too bad as to be a hindrance in combat. A very close examination would reveal that he had already placed the majority of his ammo in his pockets, and had the Orthlack, the Carnodon, and his other autopistol--silenced, no less--already slung and loaded. The kitbag held his rifle, the autocarbine, and the stub revolver he had picked up back on Iocanthos. Alongside the immense quantity of ammunition, the grapnel, and however so many other implements that he carried around.

---

Crisis had made no attempt to communicate while the others were introducing themselves. Not that he'd seem to be expected to talk, given the blank, nigh-faceless appearance he possessed courtesy of the head covering...

[Kelne]

Cryvus should have looked sheepish or embarrassed at his gaffe. Instead, he looked a little pale. Thallus had clearly spooked him, yet he headed over to study the man more closely. Perhaps it was the preservation and public display of a man long dead that had unnerved him. Certainly such things were completely outside his experience. Then again, perhaps it was something else. It was often difficult to tell.

[Besyanteo]

Gunner had adopted a surly demeanor as they headed planetside, and had experimented with some expressions and manners of holding himself beforehand until he found something that felt suitable. The end result was maybe not perfect, but would hopefully be passable: He carried himself at something that was not quite at-attention, and moved carefully, in a manner that was somewhat reminiscent of Crisis' own standard MO. It clashed wildly with his mode of dress: a gold brocade vest and a long, dark blue coat. Both feature large, gaudy golden buttons. The burnished gold trousers and gold-buckled boots are almost too much. In addition to this, a set of cross-belts, designed to be worn across the chest, sporting four holsters, each filled. The bolters were at the bottom, close to hand and ready to pulled out on a whim. The twin las pistols above them, as gaudy as the outfit itself, might merely be decoration next to those bolters. Accordingly, Gunner made no attempt to hide those weapons. Everything else was the flashy frame to their stark and meaning steeped painting: This man was a killer, little more than hired muscle with some window shopping, but experienced and well funded hired muscle. Hopefully it would lend their little show a slightly more genuine feel. For what little time it would be used, this persona of Gunner's would go by the name of "Wedge." It sounded stupid, but that was kind of the idea, wasn't it?

---

Wedge managed not to react overly to the interactions of Colonel Strouke and lady Strophes. She hadn't put a knife in his back, so she was probably ok. From there, he was pretty much just surly and quietly badass all the way from the landing platform to the Domed room with the tree. Here, his job changed: He had to size up the room, and see who was taking special note of them all, without staring at anyone too long. Luckily, it wasn't hard to fake in a room with so many people, so long as he didn't turn his head too far or too quickly at any one time; Pretending to be scrutinous while pretending to be casual was effectively casting his eyes over everything and keeping in step. And, well, that other part where Gunner got to worry for a brief moment if someone wouldn't see right through them all and make a big production of it.... But they didn't, so Wedge walked on with the rest of the procession.

Finally, they came to a halt in a private chamber. Gunner corrected his posture and let out a sigh. He felt ridiculous. It served a greater purpose though, and that was the important thing. He let the others talk and he listened. There'd be a chance to introduce both himself and his adopted persona soon enough, and the lady was currently exiting the room anyway. He was taken more than a little aback by the introduction to the late Mr. Thallus, and unlike the others felt no need to inspect him more closely. The dead body preserved in the appearance of life was more than creepy enough from a distance...

(So tired. Sorry if I forgot anything, or if I repeated anything. I'll reread this some time tomorrow afternoon and edit if need be.)

[Ben Smash]

With a now-familiar gesture, Gear straightened the Regal black robe about him just enough so you could see his red woolen cloak was still being worn. The cloak shimmered in the light, catching the Holy symbols and iconography about it. He cracked his neck audibly he sensed the tension rising a little and took his cue to step in. Stiffening, making his boots heard in the grandeur of the hall, Gregaryus got close to Mithras and put a fatherly arm about his shoulder.

He whispered to him.

Spoiler:

"Lissan, boy, I like ye; ye're a strong one. Keep ye'r spine about yeh an keep aht together. Yer team an' I need yeh to be the good soldier I know yeh are."

Stepping away now and taking in the room, Gregaryus adopted a dour and set appearance and cadence. No longer the man of bombast and fraternity, he became a cold plinth. He slowly walked his way to the refreshments, pouring himself a tumbler of Amasec, drinking it in deep. With a refreshed sigh he addressed the noblewoman; putting on his most-high class tone, "My friends, I must apologize for not introducing myself properly, I am to be called Preacher Vendictine. I'll take the liberty of introducing our silent man over there as our most trustworthy bodyguard. His name known only to us and that it shall remain for now, unfortunately. He is an excellent warrior and a good friend, we'll make it clear that she should not fear him, yet." He let a warm smile come over his face, to put the his friends at ease, letting some of his true nature shine through in hopes of winning their trust a little. He pulled a final swig from his glass and placed it unceremoniously on a Bas-Relief alcove, forgetting himself, and smiled widely. "Tell me about this tree, friends, it is gorgeous and truly one of the emperor's greater gifts to us. Is it native or did was it cultivated from elsewhere?"



For the sake of brevity: Brother Gear has kept mostly to himself with prayers and calisthenics, aside from one long-ish meeting with Mithras and the occasional spar with Mikolas. He has said naught about an identity and was in deep meditation for all of planet-fall.

[Jak Snide]

Cryvus and Mikolas approached Great Uncle Thallus. It was an uncanny spectacle. Even this close it was almost impossible to tell that he'd passed on and been preserved. His clothing had been treated with some form of sealant to protect them from the ravages of time. Mikolas managed to overcome his curiosity and refrained from touching the man. Gunner and Crisis stood about, either feeling disconcerted or happy to remain where they stood. Brother Gear and Mithras fetched themselves drink, though for very different reasons. As the latter took a seat the strange device on the side table next to him sprung to life. A figurine materialised above it, seemingly made from light yet unlike the holo-projector they'd seen the day before. It twirled around in an mesmerising, intricate pattern, catching the eyes of the acolytes.

"The prize of my collection, a Jokaero light-sculpture. Not proscribed, I assure you."

The man who spoke resembled a large stump with legs, his left arm and right eye graceful prosthetics of adamantine and silver, each clearly worth a fortune. He wore loose fitting garments, far less elaborate than the ones Julia had worn, but the forceful ring to his voice and the way he stood with an erect posture gave him away as the officer of the Navy he once was. It certainly wasn't hard to imagine him in a uniform. His daughter closed the door behind him.

Laurent approached each acolyte in turn, shaking their hands and introducing himself. Brother Gear, dressed in the robes of a chaplain, received a rather different greeting, the old officer stating "We are honoured that you grace our house, father." and making the sign of the aquila, linking both thumbs and spreading fingers across his chest. His reaction to Cryvus was even more exceptional. "Holy Throne, the Lux? My service with her ended over ten years ago. A fine ship, and a finer crew. Valnik, though? I remember you." he said, studying the psyker for a few seconds before a tiny smile crept onto his face. "Your father would be proud to see you now. He never doubted that you'd achieve great things, even when the Black Ship came for you."

[ChristianC]

Mithras flinched as the projection came to life, but kept his composure somewhat as he took a small sip of the drink to steel his nerves, observing the colorful display with mixed interest and suspicion. He had no idea of its origin, and when it was revealed to him it made even less sense, the Jokaero, wh-

He turned around in his chair, surprised by the sudden entrance of the officer and his daughter, and then quickly stood to attention. The relationship between the Guards and the Navy aside, one didn't just remain seated when a high-ranking officer, and nobleman, made his entrance. He gave a brisk salute. He would be a colonel when in his disguise, but right now he was a sergeant way out of his league, and the reaction came like a knee-jerk.

Having his hand shaken, Mithras nodded, "Mithras Avelock, sir." he spoke in a respectful tone. This was the man who'd sent the request for aid, and a man that Inquisitor Skane had spoken well off, there was no reason for guile. There would be time for further presentations of Col. Rubeus Stroke later on.

[Capntastic]

Mik poured himself a measure of the proferred beverage, and sipped at it curiously. Through experience or instinct, he did not swig or chug, but simply nursed the drink as he listened and observed the happenings as they progressed.

The fact that Laurent seemed to carry himself in a way that Mik could understand- shaking hands, making proper conversation- set him up in Mik's mind as an alright fellow. The fact that he seemed to have some second-hand connection to Cryvus only boosted this.

[Jak Snide]

Mithras' formality was amicably dismissed by the older Strophes, the old man making it clear that he considered the acolytes, loyal servants of the Inquisition, to be of such a standing that they should treat him as a peer. Once the introduction were concluded, Laurent situated himself in one of the larger chairs and launched into a speech.

"My niece, Saia, was an even-tempered girl, easy to manage, unlike others here present. Always given over to melancholy though. Last year she came upon this group, this so called "Joyous Choir" and joined soon after. I thought it was harmless enough. Julia went with her once or twice, declared them simpled-minded as I recall, right dear?" His daughter nodded in assent. "Well Saia continued going, said that she finally felt the she was becoming "true," whatever that may entail. Then one day she vanished. No traces. The Magistratum could find nothing. There was no sign of struggle in her dwelling; none of her friends knew where she'd gone. Happens every day in the underhive, but not in the spire. We've heard of others going quietly missing. I set an old associate of mine to looking into the Choir's affairs. He came up with those meters I passed on to your mastrix. I want to find out what happened to my niece. I suspect that she's gone to the Emperor, but I would know for certain. The House of Strophes is at your disposal. Julia and I help you however we can. The plan, as I understand it, is that you will use your fabricated identities to gain access to the Choir. You said that the higher levels were only accessible to the nobility, didn't you dear?" The younger Strophes nodded once again.

"It's become all the rage recently, which means my esteemed peers" she studied her nails, sounding disinterested, "have been filling the cult's coffers in a bid to outdo each other. As a result the inner circle is composed of the largest contributors. There's an upcoming party in two days time where a fair number of the Choir's supporters will be in attendance. You should be able to ingratiate yourself with the right people there. Of course we'll have to do some work first. You certainly can't show up looking like that. Especially with half your teeth missing. You'll need to be brought up to date on the customs of the season too, unless you want everyone laughing at you behind your backs." She had grown more animated as she talked, sizing up the acolytes with appraising eyes and another one of her mischievous grins. Before she could continue, though, her father cut in.

"Before you run off to spend half your inheritance, my dear," he said in a stern voice, "there is another avenue of investigation to consider. A bounty hunter called Vorlin Orday, the one who retrieved the meters, has contacted me recently. Said he has something to offer. I can arrange a meeting with him at your convenience, but he is only willing to meet somewhere within the middle spire as he has had past difficulties with the Magistratum. Those of noble birth do not leave the spire readily. Certainly not for a meeting like this, so that precludes those of you posing as such from attending."

[Kelne]

Though he allowed himself to feel some pride in having made good in the eyes of his old commander, Cryvus was swift to get down to business. The sooner these scum were rooted out of the hive the better in his opinion.

"We had planned to separate in order to pursue multiple leads in any case," he said. Thallus continued to prey upon his mind, to the extent that he gave voice to a question any other would think unrelated, "How long ago did Saia go missing?" he asked, counting back the days in his own mind.

[Jak Snide]

"A little under a month ago by Scintillan standard, some twenty five days, that was when her absence was noted. I hired Orday soon after that and he produced results ten days ago. Once my savants uncovered the contents of the anomalous device I dispatched a missive to Mastrix Skane. It was good fortune that it reached her so swiftly."

[ChristianC]

The idea of treating a naval officer as an equal was difficult for Mithras to accept, but he nodded, realizing perhaps for the first time his standing as an acolyte of the Inquisition.

He listened to the briefing with care, mulling over the details in every pause and stroking his beard occasionally. He listened to the description of the Choir, set his jaw in sharp dislike of what he heard, and when finally the briefing was done he leaned back, a frown of thought on his face.

"It would be necessary that we send in the other group," he nodded towards Mikolas, "and if questions should arise I would have simply sent my bodyguard to retrieve something, perhaps an old debt or investigate the rumours of a deserter hiding out in Sibellus..."

"Any aid in our disguises would be appreciated," he nodded to Julia, "I know enough about the Guard to cover most topics, I hope, but unfortunately I'm not very well read up on politics and nobility..." he sunk in his chair a bit, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I think that as it goes, we should limit our vox contact as much as possible, unless we're doing it to keep up our charade... maybe we should try for some kind of code, either bursts of static or something equivelant, to arrange a meeting on a pre-det location."

[Jak Snide]

"Oh, it's not uncommon to have some way of contacting your entourage. It's only good sense, really. Vox transmissions are quite limited here, I'm afraid, unless you bring a man for the sole purpose of carrying a high grade machine. Quite unfashionable, I'm afraid. Comical, even."

"Not that any of the trends make sense these days." Laurent commented, cutting off and drawing a disproving look from his daughter. "Julia is correct, however. The spires themselves interfere with personal vox communications quite severely. If you venture below then any distance beyond a few hundred meters will make it impossible, even with a caster fit for a ship. Then there is the Adeptus Mechanicus. All voxcasting within the hive must be sanctioned by them and each machine examined and blessed. They alone control the hard lines that weave down from the spires. The various Adeptus and other organisations maintain their own private, sanctioned vox networks mounted on the hive exterior. Mostly they ignore the use of micro-beads and similar short range devices, especially among the privileged elite, but none the less it isn't wise to flaunt the use of such things."

"Don't worry about such trivialities." Julia waved her hand dismissively. "House Strophes shall be safe haven for you. Just be sure not to loose your cognomen. I hear that common folk are banished to the wastelands below the hive city if they are caught without theirs. The Magistratum is more lenient up here, of course."

(As all of them will know, a cognomen is a hiver's identification, usually a metal punch card for the common folk of Sibellus. Their own cognomen, given to them while still in orbit, are finely detailed (though less so in the case of those playing retinue roles) plasteel cards which designate them as their cover identities and mark them as people of importance from Fenksworld. On top of this they each have a ream of various bureaucratic papers which will hopefully fool even the most scrutinising Admninistratum official.)

[Besyanteo]

Gunner had been listening to people pass information back and forth. It was unfortunate about Laurent's niece, and Gunner was fairly certain that they weren't going to find much of her at the end of all of this. That was no reason to not try, though. In any case, he wouldn't be one of the ones entering the Joyous Choir's places of practice. At the very least not as quickly as his allies.

"Mik, Crisis and myself will track down Orday and learn what we can. Unless there's some pressing reason to do otherwise, I'd like to leave sooner rather than later for that. Not that I want to deprive Mikolas of a chance to replace some of his lost teeth, but I suspect that we could as easily do that later on."

Gunner waited a moment, to give Cryvus a chance to voice any concerned he might have, and of course to give their hosts a chance to either acknowledge him or interject with some reason why this wasn't the sensible idea that it currently seemed to be. He thought he knew what was best of course, but the Strophes were locals and knew many things about Sibellus that Gunner did not.

[Kelne]

Cryvus nodded, "I agree," he said, "The sooner we have Orday's knowledge in hand the better." A sense of urgency gripped him, though he knew better than to succumb to it. This was going to be delicate work, infiltrating the nobility and uncovering the secrets of an entrenched cult. Carelessness was not something to court. "Our own side of things will likely take longer, establishing ourselves as the idle types suitable fo recruitment."

[Jak Snide]

Laurened nodded sharply. "I'll have him contacted. With luck he'll be able to meet with us tomorrow."

"It'd be such a shame if you didn't attend the party. The nobility doesn't go anywhere without their entourage, and you have such lovely hands." Julia had sauntered over and was inspecting Gunner with childlike delight. "We'll have your nails done, add some highlights to your hair. That armour just won't do, it'll have to go, and I know where to get the perfect earring for you. You don't mind getting more piercings, do you?"

[Capntastic]

Mik's attention was split between fashion chat and the task of meeting with Orday.

"Yeah, I'm ready to go find him when needed."

He tugged a bit at his beard.

"...So, what can be done with my choppers?"

[Jak Snide]

Julia turned towards Mikolas, the beautification of Gunner neatly placed aside in her mind, only to stop suddenly as she fully took in unkempt giant's appearance for the first time. Her baffled expression was quickly replaced by a diplomatic smile. "Your "choppers" will only be the start. Nothing a trip to the dentitionist won't remedy of course, but even the common thugs that find employ in the spire must maintain certain standards for the sake of their masters. When was the last time you visited a coiffeur?"

[ChristianC]

Mithras had leaned back and watched the sudden switch to fashion discussion with a look of slight apprehension on his face. Already he felt more out of depths than he'd ever been before, what with the uniform, blade and bolter, and now they were discussing fashionable improvements? With any luck he might've passed the young noblewoman's scrutinizing review of fashion-sense, uniforms never went out of style (or so he'd heard), but there were still some things he wanted to discuss with the others.

"Right, we will need to use hardline communication if we wish to speak when separated..." he grumbled, still glancing at Julia, "which means we will need to employ some manner of coded language if we don't want to risk being listened in on..." he shrugged, "doesn't have to be complicated, used to use colors in my old regiments when..." he frowned and then shook his head, "considering our 'relations', perhaps something to do with clothes? Or other stuff you might be looking for... "perhaps if we use color-code, but implement it in a fashion that seems irrelevant. Red means danger, or aborting mission, perhaps combined with another color? Black for aborting the mission, red for danger, green for having found Orday, yellow for temporary withdrawal?"