Dark Heresy - Wisdom is the beginning of fear.

[Capntastic]

Mik leapt back, staggering, and began loping as fast as he can towards the downstairs.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis re-holstered his las-pistol. They may be reliable, but the lack of recoil was something that he would -never- get used to; when one is used to compensating for such, the same muscular actions result in shots with self-sabotaged aim...for that reason, he disliked las-weaponry. If that pistol had nothing special about it at all, he was ready to either pawn or trash it somewhere in the Hive. Once the mission could be said to be complete, success or not, of course.

As he headed down to the entrance, he had no idea of whether or not she was killed, or for that matter, of Cryvus' fate. While the older Voidborn had stated some odd predictions that somehow seemed to be correct, the point was that he still was a comparably refreshing change in intellect from the rather lacking Mikolas and whoever that 'lead thug' was. If the leadership of gangers was determined by the very depth one's own complete -idiocy-, then not only did he understand why that guy WAS in charge...it would also reveal to him a good dumping place were a certain fellow Acolyte to prove to be too much of a hindrance.

On his way down, the Voidborn reloaded his rifle. Hopefully, there'd be a way to get some armor-piercing shells for this thing. But that can come later. Until them, he would have to worry about ensuring the mission was complete--if no confirmation of either Cryvus or Her, or the deaths thereof, was readily available by means of a general search, then it would be safe to presume that one or both died in the conflagration that had in turn consumed the Chamber of Horrors...

[Jak Snide]

The acolytes ran as fast as they could, any thoughts of evidence gathering given a back seat to self preservation. Crisis darted ahead of the pack, slipping a fresh clip into his rifle as he scrambled down the stairs to the first floor balcony. Vaulting over the banister above the foyer, he rolled as he hit the floor, rising into a sprint. Xerxes winced and wheezed, still feeling the effects of the blast. his free hand pushing him off walls as he followed after the others. Mikolas took the stairs two at a time with his gargantuan strides, the guardsmen and thug scrambling along behind him. Another explosion rocked the Alms House, dust and tiles falling from the ceiling of the foyer. The front door was in sight, though, and the way was clear. Only a few more seconds and they'd be out.

---

It took Cryvus a moment to haul himself up onto the ledge, the adrenaline rush fading and leaving him exhausted both physically and mentally. Memories of the horrors he'd seen before swam within his subconscious, threatening to rise up and consume him. He jammed his staff into the crack and leaned on it, a second of resistance followed by a rusty shriek as both doors parted. He barely had time to take in what lay outside before an explosion rocked the Alms House, the shock wave of another detonation travelling down the shaft and flinging him through the doorway and across the room, landing on his front next to a table and among scattered plates and cutlery.

(The acolytes are now on the first floor of the Alms House again, though Cryvus is prone, hurting and disorientated.)

[Kelne]

Cryvus pushed himself upright, desperately trying to recall the path to the escape pods. Where were the usual markings?

No, wait. This was a hive; there were no escape pods (dreadful design oversight there). But there was a door visible off to his left. A door through which the somewhat irregular, artificial light of the 'outside' could be seen. That would do.

Staggering, leaning upon his tightly clutched staff for balance, Cryvus made his way towards freedom, intent on putting as much distance between himself and the explosions as possible. Hopefully the others were doing likewise. They should have had a clearer run at the least.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis, on the other hand, kept his pace up as he vacated the building in a mad dash. There was no reason why he would stop now--all of the Enforcers that were present are dead. All of the abominations were likewise killed. The building is blowing up, to boot.

As such, he ran for his life, his pace more likely than not outdoing the rest of his fellow Acolytes...

[Capntastic]

Mik charged out. He'd seen hideouts explode before. This time, though, he had nothing to do with it, and thus had no idea what to expect.

"Run for it, boys!"

[Justice Augustus]

"Damn...Cryvus. I was starting to dig that guy." Xerxes looked at his few remaining comrades. "A'ight, the Emperor's work has been done for now. Let's get out before any mo' of the building comes down." He stopped for a moment to grab the tissue sampler, trying to find another sample from one of these latest bodysnatchers.

[Jak Snide]

Xerxes had only stopped for a moment while the acolytes had been upstairs. What remained of the body snatchers was a bloody mess, and the way that last explosion had flung him into Mikolas convinced the man that it was definitely time to go. His master would just have to cope with the samples they'd already collected.

---

Cryvus half hobbled and half ran towards the door, something toppling down the elevator shaft to his left and impacting with such force that it shook the floor beneath him. Tables and plates passed him by, the old man moving between two vats filled with some amber coloured paste that had sloshed over the sides and made the floor slick. He'd only just made it outside when he heard the final detonation.

---

Crisis noted that he could hear his own footsteps again as he darted out the door, not stopping till he'd put a dozen meters between him and the Alm's House. A quick glance behind him showed the rest of the acolytes running across the foyer towards him. A falling tile clipped Mikolas in the head, his helmet saving him from having his skull split open. Julius grabbed him with a free hand as he passed, dragging him in the direction of the door and reorientating him. Xerxes hopped the rail as Crisis had done, his leap landing him atop the desk, scattering the ashes of immolated documents. He hopped down and kept moving, the thug and Gunner just ahead of him. He was only two meters out the front door when the final, deafening explosion knocked them all of their feet.

The roof on the right hand side of the Alms House was blown away, a bright yellow fireball tearing through the marble and scattering fragments of flaming rock into the air. For what was probably the first time in a decade the Coscarla District was illuminated, hundreds of eyes shielded against the light as the populace stared in awe. The acolytes could hear the exclamations of the scores of people in the hab blocks opposite the Alms House, the inhabitants alerted to their task when they'd first gathered outside.

(Everyone, bar Cryvus, is a good 15 meters away from the front of the Alms House and currently prone, the vibration of the explosion knocking them all off their feet. The exception, who had just made it out the back door, is flat on his face and suffering from a bad case of ringing ears. Also, everyone should keep an eye on their PM boxes.)

[Justice Augustus]

Lying slumped down on the floor, his head slightly cut from scraping on the floor, Xerxes rolls over onto his back, looking at the devestation they had wrought on this place. "Is it just me, or does promethium always smell like justice?"

[Capntastic]

Mik flumped himself over onto his back. In his semi-delirious state, exasperated by blood loss, conussive forces, and a dreadful lack of food, he found himself wailing uncontrollably- under the impression that the entire hive was being torn apart by the terrible heretek's trick.

"Maaaaaa! Run for it ma! It's collapsin'!"

[Kelne]

Cryvus shook his head to clear it and immediately regretted the motion. He hurt all over, and his nightmares would only gain new depths from this day's work. But he was alive, and as such, there were duties to be carried out in His name.

He was a little hazy on the details of those duties just now, but picking himself up off the ground would do for a start. He seemed to have lost his autorifle somewhere in the confusion, but he still had the two pistols in his pockets and of course the staff, which could still use a bit of cleaning.

He also seemed to have acquired a large, confused-looking crowd from somewhere. He should probably issue some sort of statement.

"Heresy begets retribution," he explained helpfully.

[Jak Snide]

Cryvus left those near enough to hear him in their confusion as he hobbled towards the front of the Alms House. Sure enough, the rest of the acolytes were there, some still sprawled out on the ground.

Julius helped Mikolas to his feet, muttering something about "his damn ma" as the giant stood. Crisis had picked himself off the stone with as little noise as possible, watching the fire spread to the rest of the Alms House, most likely gutting the upper floors. Xerxes looked on as well, feeling a warm glow inside him that coincided with a job well done. Gunner sat on his backside and watched Cryvus approach, pointing him out to the others with a gesture and a word.

The populace watched on from a distance, still unwilling to approach several heavily armed men who'd just blown up a community center.

(At this point we could time skip forward, should people desire. Say so if you'd like that to be the case, along with anything your character would like to do before leaving the Coscarla District. Cryvus knows he should report in, though there are other things that might need attending to. Mikolas and Cryvus are also hurting like hell, though I expect you both already know that.)

[Capntastic]

Mik nodded grimly, shaking his mane of debris.

"Well, let's get and go show an' tell Mister Sand what we found."

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis, needing to confirm something--given that Cryvus rushed into the exploding room where she was, and came out alive, reslung his rifle, took out his writing pad, and wrote down probably the most important question of that moment, before showing it to Cryvus:

'Is it dead?'

[Kelne]

"Oh yes," Cryvus said, "Quite dead." There was a certain note of satisfaction in his voice at that, for all that he looked and felt like hell. "We should check in," he said, echoing Mikolas's words, though not necessarily his priorities as to who they would be checking in with.

(Happy to have a timeskip any time.)

[Justice Augustus]

Xerxes walks over to Cryvus, and looks at him with a content nod. That boy's harder than he looks.

(Let's do the timewarp!)

[Jak Snide]

Battered and bloodies, the acolytes picked themselves up and began the long walk back to the Worker's Union. Cryvus needed to report in and inform those above him that backup would not be needed. When they arrived, however, they found that the place had cleared out, save for a few determined drinkers at the bar. They found the top floor was deserted as well after venturing upstairs, with no sign of the men who Cryvus had requisitioned aid from. Worse still was the realisation that the remaining thug had given them the slip. Xerxes slipped downstairs while his fellow acolyte transmitted the good news, having decided to have a little chat with the bartender and her clientele. After a few words and the right physical gestures he learnt that this "Luntz" was the boss of the biggest narco-gang in Coscarla and had skipped town shortly after the acolytes had left to raid the Alms House, heading downhive with great pace. It hadn't escaped his attention that the enforcer he'd interrogated had mentioned something about narco-gangs before he went to meet his judgement.

It took a few hours for the district to be opened up to the rest of the hive again, during which time the acolytes found themselves on the receiving end of alot of attention. Word had spread about what had happened at the Alms House but, no matter what various opinions the people of Coscarla might have held, none approached the group. The only aid they found during their wait was back at the chapel, the initiate who'd helped them before doing her best to treat the worst of their injuries. When the aeteria tunnel opened up the Arbites moved in, Cryvus having been told ahead of time that a full sweep would be conducted as a follow up to their actions. As they were ferried uphive via armoured transport they caught sight of several red robed figures moving into the district under arbite escort.

Upon their return to the Templum Mori they found themselves rushed off for medical treatment. While their wounds were treated properly they found that the process involves a great many questions being asked about their contact with the abominations and several strange, arcane devices being waved over them while their operators chanted benedictions in High Gothic. Interrogator Sand joined them as their treatment was coming to an end, informing them that they "hadn't performed too badly," although a full debriefing and written report would be required of them as soon as possible. This would be latter rather than sooner for Cryvus and Mikolas, both of whom were rendered unconscious while the more serious of their wounds were treated.

(Right-oh, report time. A full report will be required of each acolyte, along with an evaluation of their fellows. The latter detail being revealed to each individual in private, of course. Thankfully for you, the players aren't required to write up a full report, though a few details will be required of you.

-The mention of any events that occurred during the mission that they feel are especially important.
-A line or two about each of your fellow acolytes, their performance and your opinions of them.
-Your character's own feelings about the mission.

Submit these to me via PM within the next day or two. Once that's done we can move on to what the acolytes will be up to in the weeks after the mission.)

[Jak Snide]

Reports submitted the acolytes were given leave of the Templum Mori and transported to their lodgings. Or rather, their lodging. Someone had seen fit to acquire a hab of no small size for them and have their possessions transferred there. The most noticeable feature of the place was that there were only four bedrooms, though any concerns about toping and tailing were waved aside when they were told that Julius and Gunner would not be joining them. Julius was to return "to his previous duties" while Gunner was being transferred to the Inquisitorial Stormtrooper corps.

Mikolas and Cryvus were confined to bed rest for two weeks by Sand, though it later turned out he'd had the decency to hire a nice lady to visit and take care of the pair of them. Xerxes, arm bandaged with a splint and in a sling now, was told to refrain from using it unless he absolutely had to. Crisis was given a full bill of health, having suffered some bruising at worst. The Interrogator told them that they'd be called upon when needed and to remain available for when said call came but, until then, they were relatively free to do as they wished. Their IDs would remain valid and should grant them access to most places in the mid-hive and any lower levels. As he left he produced four envelopes from within his coat and placed them on the table near the door, telling them to "go get something nice for yourselves."

(The remaining acolytes will find that, on top of their new pad, they've each been given 300 thrones in Imperial bills. The leftover currency from their mission should cover the costs of living, thus leaving this sum entirely at their disposal. They'll have about a month to themselves, though Cryvus and Mikolas will spend half of that time recovering from their injuries. Crisis and Xerxes have the full month at their disposal, though the latter will want to give his arm some time to heal up.

As for what they might do with their time, well, that's up to each of you individually. They know that the follow up investigation in Coscarla is still going on and being headed by the Adeptus Arbitus. There's also the possibility of trying to find work, though where and what is up to you. Your earnings will be based off your career with the bonus for now being Rank 3 or, if you have one, your Trade skill. There's also the chance to purchase new equipment, with anything of Common or Plentiful availability being purchasable without having to search for it. There's also a multitude of things to do in the Hive Sibellus which probably won't garner anything of mechanical worth but which some acolytes might wish to partake in.

Finally, you're all authorised to read pages 290 to 299 of the Core Rulebook. This deals with Scintilla and, while the acolytes themselves won't know everything you read there, it'll let you get a feel for they currently are in the universe.)

[Jak Snide]

It had been a month since the four of them had been left to their own devices. Mikolas and Cryvus, once fully recovered, busied themselves with their own activities, Mikolas finding some easy work as a hired gun while Cryvus was absent each day, returning in the evening with a small collection of Throne Gelt. Crisis was rarely seen, initially disappearing for almost two weeks only to show up covered in grime and looking malnourished. Xerxes had spent a lot of time tracking down supplies in Hive Sibellus, the combination of his arm and a raid gone wrong leaving him unfit for action for a long time. The others couldn't deny he had a talent at the former, though, finding them almost everything they could want, his familiarity with hive society and the correct lines of supply proving invaluable. All good, relatively peaceful times must eventually come to an end, though, and one morning the acolytes awoke to find a data-slate lying on the table of the communal room of their hab, as well as four kit bags lying on the floor next to it.

Ref: Inq/045678499/BI
Author: Inquisitor Astrid Skane
Subject: Mission Briefing
Name: Iocanthos
Location: Segmentum Obscurus
Sector: Calixis (Scintillan Sub)
Tithe Grade: Exactus Median
Notes: ref - Ghostfire Pollen
TFTD: ++ Duty is it's own reward ++

Mission Details:
The Inquisition offices on Scintilla have been formally issued with a request for assistance from the settlement of Stern Hope on Iocanthos. The report, while vague, suggests suspicious disturbances, possibly psychic or warp based, occurring in the area of a new cathedral raised to honour Saint Drusus. The cathedral lies at the heart of the remote outpost and its successful completion will do much to further the Imperial faith on this troubled world, a laudable goal and one that the Holy Ordos shares.

You are requested and required to proceed to the planet Iocanthos where you will assist a Senior Inquisitorial Agent, Aristarchus the Seer, in investigating the incidents and ensuring that the consecration of the cathedral goes as planned. Your principal tasks are to gather data about any phenomena encountered and, where needed, eliminate any threats that you find. For the duration of the mission, Aristarchus has the honour of command over you in my name. Assist him and afford him the same loyalty as you would give me, in the God-Emperor's name.

Passage for you has been arranged on the trade-hauler Brazen Sky for immediate departure to Iocanthos. Your shuttle will depart from Terminus V in the Helathon Division of Hive Sector E. Make yourself known and familiarise yourself with your new comrade upon your arrival. He will identify himself as Mithras Avelock and respond correctly to cipher 325#B that you learned during your initial induction. He will placed under the supervision of Xerxes for the duration of the mission.

Landing close to the site of the incident is impractical due to its geographical location in a mountain range and the potential hostility of the natives. Instead you will make planet fall at Port Suffering (Iocanthos's primary Imperial outpost) and meet Aristarchus there. From Port Suffering arrangements have been made for your journey to Stern Hope.

Addendum 1: The Cathedral Mission
Missionary-Abbot Orland Skae successfully petitioned for the first Iocanthan cathedral to be built in the settlement Stern Hope two years ago, and since then reports indicate that he has gathered a sizable congregation of native converts and worthy off-world pilgrims to his cause. Skae himself, a very distant scion of Scintillan nobility, has managed to garner both off-world donations and considerable local support to his mission, so far succeeding where others have failed.

Addendum 2: Reported Phenomena
As the cathedral structure has neared completion, unusual phenomena have been evidenced both at the site and in the surrounding area. These include strange lights in the hills, animal attacks, missing persons, an upsurge in accidents and unexplained deaths. These incidents have culminated recently in more serious and obviously unnatural events such as manifestations of phantom sounds, walls weeping blood, telekinetic disturbances and other such phantasmagoria.

Addendum 3: Planetary Briefing

Society:
Iocanthos is an anarchic pseudo-feudal society, where all power-relationships are based on violence or its threat. A war-torn and brutal world, the control of the planet rests with various warlord and clan factions that compete to harvest or steal the planet's only tithed material, Ghostfire pollen, in order to turn it over to the Imperium in exchange for supplies. The most powerful warlord is currently King Vervai Skull who is currently acknowledged as Iocanthos's de facto planetary governor. Iocanthos boasts a single fortified Administratum-controlled spaceport settlement, Port Suffering, where the tithe is collected and trans-shipped.

Founding:
Iocanthos was taken by General (Saint) Drusus's 2nd Army Group during the first great crusades through the sector. As the planet lacked any significant technology, Drusus's forces defeated the indigenous people, known as the Ashleen, in a single week of bloody fighting. Drusus later remarked in his memoirs that the only memorable aspect of the planet was the vast fields of wild flowers which resembled "Shimmering fields of rippling explosions, caught at that fleeting moment between beauty and destruction" [Ref. pg. 526 - Breaching the Darkness]. As ever, the general was perceptive as the Ghostfire would become central to the world's future.

Additional Notes:

In times past, Iocanthos served as a penal dumping ground for undesirables that the Scintillan authorities for various reasons didn't wish to execute or expatriate further afield. Such exiles were given minimal supplies and allowed to thrive or falter without further interference. The current population is largely a mixture of their descendants and the native Ashleen.

Imperial Xeno-botanist Mogren Thunt was the person who discovered that the pollen of the native Ghostfire flowers contained powerful phychoactive properties and refined their use.

After being graced with a powerful vision telling her to build a temple, "Where the flowers burn", Sister Semberle of the Adeptus Sororitas came to the world and ordered the building of the Abbey of the Dawn in one of Iocanthos's flint mountain ranges. The Sororitas facility is forbidden to outsiders.

Ref - Ghostfire Pollen
Iocanthos's sole tithe. It is a powerful psychoactive substance used as the base for a considerable number of combat drugs used by the Imperial Guard's penal legions throughout the Segmentum Obscurus.

Past Inquisitorial Involvement
To the average Iocanthan, the Inquisition is merely another half-legendary power from beyond their world, and while there are records of several Inquisitorial missions to Iocanthos in the past, they are all classified beyond your clearance rating. I have reviewed them and judge none to be currently relevant to your mission.

The planet historically registers a slightly higher per capita level of psyker birth, but not significantly so.

The Sisters of the Abbey of the Dawn regularly report any unusual heretical activity to the Conclave. Other than this, the Holy Ordos retain no standing presence on Iocanthos.

The acolytes made their way to the designated meeting point, struggling through the teeming crowds of the hive until they finally reached their destination. It was quite a sight: various flying craft were visible toing and froing from a score of landing pads on the other side of a vast window. Though the pollution partially obscured the view the acolytes could just about make out the blue sky of the outside world; a welcome sight for some. Xerxes simply found his mind closing in on itself in response to the incomprehensible vastness of it. ID cards and a few correct words found themselves directed towards a landing pad upon which an Aquila Lander. Once boarded they found themselves in the company of a man in his mid-30s who responded hastily to their cipher before they'd even spoken it. This, then, would be Mithras.

(A brief reintroduction is in order for the characters, who may be sporting non-combat attire or newly acquired armour, depending on their disposition. Also, welcome Christian C aboard. A full introduction for "Mits" is due as well.)

[NamagomiMk0]

It had been a while. Crisis was half-relieved that he was going to be going through the environment that, arguably, he had spent most of his life in, again. He was, of course, also glad that he was out of the sight of what was likely a hundred or so hidden bugs, planted rather carefully in the hab that he shared with his squadmates. And away from that fop who was searching for his "great great uncle" whoever's leftovers. That bastard was arguably more annoying than Mikolas, and THAT takes effort, usually.

He was doubly glad he had Xerxes hunt down what he asked for, though, despite his apparent state of frothing madness by the time he came back from the first set of shopping trips. If this Ghostfire pollen went airborne easily, or was weaponized as some sort of debilitating gas weapon--the natives were reportedly less than friendly according to the reports. Needless to say, he was more than prepared, in his opinion.


Of course, the others--especially not the new person might not have been prepared for how Crisis looked at this time. While in his typical bodyglove--admittedly in better condition than when he had emerged from the hive's depths--he had many new weapons strapped to him by the varied belts that circled him; alongside his basic sword and knife, he had his trusted rifle, sleek, shining, and metallic as the ship he had served on for years. Also on his back, slung almost perpendicular to that, was his previously-acquired autocarbine, now fitted with a suppressor--perhaps a personal touch that he enjoyed with all the weapons that he could. On his left side, next to where his hand, now covered in an odd, plated glove, rested, was slung a slightly large autopistol--which also happened to be fitted with a suppressor. On the opposite side, however, was what could be simply called a "Big fucking gun." Or in more professional terms, a Stormchild-pattern hand cannon--it looked more like a scaled-up Stub Revolver, but that was beside the point; it was massive for a pistol, to say the least, likely to do a number on whatever poor bastard would manage to warrant him using it. Likewise, were slung no small number of clips of varying sizes, likely belonging to the varied guns.

And yet, there was the fact that you could no longer see his face. Wearing both a gas mask and a basic Flak helmet, the only indicator that there was something human under there was the auburn hair that flowed out under the back of the headgear, down onto his back, and some greyish-toned skin, setting off the idea that he was likely a Voidborn.

Of course, the kit bag that he had taken appeared to have even more things in it, only leaving one question to the new guy: How many weapons did this person--of indeterminable gender, for the count-- HAVE?

[Christian]

Despite having gushed out the words like a man with an uncomfortably hot piece of food in his mouth, Mithras Avelock hardly seemed relieved by the fact that he now stood before his new comrades. Rather, as soon as he'd seen them enter, his hands had been shaking violently, spilling quite a lot of steaming hot coffee on his hands from the plastic mug he was holding in his left hand, the right saluting quickly before falling to his side.

Harrowed was a word that seemed to fit the bill in regards to this Guardsman. His hair had the salt-and-pepper qualities of a man maybe ten, twenty years older than him, and despite his cleanly-shaven face one could almost feel the shade of gray on his lower face. His hair was kept back almost violently in a very short pony-tail, strands of his black hair falling into his face. A lopsided smile shifted cautiously on his face, yet that couldn't hide the almost instinctive suspicion and caution of his deep-set eyes. The lids were hardly ever visible as he scoured the group, the doors, everything. They seemed rarely to focus on one spot more than a second at most, yet between everything he looked, he seemed to force himself to give them a moment of his attention before he once again resumed his attentive watch.

Several small scars adorn his face in a pattern of utter randomness, small scratches with larger ones here and there, yet they seem more the result of hard living than of actual battle. The man was in good physical condition, tall if somewhat thin, yet he hunched, moved in a way that made him seem smaller, non-threatening, much like, if one would excuse the cliché, a rat.

Despite being in the safety of the small shuttle, Mithras wore more or less all of his armor, excluding his helmet and gloves. The armor was of a very recent production series, yet seemed extremely weathered. Much of the green paint was flaked off or in the process of being so yet despite that, it seemed in perfect condition; no holes, ripped straps or missing pieces.

Strapped to his side in a holster definitely not designed for that model was a laspistol, kept in place by what looked like a shoelace and good faith. Lying on a table not far from where he was standing was the main staple of Guardsmen everywhere, the model being a Mars Pattern Mark III. The Lasgun. Next to it was a small cleaning kit and the set-up showed they'd interrupted him in his daily maintenance of his kit. Standing propped against a wall was a shotgun, a reliant-looking thing unaffected by time or wear except for a very small area with neatly written text on it. A handaxe stood next to it, and a backpack, the only thing fresh-looking, stood a bit further away, seemingly stuffed to the brim with things. A very well-worn copy of the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer lay on one of the chairs by the table. It seemed he'd only just arrived himself.

"Mithras Avelock," he said with a dry, crackled voice before taking a swig of the still steaming coffee, "I act under the assumption that you knowing the cypher means we are all in this together. I've scouted out what little there is to do in this shuttle, and there doesn't seem to be bugs, hidden armaments, canisters of gas, explosives or..." his mind seemed to grind for a split-second before, "The Rewards of Tolerance are Treachery and Betrayal."

He paused for a while, then nodded, "I guess that can be applicable to the situation at hand... There's more of this over there" he indicated the mug in his still shaking hand then a beat-up looking machine in the corner of the room.

"If there is nothing else," his eyes darted towards his inventory before returning, somewhat unstable, to the group. He seemed to have repeated this procedure in his mind several times, because as soon as he was done he seemed to sag a little, his posture almost as if he'd been drugged. His eyes and hands, however, never stopped moving.



((OOC - Edits done with, misinterpreted shuttle as a synonym for the ship we're going on.))

[Kelne]

By the time the group had departed their lodgings, the walls of Cryvus's room were covered with seriously crazed scribblings. Perhaps more disturbingly, he'd covered the walls in sheets of parchment ahead of time, in clear expectation of this outcome. It was a reasonable expectation that there was a certain amount of parchment stowed in his bag to keep him occupied over the course of the trip. One could only hope that his own quarters contained enough wallspace that he would confine any scribing urges to their interior.

Though also voidborn, Cryvus was a distinct contrast to Crisis, being an aged and tidily attired man with no visible weapons save for an intricately carved staff. A knowledgeable person might well notice that the coat he wore looked to be made of rather protective materials, but in all, he looked decidedly less dangerous than his colleagues.

"Foreign travel narrows the mind wonderfully," he said, apparently in response to Mithras's own quotation, "Cryvus Valnik."

[Justice Augustus]

He's jumpier than a damn stim-pusher during lockdown, thought Xerxes, eyeballing the new guy with suspicion and practice. Xerxes looked like he had bulked up over the last month, but his new armour was probably to blame for that. Over one shoulder was slung that Emperor of weapons, the combat shotgun. With a small mark on its barrel acknowledging that it was Arbites issue, and the same insignia on the left breast of his armour often visible when his cloak wafted as he walked, it was clear that Xerxes was beginning to flaunt his ties to the peace-keepers of the Imperium. However, in his right hand, he carried his new treasure, his pride and joy. Looking for all the world like a solid anti-riot metal pole, certain buttons on its handle hinted at a more powerful nature.

As he stalks past Mithras he gives the man a long glance, before muttering something under his breath. He then pauses, as if something has caught his mind, and turns to Mithras. "You ever bin shot?"

[Christian]

The armor-clad man seemed surprised to hear Cryvus's quotation, his eyes blinking for once, but then gave a nod to the older man. He seemed set on returning to his maintenance, eyeballing Crisis for only a second, but as Xerxes stalked past him he stopped and turned to the Arbiter, taking in his armor, cloak and armament with analyzing eyes.

"Not once." he replied almost with pride, thumping the chest-plate of his flak armour, "In accordance with Articles 9845/25t and 4733/67y I ensured no damage was inflicted upon neither myself nor my equipment... sir..." he added with some afterthought, in a snap-second biting his upper lip then sucking in just the hint of air.

[Justice Augustus]

"Pity, prior experience is always a benefit in any industry." Xerxes returns to his poker face and turns away, looking at the vessel with well concealed disgust.

[Capntastic]

"Heh, you'll get used to it sure enough." said Mik; the large fellow in the red and black flannel jacket. Through other holes worn into it by time or bullet, and around his cuffs, one could see signs of a greyish yellowish set of flak armor- just about the shade of a very worn book.

His helmet was from the same set, and stood out far more clear- being wrapped in barbed wire. Beneath that tangled mess of gruesome metal was a tangled mane of black hair and beard surrounding the man's face. His eyes were green and fierce, but his grin, chipped and broken, was welcoming and quite jovial.

One could rest easy as Mik when they were clearly as strong as a grox, and decked out with a lasgun (bayonet affixed and done up with more barbed wire), and an immense combat shotgun slung on his back. What's more, his jacket was decorated with frag grenades pinned to the buttonholes. And it wouldn't be at all surprising if he had more weapons in his pockets, or that kit bag he was hauling around. One could rest easy indeed- so long as they weren't on the wrong side of his arsenal.

Glancing side to side, Mik began a leisurely stroll over to this coffee machine he'd heard so much about.

"Might as well fill up, huh!"

[Jak Snide]

The acolytes had a few minutes to help themselves to the recaf before the pilot engaged the internal vox and told them to buckle up, the start of a tech-ritual being vocalised before the vox was cut.. They caught their last sight of Hive Sibellus in all it's gargantuan glory as the shuttle's landing ramp rose and sealed itself. Moments later the engines roared into life and the passengers felt their stomachs lurch downwards. For Crisis and Cryvus this was hardly a new sensation, and Mithras had seen enough combat to be familiar with it. Mikolas and Xerxes were clearly having a far less easy time, the hiver in particular having gone pale.

It took half an hour for them to reach their destination, the latter half involving a gradual loss of the gravity most of them took for granted. A vox message from the pilot urged them to keep seated and strapped in, though the planet born among them looked to be in no mood to experiment with new phenomena. Eventually, though, the shuttle rocked suddenly as it touched down somewhere, and a strange, weak gravity took hold of them. Upon disembarking the group found themselves in a sealed metal room with an armed escort waiting for them. The leader of them, presumably the highest ranking of the ship's security detail, greeted them curtly and commanded them to follow. The voidborn among them had little trouble dealing with weaker than usual gravity, simply having to remember not to put too much string into their step. Mikolas, meanwhile, acquired a new dent in his helmet as he strode beneath a bulkhead.

Minutes later the acolytes found themselves deposited in a large and disheveled looking open plan crew bay filled with at least a hundred cots. A number of suspicious eyes greeted them as they arrived, some of the residents bearing a resemblance to Crisis and his pallid skin. None of them approached or spoke once the security detail had left, save for a single man who scurried forward, bowing repeatedly with his hands pressed together in an overly obsequious fashion. He grinned as he closed with them, his near-stark white face marred by stained teeth.

"Greetings, honoured travelers! I am Sebek the Purser, here to attend to your every need during your stay about our beloved Brazen Sky, may His Light guide her through the void. An area for you to take your rest has been designated and clear over there," he said, pointing to the far, deserted corner of the compartment, "with meals being served thrice daily in the mess hall one deck below. Do not worry, most esteemed guests, I will see that you are escorted there with minimal fuss. Is there anything this humble one might be able to do for you? Questions, perhaps?"

[Christian]

Mithras cast a glance at Xerxes, nervous smile flashing across his face, a nod and then he turned his eyes to Mikolas.

"I'm sure I will," he concluded almost before the man finished speaking, his eyes once more darting to his cleaning set. He had no doubt the large man would find his way around the ancient, but still quite functional machinery, and sat down once more next to the bench, hands already fiddling with the grease and piece of cloth he used to apply it.

Almost immediatly before the voice in the vox-com reported the soon-to-be take-off of the shuttle, Mithras quickly scooped up the remaining things he had lying on the table, put whatever independent items he had into the backpack on the floor, his weaponry already in the kit bag he too had received. Screwdrivers and other minor equipment was gathered together and meticulously, seemingly unfaced by the shaking and roaring of the shuttle heading into space, ordered nto their respective containers with great care and focus. Naturally, this wasn't an easy task, so once he was close to finishing he'd have to fish some of the last things out from the air around him, gravity having already been lost.

While they had been rising, however, Mithras had noticed how Mikolas had been growing paler, and had offered a quick, apologetic and consistently lopsided smile.

As soon as they stepped aboard the ship Mithras seemed to tighten the grip of his backpack and kit bag severely; his eyes once more racing around like mad which they hadn't done for a little while. He jerked into a reactionary salute as the man greeted them, eyes never stopped swiveling in their sockets.

With his helmet on, Mithras seemed to almost meld into the uniform, his distinctive features becoming less so as he became almost just another guardsman. There was an almost tangible feeling of unimportance surrounding him, but perhaps this was simply because of the way he acted and moved.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind the acceleration at all--if he gave any indication that he noticed anything, or if anyone could discern any sort of expression he was giving from under that gas mask. It wasn't exactly something that one could say helped show one's expression, after all...all he did on the way up was primarily affix a glove similar to the other to his grayish, free hand, and take a look at a pamphlet, titled: "The Outsider: Interaction and Comprehending Those From Other Worlds", apparently looking for anything involving Feudal-worlders ...


...of course, that changed once they went aboard the Brazen Sky, where immediately in response to Sebek's introduction, he hastily whipped out his writing kit, frantically scribbling down the following:

'Don't you realize that if you continue talking, That Which Should Not Be will find us up here? I do not wish to deal with Those again!!!'

[Jak Snide]

It seemed that Crisis had caught the overly accommodating Sebek off guard; the man clearly didn't know what to make of the his scribbling, or the scribblings themselves.

"A...thousand apologies, most revered visitor, but I...I can't read." He responded, looking hopefully to the other acolytes for an explanation.

[Christian]

Mits' eyes turned to the hastily scribbled note of Crisis, then to Sebek, to the others and then back to Crisis.

"I wouldn't say that I underatand what..." he gave a low hum while biting into his upper lip for a second or two. He realized the two hadn't introduced himself. He made a quick run-down of the list of names he'd been given, played back the meeting with those who had presented themselves, cross-checked assumptions and facts...

"Crii..sis..." he said slowly, looking for any sign of recognition. "here means by They... but I think he doesn't want you to speak so loud. Something about something that shouldn't be?"

He scratched his chin slowly, looking towards the others, "...is he usually like this?" The question was quietly posed towards Cryvus, the... least... well, one of the slightly less unnerving...

...The oldest one around.

[Kelne]

Cryvus did take the time to glance at the note, "A little on edge?" he asked, "Aren't we all, in our own ways?" All things considered, he was not about to get into a debate as to what would or wouldn't attract the Enemies Beyond. Such talk invoked fear in the listeners, and thoughts. And it was those that would attract them most surely of all.

"We will be fine," he said to the Purser, his tone light and encouraging the man to go on about his duties. It was true, so far as he was concerned. Small the ship might be, and lacking in the multitudes required to crew a ship of war, but it still had the feel of home to him. He was well acquainted with the runnings of ships, and it would take little enough time to adjust to any peculiarities inherent aboard the Brazen Sky.

He gave Crisis a slightly stern look, hoping that his fellow voidborn would take it as a signal that they would 'speak' of this later.

[Capntastic]

Mik just stood resting his head against a bulkhead, tugging at his beard and wishing that he could enjoy this trip. It was like going off of a really great jump on a truck- that clean and pure feeling as you glide through the air like a Leaper. Only it didn't end in that satisfying landing that rumbled your guts. You just kept on sailing with no traction, it felt like.

He grumbled a bit. He clearly regretted filling up on recaf before the trip.

"How long're we gonna be here again?"

[Justice Augustus]

"Too long," hisses Xerxes from between clenched teeth. He wasn't having any trouble with the movement or noises of the craft - after all a hive-quake could be a thousand times worse than this - but there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Somehow, someway he knew that beyond several meters of metals, plastic, and whatever else formed the hull of this craft, there was nothing. And that unnerved him.

Not that it was the prospect of vacuum, or the beasts that could dwell out there, which was frightening. But the prospect, the very idea, that he was not surrounded by billions of other souls and buildings stretching off in every direction, the notion that there could be so much emptiness was...alien. The hiver inside him was not comfortable, but he was determined not to let anyone else know that. So, he determined, he would remain stoic and aloof for the whole journey. Better to be thought of as a misanthrope than a coward.

To this extent, he ignored the developments going on around him, and instead sought somewhere to sit by himself.

[Christian]

Mits gave Xerxes another quick glance. This, he concluded, was the man that was, more or less, his senior officer at the moment. Won't be stepping on his toes then... the man looks...

Suddenly he turned to Sebek and his eyes focused on him for an impressive couple of seconds, "I would need to inspect the ship. Every nook and cranny of it." His backpack was still slung over his shoulder, but his helmet was now held to the side of his torso, hand gripping the lower edges. "I hope there won't be any problems with this?"

[Jak Snide]

Cryvus words seemed like they would have sent Sebek scurrying away if it weren't for Mits' question. He turned back, his expression slightly hardened, though his eyes flickered between the guardsman and Crisis.

"I'm afraid not, most honourable guest. This chamber and the mess hall are free for you to explore, but you must not venture beyond them. I assure you, I can attend to any needs of yours that might arise. Until such a time, though, I shall take my leave. Good...day to you, sirs."

The Pursur turned and walked away, heading towards the bulkhead the acolytes had entered through, leaving them with the gentle vibrations of their surroundings and the suspicions of a few score of the crew.

---

The journey through the void stretched on for weeks, much to the disdain of Mikolas and Xerxes. As the Brazen Sky picked up speed the ambient noise grew, joined by a dull, pulsating thrumming a day after departure. Crisis and Cryvus knew this sound well and were glad for it's presence; the ship had dipped into the Warp and it's Gellar Field had activated, keeping the myriad of unnatural horrors that lay beyond at bay.

Any needs the acolytes had were tended to swiftly by Sebek. The man was good to his word, though he seemed to disdain their company, only showing some degree of real hospitality to Cryvus. The rest of the crew kept their distance, suspicious glances from across the crew compartment being the bread and butter of their days, though keeping time aboard proved troublesome for those unaccustomed to space travel. Xerxes thanked the Emperor of his chrono, the small timekeeping device keeping both his schedule and sanity intact, to an extent. The boredom did much to work against that, as all five of them were restricted to the mess hall and their own little corner of the crew bay, men and women of the security detail stopping any attempts to venture beyond these areas.

That all changed one day.

---

It was mid-morning by Xerxes' keeping when Sebek arrived. He looked different, his fawning mannerisms replaced with a look of genuine concern. He made his way towards the group with great haste, bowing once as he closed the distance.

"Honoured guests, you are men of mettle, yes? Please, we need your help with...with something." His voice was strained, and the words ran from his mouth with unusual pace.

[Christian]

Mits was used to waiting and doing nothing; in fact, it was one of the things he quite excelled at... He did not take too well to being restricted in his movement, and had spent most of the passing weeks fevereshly reading, re-reading and re-re-reading the small, battered book labeled "The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer". Those who observed saw that even when deeply immersed in reading, the jumpy Guardsmans eyes kept flicking towards any motion or sound, his fingers gripping the back of the booklet with an almost reverant tenderness and his mouth wording every line carefully.

When he wasn't reading the Primer, he cared for his equipment. When he wasn't doing that, he slept. In short, he wasn't much of a conversationalist, 'though that could probably apply to a lot of them. He did, however, speak quite a lot. Just not... to anyone. He whispered prayers whenever he performed maintenance, he recited parts in the Primer... it was a wonder he didn't start talking to himself. The man's whisper, for it was usually nothing more than that, only ceased when he slept. Which he did in complete and utter silence.

Then came the day when Sebek came to them. Mits looked up from the daily inspection of his armor, for once wearing his uniform instead of it. He seemed a lot more scrawny without it on and the clothing ill fitted him.

"Mettle...?" he pondered, the cleaning rag dropping from his mouth (another of his slightly disturbing habits was how he used his mouth as another hand whenever he did something that would require two. The other one, generally his left, seemed to do nothing at the time, except fiddle with the shoestring that held his laspistol in place).

The words sunk in as he glanced towards the others, specifically Xerxes. Six months of Basic Training made sure that whenever a Soldier had to make a decision, first he looked to the man in charge... And at the moment, to him, that was Xerxes.

[Kelne]

"What manner of 'something'?" Cryvus asked, already checking the charge on his laspistol. There were a great many possibilities of 'somethings' aboard a ship traversing the warp, a substantial proportion of them ruinous in the extreme.

Still, they were all still alive, so, with the Emperor's Grace, it was presumably one of the less extreme alternatives.

[Jak Snide]

Sebek looked warily in Crisis' direction before answering the elderly man.

"I...I'm not sure, revered one. I only know what the Most Honourable Captain has told me." He paused, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the crew who called bay home. Some watched the purser with interest, but they all kept their distance. Sebek lowered his voice. "I was informed that the watch in hold B-2 did not report in at the second mark of this cycle. The Captain, in his boundless wisdom, dispatched Sergeant Bronson and her detail to investigate, but he has not heard from here in over a mark. He has....asked me to request your aid."

[Capntastic]

Mik barely glanced away from the bulkhead.

"How far away is that?"