Dark Heresy - Only in Death does Duty End

[Christian]

Hive Sibellus.

The largest, and oldest, city on the planet Scintilla, crown of the Calixis Sector and home to, amongst others, the Sector Governor Marius Hax. It is a city of extremes, where life is cheap and death more so and where for the right price, anything can be bought or sold. From the glorious Spires where the rich spend their lives oblivious to the squalor of those below them to the teeming underhive, rife with daily horrors, Sibellus is a city of contrasts, and of glory. For many, this will be their home from birth to death, for others, it is nothing but a pinprick of the grand Empire of Man, one amongst a million. For others still, it is a place of untold potential where any man can rise to infamy one day only to fall into oblivion the other.

For weeks this has been your refuge, your home, and your prison. From the moment the shuttle deposited you on the lifeless shell of Scintilla, you knew that the only way off would come whenever the Inquisition willed it. It is by their will that you are here, and trying to flee would be a pointless and wasted offer. None can stand before the Inquisition, and none can escape their constant vigilance. Of this you where told throughout your life, sometimes jokingly, sometimes with grim warning, but it was not before the blind men that you knew just how true it was.

Eyes sewn shut, these nameless scribes and orators told you things you can never forget, taught you the signs, the codes that would turn the base proclamation-feed into a cyphered warning, the ways of your new life. You had little choice in the matter, as the Wordless men who guarded you during this, all of them with mouths threaded and closed, watched you closely.

But then it was over, and you were let free to wander the Scintillan planet, given a meager allowance and the merest word of warning, "only in death does duty end". A phrase that encompasses the rest of your lives. Left to your own device, you have made due with what you have been given, and although nigh-on a month has passed without words, you have become certain that the signs are there. Half-read codes swivel past on neon-signs, gone before you can even try to interpret their meaning, watchers stalking your every move, visible only in the corner of your mind's eye. You have not been let loose, you are being tested.

Then, without warning, a message. Scribelled on the scalp of a servitor with no business concerning you, it is only through difficulties you perceive its meaning. It is an adress in the lower Hives, a secluded but none the less dangerous neighbourhood (if one can call it that). Arriving there, even with instructions, prove to be a chore, for many a segments of the enormous city remain in fluctuation, and what was a busy road one day may be a gaping hole kilometers deep the next. Interestingly, however, the closer you come to the adress, the less people you can perceive, and although the lower hives are always busy with people, this secluded region remain... untouched.

At arriving at your destination, you find yourself standing before the ruins of a great mansion. Once a mighty palace of a lord or merchant during the heydays of Sibellus, it has now lost much of the splendor it once had. The upper floors seem to have caved in, the next strata of the city growing atop it, and the courtyard is arid and lifeless, strewn with broken furniture and the wastes of human life. The massive oak-doors that serve as the entrance into the building are closed, ageless as the city itself, they could have been put in yesterday or a thousand years ago, the darkened wood oppressive. Windows are barred, shards of glass embedded in the soil underneath them, and of the wall enclosing the courtyard little remains, the brickwork carried away long ago to serve some other purpose.

There is no sign of life or motion outside, but you are sure this is the adress you were given, and a rope strung to a brass bell outside the door indicate that at least the house may be occupied. Still, this squalor is far from how you perceived a member of the Inquisition would live, let alone frequent.

What do you do?

(Alright, make a post introducing yourselves and we'll get this boulder rolling

[Jak Snide]

Anywhere else in the hive and Cristan would have blended right in. There were billions like him, after all. Fair skinned, black hair cut short, garbed in simple grey clothing. A tunic, trousers and a sturdy pair of shoes. His monotone appearance let him lose himself as easily amidst the teeming masses of Sibellus as it had on his own less populated world. It was as he wished. Only when he willed it to be so would he be acknowledged, known for his skill, his works and his immense intellect. At all other times he'd be ignored, just another quill-pushing dullard at the start of his third decade of life. He liked it that way.

Now he was entirely alone and out in the open. The area was deserted. Deserted, in the capitol city of the capitol world of the sector. It was madness. More importantly, it was dangerous. His fingers quivered, betraying his nerves, as one hand crept towards the weapon his side as it had many times during the journey downhive. He willed himself to stop. He'd been summoned here by his masters and he'd greet them with composure. Or at least he assumed that was the purpose of the cryptic missive, he reminded himself.

He walked towards the door and reached out to ring the bell, doing his best to appear undaunted while listening carefully for any hint of danger.

[FlamingDeth]

At the entrance of the courtyard, Mae stopped for a moment, observing the fellow at the door. He seemed somewhat jumpy, and while such would be natural for most of the denizens of this wretched slum, it was hardly befitting of one who served His Holiness through the Inquisition. Still, given how readily he was reaching for his weapon, it would likely be better not to startle him. She began her approach, making sure to plant her boots firmly on the cracked, degrading stone of the courtyard's path, footsteps heralding her approach behind Cristan.

Mae stopped a couple meters behind the man. Should he turn, he would see a rather tall woman standing over him. Her skeletal frame was covered by loosely draping ecclesiarchial robes, with no hair to cover the stark whites and grays of the skin of her head. She did not blend in to a crowd nearly as well as Cristan did, nor did she attempt to do so. She stood wordlessly behind him, looking past him towards the doors.

[Jak Snide]

Cristan spun about when he heard the first of the footfalls, hand on his weapon until he noticed the woman's attire. He studied her for a moment before asking "Shouldn't your eyes be sewn up, or did you get a scalp-based invitation as well?" in a drawled accent.

[Christian]

Cristan was indeed correct in his conclusion, an empty sector of a Hive city, any hive city, could herald countless events, few of them good. But for now the deserted streets remained as such, a dry, out-of-place breeze shifting through the many nooks and crannies of countless of generations lived.

The tall, hairless woman had no time to answer the drawled question, for as soon as the words had left the lips of the inconspicious man the door slid noiselessly back into the building, a gaunt, haunted-looking young man standing in the open doorway, an ancient-looking candelabrum clutched in his bony fist, four wax-candles dribbling slowly under the heat of the flames lit.

For a while he stood there, saucer-like eyes observing them both before he turned, beckoning with his free hand for them to follow. As he turned his head, the two could see, quite clearly, how what had once been the man's ears were now so thoroughly sewn together that it was doubtful if they would ever return to their true shape. "The master awaits your arrival," he said with a voice of flowing honey, his voice sweet and light as if to compensate for his lack of hearing and his tortured outside. "If you would follow me, please..."

[Jak Snide]

A smirk crept onto the man's face as he noticed the ears of the one who'd greeted them. He flicked a finger towards the doorway.

"After you, lady."

[FlamingDeth]

A smirk crept onto Mae's face as she wordlessly strode past the man, following behind the servant.

[Christian]

The servant seemed oblivious to their smiles and simply led them into the foyer that made up the first room of the mansion. Although much of its former glory had been lost, it was clear that whoever had inhabited the place before had not saved any expenses. Beautifully crafted statuettes stood in recesses in the walls, depicting cherubs and other angelic beings, holding candles that shone with a faint brightness that put a much-needed warmth to the grey and aged room.

It was amazing that the place had not been cleared out, or, if it had, its new owner had gone to great pains to redecorate in a style that was far from the exaggerated splendor of the nobles of the Spires.

Although there were racks and shelves to store everything from shoes to hats, the servant didn't pause to let them leave anything, but rather continued on through another set of doors, lighting the way for the two. On the other side was another large room, serving as the secondary foyer with twin stairways going up to the second, demolished floor. Expensive and thick carpets covered the steps and seemed stuck under the debris that had fallen once the floor had collapsed. The deaf man led them through a side-door into a hallway, surprisingly narrow and lined with various stuffed critters, skeletons of all manners and bookshelves with thick tomes, titles written in the language of High Gothic.

Finally they reached a ratty, almost shabby looking door barely tall enough to allow them passage with straight backs, and the servant stepped to its side, giving the two a eerie smile. "The master will see you now," he mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. He held out his free hand to indicate the door, maintaining his composure even as fat droplets of hot wax dribbled down the hand holding the candelabrum.

[Jak Snide]

He watched the woman pass by, noting her expression with slight amusement, then followed. He paid a great deal of attention to his surroundings, glancing around and scrutinising whatever he saw. When they reached the taxidermies, however, his attention was entirely fixed upon them. It was only when he noticed the language printed along the spines of the accompanying tomes that he snorted in annoyance and picked up the pace.

He gave the servant a curt nod and moved into the room beyond the door with a palpable eagerness.

[Christian]

The sound of a strange, choppy voice reached the ears of the two as Cristan pushed open the door, accompanied by a strange scent of dry sand, arid as if a desert. The tongue was unfamiliar to them and it ended abruptly, cut off mid-sound, and a sharp, but exhausted-sounding voice from inside said "You may step in." The scent too, seemed to fade, but its quick disappearance made one doubt it had even been there to begin with.

Inside was what looked like a conference table, lines of chairs on either side of a long board with panels at every seat, the design archaic but functional, a holo-projector centered in the table and the soft glowing lights of the projector-lights indicating that it was active but not set to display anything at the moment. A soft hum from speakers on the side of the holo-pit indicated that the sound they had heard had come from this source, but nothing remained to indicate what it may have been.

The rest of the room was literally covered from top to bottom in shelves, books of far older appearance, in a variety of sizes and color, sat on the bent shelves, everything looking remarkably ancient. These books, unlike those in the corridor, were unmarked except for a faint, red rune on the back of each volume, visible only faintly in the dim light of the candles put in groves between the shelves and a few standing on the table. A thick, crimson carpet covered the floor, patterns in the dust showing that the occupant of the seat at the end of the table had only been here a few times, only one or two sets of tracks leading up to the shelves.

The man himself, presumably the owner of this strange mansion, sat with his thin, almost spider-like fingers folded in front of him, raised under his prominent nose with his brow knit tight as if in deep thought. A thick, long moustache hung down from either side of his lips, silver-grey mixed with the deepest black. Wrinkles and line dashed across his face, signs of age intermingled with scars long since healed. A pair of piercing, deep-set grey eyes appraised the two without blinking. Folds upon folds of thick cloth seemed to cover the spindly body of the man, almost swallowing him into its depth, as black as the night.

"Sit." he said, lips barely moving yet his voice carrying over the room. "The Inquisition has need of you now."

(Alright, sorry for skipping ahead of FDs post, but I wanted to get this thrown up as soon as possible. Next post will have to wait as I do not have access to my notes at work.)

[Jak Snide]

Cristan fanned one hand across his chest and bowed his head before seating himself. It was a gesture he'd become used to performing ever since he'd left his home world.

[FlamingDeth]

Mae walked slowly down the length of the table, examining the shelves along the way. It was curious, the language of these books. She idly wondered as to their origins, though it was hardly relevant at the moment. At the old man's bidding, she nodded and took a place about in the middle of the table.

[Christian]

The man nodded in acknowledgement of Cristan's show of respect, but paid Mae's lack of it no attention, his hands clasping together under his nose and remaining folded on the table, revealing a thin, humorless mouth and a clean-shaven face.

"I am Inquisitor Wyrwa," the man said as abruptly as if someone suddenly activated a speaker, his voice free of the tired drawl that had haunted it before. "That is, for the moment, all you will need to know about me. In time, shall your worth be deemed high enough for me to take personal interest in you, then I shall see fit to inform you more. Until then, you are Mae Odelia and Crisan Vorel, servants under me and me alone." he gave each of them a piercing glare, "You answer to no one else and will die rather than betray me. Through me you serve the Emperor and His divine will, and nothing is of greater importance." he paused once more and stared at them with unblinking eyes. "It is a duty I do not expect you to find enjoyable or easy, but it is only through the scorching fires that steel will be purged of its flaws."

He let the words sink in, then a sudden smile flashed across his face, the ghost of it lingering long after the brief expression had passed. It was the grin of a predator, of a creature revealing itself to its prey because it was completely in control of the situation. It was the cold grin of inevitability. Then a sudden twitch as his left hand raised, held at chest height it swivelled in place, and the lenses of the holo-projector hummed to life once more, revealing the slightly distorted image of a planet, the image of too low resolution to make out more than three continents and a body of water separating them.

"Khorz III," he said and swivelled his hand once more, "its system," the image panned out to reveal four more astral bodies circling a star, "and the Calixis Sector." he clutched into the air, and the image zoomed out completely to show the Sector in all its glory, a silent testament to the Will and Dominance of Man. "I am certain you have heard of the plights that has haunted Khorz III in its past, the Proclamators made a rather significant point of spreading the word." he chuckled dryly, as if the suffering of billions of people was to him a private joke. But there was no smile on his face.

"What you do not know is that two weeks ago, Khorz III proclaimed independece of the Imperium of Man," the word could have been the foulest curse imaginable. "Any attempts to contact them through the normal channels have merely shown that they are unwilling to bend under the reign of His most glorious." he stood suddenly, long robes draping around him, a dry shuffle betraying movement as he motioned in the air once more, drawing up the picture of Khorz III. He stepped up to it, passing Mae and reached out, hand stretched out towards the small, gently spinning orb. "In better times, we may have room for doubt, but the Imperium of Man is beset on all sides by the jealous and insidious threats of the Galaxy." his face twisted into a look of disgust as he imitated the motion of crushing the planet with his hand, disrupting the projection. The act would have seemed almost childish, playful, but there was naught but anger in the man's eyes.

"Some may question your right to destroy ten billion people." he muttered, walking back to his chair once more, "those who understand know that you have no right to let them live. Death is the only punishment of traitors and heretics," his eyes fell upon the two again, suddenly calm, "but that is a task far out of your abilities. It is left to others, more trusted." he folded his hands once more, index finger of his left hand suddenly extending and waving, the image of a man appearing where the planet once was.

"This is Colonel Ibrahim Alabaster. He is in command of the primary artillery forces of the former PDF of Khorz III and overall a man of very little importance to the war-effort of the Khorzian Liberation Army." he spat out the name, "but he is of some use to us. He is in possession of information that will severely weaken the Khorzians and leave us in a position of great advantage. It is therefore of some interest to the Imperium that Colonel Alabaster is retrieved from the fortified bunker complex serving as his field headquarters and brought to the hands of General Drane, commander of the 39th Army and the one set to bring Khorz III to its knees, dead or alive." he motioned again and the much-familiar face of the general flashed briefly past, before a map of the planet appeared.

"The primary staging area of the 39th Army will be on the small moon of Khorz V, the outermost planet of the system. It once served as an observation outpost until the colonization of Khorz III, and has since fallen into disuse. The 39th, however, are more than capable of readjusting it to fit their needs. Therefore, the very first step of your undertaking will be to link up with the 39th Army, at Khorz V or before, and there receive further orders from the staff of General Drane." he gave them both a stern look before continuing, "Drane knows Khorz III intimately, and will know the locations of the Colonel. He will aid you, but he is also the only man there who knows who you truly are. To everyone else, you are merely specialists of the Imperial Guard, what manner I leave for your own creativity or preferences to settle on."

"I am well aware of your... backgrounds, and I know of your capabilities in martial matters. It is therefore imperative that you do not undertake this mission alone, nor as one where force will be victorious. I will not advice you on strategic details, for such a thing is fickle and in constant flux, but I warn you that you will be alone, and should you fail in your mission you will be left to the mercy of Khorz III, and it is something I believe they have in very short supply."

"Before we continue, I want you to voice any matters of concern," he leaned back the slightest in his chair, eyes half-closed, "shall I find any merit in them, I shall answer."


(Hooray! Was at work, said 'fuck it' and started writing. Much better than this (I'm only awake right now 'cause of a headache), but I accidently wiped it clean from the browser.)

[Jak Snide]

Cristan's mouth had gone slack at the mention of Khorz III's declaration of independence, but he'd remained silent until the Inquisitor had bade them to voice their thoughts.

"Sir, lore speaks of several worlds that have tried to break away from the Imperium. They fall into two categories; the fatally foolish and the very well prepared. Either the people of Khorz have been neglected to such an extent that they have been driven to planet-wide dissent," he paused, smiling as he shook his head, "while still recovering from a war with the orkoids or they have some gambit up their sleeve. Clearly they are no match for the 39th or the Battlefleet Calixis, nor could they be ignorant to the consequences of their declaration. There may be sympathisers in nearby systems who would come to their aid, and by my reckoning such types may not be human in nature. They may be seeking an armed response so that they might bring a secret weapon or ally to bear in a show of force."

[Christian]

Wyrwa gave Cristan a long, appraising look and then nodded to himself. "It is considerable," he muses, drawing a slender finger slowly down his cheek to his chin, repeating the procedure as he talks, "certainly within the realm of likely, as is the machinations of the servants of the Warp." he chuckled again, as if he regretting letting this little piece of information loose, "it would not be the first time an entire planet would serve as sacrifice to one of their dark gods." he looks again at Cristan and nods, "your arguments carry merit. But do not believe that the Imperium is so naive that this was not considered a possibility when the 39th was given its order. They are our elite, and if the Xenos desires to sow discord amongst us, they will find that we distinguish not the Xenos and those foolish enough to ally themselves with them." He drew a deep breath before he put an end to their discussion, "Whatsoever be the case, unless your mission is compromised by the presence of outside interlopers, whoever they may be, you are to remain uninvolved with the main conflict."

He clapped his left hand against the edge of the table and suddenly a man stepped out from the shadows, as if appearing from nowhere. He stood behind the Inquisitor, silent and impossibly big, nearly two metres tall and exceptionally well-built, arms and chest clearly visible despite the simple cloak draped around him. His head was shaven cleanly and his eyes were a shade of milky-blue, although the dim light made it hard to distinguish any other details... except... the man's mouth was sewn closed.

"Assuming you have nothing else to add," he looked at Mae and then folded his fingers again, "this man will accompany you as a means to ensure that no ill fate befall you unnecessarily on your travels. He will be known as Aator, and it is his duty to protect your lives until I see fit to relieve him of his duty." The man behind Wyrwa bowed deeply. "He is not a manservant, and shall be treated as your equal, unless the situation demands otherwise. He will know when such an occurence comes to be."

Reaching into his robes the inquisitor pulled out a thin envelope made on unbleached paper, a sigil-less wax-seal closing it. "This shall not be opened unless it is proven impossible to retrieve Colonel Alabaster. It shall be opened in his presence, but upon doing so you admit to having failed at your task. I will know." he handed the envelope to Aator and then stood up, looking at them with utmost sincerity on his face. "Again, I cannot stress the importance of this undertaking. Your lives are expendable if it means achieving this goal. However, I shall not condone of foolhardy bravery, you are a shadow, coming and passing without notice."

"Now go. There is a man who awaits you in the Bholor district at the Pleasure stalls of the Convention of Roses by the name of Granald Voorhees. He will prepare transportation for you to Khorz V."

[FlamingDeth]

Silently and intently listening through the briefing, Mae burned the names and locations mentioned into her mind. While there was no doubt that this heresy would be crushed, retrieving this Alabaster would likely expedite the process of dispensing the Emperor's wrath. Once the command was given, Mae rose.

"As you wish, milord." she said, nodding once more to the inquisitor before turning towards the door.

[Jak Snide]

Cristan fought to keep a straight face as the sewn-mouthed man stepped forward. When the Inquisitor dismissed them he simply bowed his head, Mae's words mimicking the sentiments he wished to express.

[Christian]

Wyrwa nodded silently and then motioned once more with his hand, the holographic image replaced with scribbles and scrawls of undefinable kind, the image showing some kind of mural, or parchment. He began to once again trace his forefinger along his face, apparantly no longer even aware of the presence of the acolytes.

Aator, however, immediately walked with a brisk pace across the room, his thick robes billowing behind him as he came up to the two.

He was even more intimidating up close, and his shaded eyes lingered upon the two before he opened the door and motioned for them to pass through. The hallways were now empty of life, the only company stuffed beasts from a plethora of worlds, and the silent man who was to lay down his life for them. He seemed unfazed by the declaration, clearly he had been informed earlier of his task, and walked the acolytes to the outside door where he grabbed a rucksack of worn material, clearly of Imperial Guard origin. A plethora of everything from cantines branded with the Imperial Aquila to a spade and even a pair of grenades dangled from the many buckles and straps, and a lasgun hung on the side, three cartridges behind the unloaded weapon.

Aside from this pack, Aator seemed to carry no things to indicate a former life in the guard, but as he did not speak for himself one could only guess.

Mae:

Spoiler:

You do not know how to get to this Convention of Roses, even less so the Bholor Districts,

Cristan:

Spoiler:

The Bholor district is hardly known for being a wholesome, pious place in Sibellus. You do not know of the Convention of Roses exactly, but you're fairly certain you know how to find your way.

[FlamingDeth]

As the acolytes made their way back towards the courtyard and consequently the towering spires of the city, Mae turned to Cristan.

"I am...largely unfamiliar with the less reputable areas of this hive." she said to him, betraying her unfamiliarity with larger cities. "By chance, would you be capable of navigating the way to this Convention of Roses?"

[Jak Snide]

"Don't know the place itself, but I'll manage. Might want to adjust your attire though, sister. Bholor ain't known for being the most respectable of places, nor the most pious. Besides, it'd be a one strange sight for a fine, upstanding servant of He Who Must Be Obeyed to be soliciting the services of a joyboy....well, openly at least."

"Now, since it's my turn to be getting all inquisitive and such, how did a respectable sort like yourself end up in need of forging in the scorching fires of purification?"

[FlamingDeth]

"Most likely true..." Mae nodded, briefly glancing down at her robes, and taking the opportunity to brush off Cristan's question. "I expect we'll both need to make a brief stop at our respective temporary residences anyways, to pick up the remainder of our gear."

[Jak Snide]

Cristan waited to see if a reply to his question was forthcoming. When it became apparent than it wasn't he simply shrugged. "Alright then, Mae. We'll meet at the Bholor rail station in a few hours." He gave her the directions, most of the journey being by macrorail. "The big guy there can keep you company. Seeya round."

[FlamingDeth]

Giving one last nod to Cristan as he departed, Mae returned to her abode, to switch into less conspicuous attire -- in this case simple, loose-fitting cargo trousers, long sleeved shirt, and long jacket, mostly grey and olive coloured. She packed up her remaining gear into her backpack, made sure she had her revolver secure in a shoulder holster under the jacket, and casually slung her shotgun over her shoulder. All that remained was to make her way to the train station to await her comrade -- she would be be notably early, but that wasn't particularly important, as someone waiting at a train station was hardly an odd sight.

[Christian]

The inter-hive macro-railway system was a complex method of transportations, a near-endless amount of stations, security levels and variations in transportations making newcomers to the city understandably ill at ease. Naturally, any high-born spire-folk would rather be caught dead than going mass-transit, but there were several independent contractors with the complex beureacracy of Sibellus to allow transportations within any budget. Stations ranged from mere platforms in the middle of slums, kept separated by electrical fences or barbed wires, while others were inside aged and beautifully constructed buildings of all kind. Still others were in tunnels, but as the Hive had grown the walls had been dug out and now only thin sheets of metal shielded the rails from those living on the other side.

Mae's path doesn't exactly bring her through the most pleasant parts of the macrorail and she finds that she has to make a whole three transfers before she finally reaches her destination, all of these within some of the seedier parts of the Hive. As Cristan's words hadn't exactly been right (Aator did follow Mae for a while but split with her just a short distance from her living-quarters, saying nothing), she found herself travelling in uncomfortable packed, non-ventilated tin-cans with some of the worst scum the hive has to offer. Arriving finally at her destination, she couldn't help but feel that the adept has consciously decided on the very worst place to meet.

Aator reappeared, however, once more at the train-station some time after Mae. He was no longer dressed in the robes from the mansion, but rather in a pair of nondescript black trousers, a quilted and sleeveless darkbrown coat roaching down to his knees with a dark-leather belt strapped around his waist, the full holster of a laspistol clipped to it. Underneath the coat he wore a shirt of fairly fine, dark-red cloth with wide arms coming to close sharply around his wrists were they went in under a pair of black leather gloves. The backpack remained swung across his shoulder and the mute man greeted the priestess with a simple nod as he saw her. He was perhaps even more impressive without the robes, standing almost a head over everyone else.

[Jak Snide]

Cristan arrived wearing exactly the same clothes he'd been wearing a few hours ago. Nor was he carrying anything else; a small backpack slung across one shoulder contained all that he needed, save for pistol holstered at his hip. When he found Mae and Aator he smiled genially.

"Well, don't you two look like a couple of the right people. I'm feeling all out of place. Well, let's get to this assemblage of whores so we can find the fine gentleman who has been picked out to see us on our way."

Cristan, a better lead having yet to present itself, looked around for a tout. In his experience this there was always someone in an area like this who'd clued up to the fact that he could sell local knowledge for a coin or two.

[FlamingDeth]

Mae nodded to Cristan.

"Lead the way."

[Christian]

(Can't sleep, cold's back with a vengeance (possible flu), let's get this party started)

Whatever response Cristan was hoping for clearly wasn't coming, so the adept set to finding himself a guide. Now, that wasn't difficult at least. Every now and then in the bustling Hive there would be a servitor designed specifically for the job of guiding people to where they needed to go. A mental uplink with the latest situational maps, an uneery ability to piece together relevant information from overheard discussions, all made for a very knowledgeable, brainwashed human-tool.

This particular tout was no different, and although woman once, most of its body had been replaced with crude, genderless robotics and mech-replacements, to the point where only a starved quarter of a torso and the lower face and neck was the only recognizable human part.

"Ten streets down, then right, walk two hundred meters, turn left again, you have arrived." said the distinctively metallic voice of the servitor, its larynx, possibly even its lungs, replaced.

The tout was very much correct, and although ten streets had sounded quite a bit, it'd proven a quick walk and soon they found themselves upon the doorsteps of The Convention of Roses, a gaudy looking place, its front-entrance painted in a rose-pink nuance, flowing drapes of deep red covering the walls and the windows. A neon-sign, fairly artful in design, read out the name of the establishment and lit up an artistic rendition of a blooming rose.

At the entrance stood two surly looking brutes, clearly the muscle, as well as another servitor, man judging from the cranial shape (there was painfully little left of his flesh), that seemed busy logging the names and faces of those passing through the set of twin-doors leading into the facility. There wasn't much of a line to speak of, but the guards seemed to eyeball the trio a fair bit more than the usual.

[Jak Snide]

Cristan walked up to the trio (or joined the queue, if there was one). He offered them his name and other details, such as Aator's name, if prompted. He'd decided save any questions concerning Voorhees for when they were inside; he doubted that the doormen were in the habit of handing out information.

[Christian]

The queue moved along slowly, but thankfully only a handful of people were in front of the acolytes in line, and soon enough the pair before them, a man and woman looking somewhat influenced, stepped through the doors, and the guards turned their full attention to Cristan, Mae and Aator.

"Please state your name and turn your face towards the servitor," one of them, a set-jawed, brutish kind of man said, the words learned more by route than anything. Set into the head of the servitor was a pictographic lens, most likely just recording the faces of those who entered as an added safety measures, cooperations with local arbites forces generally was the way to go when running any form of establishment.

Having had their photos taken, the trio is let in once a couple of other clients leave, and the sight that faces them is... exquisite, to say the least.

The walls, just like the outside, of the main hall are draped in thick and expensive cloth, a cloud of perfumes and smoke enveloped them as they stepped inside. Looking almost like a hotel reception, the place would've seemed like a luxurious locale where it not for the plethora of gaudily designed statues, leaving little to imagination, and the people sitting or lying down on couches and soft chairs, chatting, drinking or conducting a wide variety of personal activities. At the main counter, which also served as an impressive bardisk, two tenders and several smaller servitors bustled with orders of drinks, a ledger on the oaken bar thrown open with an ink-quil besides.

Several doors lead out to other locales, the ecstatic shapes of men and women dancing barely discernable behind a see-through plastisteel door, and more lounging areas elsewhere. There was a faint whiff of obscura in the air, and although at a glance most people seemed to enjoy themselves, there was the slightest hint of desperation in this establishment, as if people tried to drown out their woes with vice.

One of the bartenders, a voluptous and completely undressed woman (aside from a few electoos) in her early twenties put her elbows on the bar, nodding to them and giving them both a sultry smile. "Anything I can help you with, fishes?" she spoke in a whispery tone, platina-blond hair intermingled with plastic locks of grey and red, deeply yellow eyes looking at them. Lenses or not, they were disconcerting, slit pupils staring at them. "Or do you simply need a room for... the night?" she smiled before leaning back, with swift motion unhooking two glasses from underneath the bar, throwing them into the air and catching them behind her as she began to look over the spirits at offer. "Something to get the juices flowing, I suspect?"

[Jak Snide]

Cristan did his best to hide a sneer as he took in his surroundings. That such opulence was available to the common man seemed like a calculated insult against his own impoverished homeworld. At least there didn't seem to be manufactorum workers milling about. The sight of the bartender, however, banished his foul mood.

"Sure, though I'm afraid there'll be no juices flowing tonight. Two of the Camilla eight-eleven, would you kindly. Anyhow, our presence here is strictly business related. Is there a Mr Voorhees about?"

[Christian]

Without missing a beat the woman plucked down a flask of the Camilla eight-eleven, a run-of-the-mill amasec extract that still had a substance of refineness that was appreciated amongst those who, while lacking the funds, certainly felt good adding some luxury to their lives. The woman poured up a glass of each, the amber liquid sloshing briefly before settling, the woman turning back to the trio and placing a silver-tray on the bar with the drinks on them.

"Voorhees? You're in luck, he hasn't been here for ages, but just an hour ago he drops by and says he's taking the VIP room," she points up to the staircase, the armed guards standing on line all the way up being less than subtle, "got a whole party with him." She smiles sweetly and draws her finger down her cheek, letting it rest on her cheek, eerily copying the same movements made by Wyrwa. "He's going to have to agree to meet with you, but if you're friends that won't be a problem." She shoots a glance at Mae and Aator, her smile widening a bit, "Do come by later," she purrs, finger continuing to trail down her neck, "my shift ends in two hours..."

For a few moments she stares at them and then chuckles to herself. Then she's gone, mixing drinks for another customer.

[Jak Snide]

Cristan gave the woman a nod and a smile as she left, collecting the drinks and handing one to Mae.

"Shall we head on up?"

[ChristianC]

(Okay, FD, I'm going to go ahead and continue this. would you mind contacting me ASAP when you have the time?)

The priestess seemed somewhat preoccupied by the... establishment, but took the drink handed to her with a silent nod. Aator merely watched passively, eyeing the guards at the stairwell. Following Cristan, the silent voidborn and the mute warrior seem to rely on the adept to lead them.

When they approach the stairs, one of the guards unfolds his arms and puts up a hand, "Only VIP up here, and you didn't register on the list when you came in here."

[Jak Snide]

"We're here to see Mr Voorhees. He's expecting us," Cristan drew a finger down his cheek, mimicking the gesture the woman had made a moment ago, "and he'd be most distressed if our arrival was delayed."

[ChristianC]

The guard cast the three a doubtful glance and shrugged, turning back to another of the guardsmen and snorted, "Well, if it would distress Mr. Voorhees" he chuckled, and the other guard blinked once or twice before catching on, guffawing, although probably not getting the joke. "I'll let him know your here." The large man turned to an inter-vox unit embedded into the rails of the stairs and turned a knob, a flicker of whistling static soon replaced with a voice.

"Yes?" The voice on the other end replied with a static tone. "What is it?"

"Tell mr. Voorhees there's a threesome here who thinks he's waiting for them." The man grinned wickedly at Cristan, Mae and Aator while waiting for a reply. There was the sound of muffled voices until the voice clears up again.

"What do they want?" The voice seemed irritated, and by now the static was beginning to clear up... or maybe the thump in the background had always been there.

"Won't say, 'though they think mr. Voorhees'll be distressed if they don't get to meet him."

"...Very well." the vox buzzed twice, as if someone was fiddling with the dials. "Send them in."

The guard chuckle and turned to Cristan, leaning in. "Good luck, Slims. Seems mr. Voorhees's in a good mood tonight. Go on." he steps aside and the broad staircase is now open for them.

[Jak Snide]

After flashing an entirely false smile and performing an overly elaborate bow, Cristan sauntered up the stairs towards the VIP room.

[ChristianC]

The guards let the trio pass them by, and on the upper floor a similarly dressed man waved for their attention. The uniform of the guards of the place seemed to comprise of primarily leather, with pieces of flak strapped to their forearms, hardly good for defense, but definitely an advantage when knocking out troublemakers, the occasional electro-piercings sending sparks of harmless, but noticeable flashes of electric discharge into the air ever so often. Approaching the man, the three passed a few doors with matted glass-windows, loud music erupting from a few, with uneery silence emitting from others, vaguely perceived motion of forms inside, but the muted glass permitted no further details.

Reaching the indicated room the guard nodded to them and pressed a button to another vox-communicator at the side of the door, leaning in. "They're here, mr Voorhees." he said with a decisively more respectful tone that the other guard had used. He turned to Cristan and nodded, "You're allowed entry, but I'm going to have to ask you to hand over any weaponry you might possess..." noticing an angry look from Aator he squirmed and shook his head, "Sorry, it's not for the entire place, but VIP patrons set the rules for their chambers."

(OOC : As FD hasn't been here for over a week now, I'm going to have to put Mae under my control for the duration. Hopefully we'll see him back soon enough)

[Jak Snide]

Cristan rankled at the demand to hand over his weapon. He complied, telling himself that the chances of this being a trap were exceedingly low and, if it was one after all, he could always rely on Aator to take the punishment for them.

Once they'd all been relieved of their weapons he entered the booth, expression neutral.

[ChristianC]

Mae simply gave a shrug and unslung the shotgun from over her shoulder and then clipped open the clasp of the scabbard holding her sword, handing them both to the man with the same passionless expression on her face. Aator, meanwhile, threw off his backpack to let it land on the floor and unclasped the lasgun which had been fastened securely on the back, then opened up his holster to fish out a slim and finely crafted laspistol of some obvious quality, handing both over to the somewhat surprised guard. The man nodded and moved to let them in, but before he could Mae smiled uncharacteristically.

"I forgot," she said and reached behind her, unholstering a rather old-looking stub revolver that she slipped to the guard with the same quixotical smile on her face. It faded away, however, as the panel to the door was activated and the interior of the room came into view, rapidly revealed by the sliding door.

Loud music was the first thing that struck the group. Incredibly loud music. It seemed unlike anything else that was played, and the background music of the Covenant was easily drowned out utterly by the heavy beat. Gyrating figures of men and women in differating states of undress moved to the beat of the music, swingint to poles or engaged in suggestive but intricate couple-dancing. These were all in the middle of the surprisingly large chamber, the walls lined on all sides with thick, comfortable looking sofas in deep velvet, a plethora of men and women laughing, drinking and engaging in conversation. The light was dim, lit up only over the small tables that served as drink-stands, and as the trio took in the sight a servitor, one of the few old-looking things in the establishment, moved past them carefully to deliver a tray riddled with all manners of exotic drinks, with a large bottle of prize amasec dominating in the middle like the spires of a cathedral.

Most of the people in the room were instantly recognizable as void-borns, pale, skinny and with odd shades of eye and hair-color, although uniforms varied widely. Amongst them all sat a, for his type, rather well-set, middle-aged man with a heavily receding hairline, holding a spider-thin glass of liquid spirits in one hand and engaging in some light-hearted conversation with a few of the dancers he'd lured to the sofas. Upon sight of the three he gave a barking sound, that they only realized was a laughter after he'd repeated it a few times.

"Friends! Strangers! Come here and tell Granald Voorhees, first mate of the By His Providence, what is so throne-damned important you plan to ruin a very private festivity?" he eyes them with a green, and a blue eye, both very vivid in coloration, and then laughs again. Several pairs of eyes in the room land upon the acolytes, and like on cue the door hisses to a close. The light dims even further, and they suddenly find themselves in a room full of quietly observing void-borns, the booming music suddenly unable to distract from the quiet.


(Ignore article and tense-errors in this text, I am le tiréd)

[Jak Snide]

"Ruin? Oh, I assure you, Mr Voorhees, that we have no such intentions." Cristan smiled widely, taking in the sights. "We are merely here to present ourselves to the man who shall be conveying us across the void. If you're too busy with your frivolities to attend to this matter then we shall return later. I'm sure our mutual...benefactor will understand the delay."