Dark Heresy - Wisdom is the beginning of fear.

[Kelne]

"Our thanks, sir," Cryvus said, delivering to Phrix the respect due the office, unlike his predecessor, "Our masters will be wanting a full report on this regrettable incident, and to that end, we shall need to question Norosgov."

[Christian]

A pair of bloodshot eyes went towards Mikolas as he mentioned the recent fighting that had happened.

A sudden anger boiled up inside him, and he was, frankly, too tired to keep it inside.

"You would've needed a lot less right now if it weren't for sheer, blasted luck." the guardsman grunted angrily as he ran a hand slowly through his hair. "By the Golden Throne, what were you thinking!? Lugging of like a blasted greenhorn straight into the horde and then... I don't know what you did with that grenade, but whatever Backwater Hole you learned to fight in must've been sadly understaffed in proper Imperial Guardsmen!"

He quivered horribly and grew silent, glaring tiredly at the bearded man. He was never any good with words when he got angry, and he already regretted saying anything.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis gave a nod toward Phrix. This acting captain already commanded respect, it seemed...

...and then idiocy broke out. Mikolas treating the Purser like a malfunctioning Servitor, and...

Oh, this did NOT...imbeciles.

Taking out paper, he wrote furiously as the bullying and arguments started...Mithras was not one to speak of tactics, and Mik apparently had no concept of "non-combat personnel". To hell with being unable to read. Someone would likely translate the writing into sound anyway.

'Mithras, you have no room to speak on the issue. You and Xerxes, instead of attempting to engage the main target, stayed back and kept fighting the swarms. This folly had resulted in greater use of ammunition than had the entire squad moved up along one of the sides while fighting, in order to neutralize the target immediately. A repeat of such tactical folly is inadvisable, and will be reflected in further reports. While your tactics may be effective for the sake of eliminating all targets, they were counterproductive in this scenario.

Mikolas, stop treating the purser like a malfunctioning Servitor or I will use your head as a practice target for my new Hand Cannon. Noncombat personnel are not expected to fight. He is no exception to this.'

...this, he showed to the feuding Guardsmen. Hopefully someone in the vicinity was able to comprehend this...

[Capntastic]

Mik turned and bent over a bit to consider Mithras, mostly ignoring the silent scribe. If there was anywhere near as much rage within Mik as there was Mits, it did not show.

"Look, in the int'rest of keepin' the gang workin' smooth I'm gonna keep things civil. My home may not have Imperial support or even a planet'ry force, but while you stood there with your back to the wall waitin' to get closed in on, Crisis an' I darted for cover- keepin' our options open and meetin' the foe head on."

Mik pointed his index finger at Mithras's forehead, thumb stuck out- hand resembling a gun.

"I dunno if they got all this in that book you got. But all it takes is one little bit o' time for somethin' to get to ya. BANG!"

He jolted the hand, accentuating the simulated gunshot's recoil.

"S'why you gotta keep movin' and makin' the enemy sweat."

He grinned his broken smile and stood up straight, turning his head to survey the situation.

"Now I'm gonna go take a bath."

And thus he began striding off, chuckling to himself.

[Jak Snide]

Sebek had already scurried off by the time the squabbling had erupted, waiting out of sight in the lift to lead the acolytes to their new chambers. Xerxes paid little attention to the guardsmen and their disagreement, only to take notice of Crisis' note a moment later. The arbitrator scowled at the marksman before turning to Cryvus and Phrix, the latter finally acknowledging the old man's words after several seconds.

"Of course. Once you have compiled your report I shall tend to it's transmission. If you are able to do so within the next-" he paused, running a calculation through his head, "three-point-six hours it shall be sent before we recommence immaterium-born travel. Our astropath no longer functions during under such conditions. As for Norosgov, he is in the brig. I shall inform the presiding officer of your intentions."

"I'm see to him as well." Xerxes said, coughing to clear his throat. "Something tells me he'll have a whole lot to talk about, and I mean to see that he keeps his gums flapping."

---

The acolytes departed shortly afterwards, Crisis communicating with Captain Phrix briefly before joining them. The tech-priest who presided over the machine they stood in goaded it into motion, ascending further into the vessel. The corridor they stepped out into, while still identifiable as the interior of the Brazen Sky, was in a far better state than the rest of the ship, the piping polished and the floors mopped clean. The acolytes left dirty boot-prints all over it as Sebek led them to the Captain's Quarters. Inside they found luxuries that, while a far cry from those of a noble's house, seemed astounding when compared with their recent lodgings. The sole bed in the room was easily the size of four of the cramped cots they'd been used to and laden with plump pillows crafted from strange and exotic cloths. A dark wooden desk stood in one corner, both it and the chair that accompanied it of fine craftsmanship. The rest was a little too much to take in at once, the most notable being a door that stood slightly ajar, the white tiling beyond suggesting a full bathroom. The sheer size of the quarters shocked both Crisis and Cryvus; even aboard one of the larger military ships in the Calixis Battlefleet it would have constituted a gross waste of space. Clearly Norosgov had lived well while he presided as Captain of the Sky.

(The acolytes have earned themselves some much-deserved rest. The wounds they have suffered were minor enough for them to heal naturally over the next few days. Cryvus has had Xerxes offer his assistance for when he deals with Norosgov, and I imagine others are free to join in if they desire. Sebek will be at their beck and call for the rest of the trip and, if asked, will attempt find them any luxuries and provisions they desire. Contact me via IM with the details of what your character will get up to over the next week or so, and do mention if they wish to take part in the interrogation of Norosgov.)

[Christian]

"Greater use of ammunition...?" Mithras gave the marksman a disturbed look. clearly the man wasn't used to handling las-weapons... not that that was the issue here.

"Certainly I could have madly rushed in, or sniped the witch with my laspistol," he drew a deep breath, "but I didn't. Next time I'll supply neither covering fire or any other fire at all, unless I'm sure that just this particular target that I'm shooting at is in controll of all other targets through manners of witchcraft! I'm certain that with the aid of our muscled friend here you could've torn through the entire oncoming horde with your oversized pea-shooters."

He glared at the larger man as Mikolas walked away; he never thought he'd wish for the presence of a Commissar, but the thought seemed a lot less uninviting right now.

"Write whatever you wish in your report, I don't intend to stop you."

With that the guardsman remained silent, a long held-back yawn spreading on his face before they reached the room.

Certainly, he'd never seen something like this before... but the room made him ill at ease, and not only because of the sheer luxury. The fact that the man who had lived here for a long time was still alive and breathing, locked up somewhere, was... disturbing.

He put down his backpack next to the desk and took out his laspistol, sitting down heavily on one of the chairs to perform the required maintenance.

[Jak Snide]

The rest of the voyage aboard the Brazen Sky were blissfully without incident, save for Mikolas disappearing for a few days, returning with a pleased expression and a bit of fur caught between his teeth. The acolytes had used their time to gather what supplies they could, the crew having generally proved willing to cater to their needs to the best of their abilities. Still, they couldn't feel that they were regarded as a mixed blessing. While they had indeed saved the ship from a terrible fate, word of what the cleanup crew had found within the primary crew-bay had spread like wildfire throughout the vessel. They were both the heroes of the hour and incredibly dangerous men, greeted with nervous smiles and strained politeness.

One day, at last, a sudden lurch was felt throughout the ship. It not an unfamiliar sensation, sickening as it was, for the acolytes had felt it before. The Brazen Sky had dropped out of the warp. After a few minutes Sebek, pale-faced and significantly slimmer than when they'd first met him, roused the group from their slumber in the captain's quarters and advised them to pack their belongings and prepare themselves for debarkation to Iocanthos. He waited at the portal, smiling faintly, to lead the way.

----

The hanger they entered was different from the one they had entered the Sky from; long, narrow and high-vaulted, the room held a modest-sized vessel (one that Crisis and Cryvus identified as a lighter - a multi-purpose transport designed to move goods from orbit down to the surface of the planet). The hatch was already open and waiting for the Acolytes while a few workers finished loading supplies and other cargo into the vessel. Phrix' salvage operation had evidently been a success, though it was likely that a great deal of the cargo had been permanently lost. A deck officer, grimy skin drawn tightly across a hard face, takes a data slate from Sebek before the purser scurries off without a word. The officer looked over the slate, pressing a few runes as he spoke.

"Bound for Port Suffering, huh? It's the door to the world, no safe landing anywhere else. Raids, winds and broken terrain see to that. Terrible place, and the natives will gut you as soon as look at you. Ashleen they're called, paint their faces like blue fire to ward off evil spirits." He scoffed at the notion as thumbed a pair of runes and lowered the slate. "To be honest I think even the Administratum sees the place as a punishment posting. May the Emperor watch over you, whatever your business down there." He gave them a curt nod and ushered them onto the lighter.

---

The craft's interior was cramped and uncomfortable, a few hard metal seats with heavily padded straps being nestled near the front of the it, the vast majority of space being used for cargo storage. The hatch seals, the acolytes buckle in and a cold mechanical voice comes over the vox-comm and counts down till their descent. There's a faint hiss from outside of the vessel before, with a gut-wrenching lurch, the lighter falls into the void of space, Zero-G asserting itself moments after, followed by an ear-splitting roar as the engines kick in. Over the next half an hour the shuttle shook violently, any attempted conversation drowned out by the racket by the vehicle as it made it's descent into the atmosphere. As the shuddering slowed and the howling of the engines diminished a shaft of light crept inside their compartment, a bright day visible outside from a nearby viewport.

---

The acolytes felt their stomachs settle as their transport came to a rest on one of the landing pads in Port Suffering. As the engines winded down, the machine spirit of the craft taking some well earned rest, the pilot announced their arrival over the vox. The hatch-doors open and a wash of hot air and glaring light surges in, revealing the smokey landing field, it's ground broken and blackened from innumerable landings. As they moved towards the exit they could see a high wire fence encircling the area and, looming above that, the brooding metal-clad walls of the settlement itself. The air smelt foul, a mixture of propellants, cleaning agents and other chemicals, but beneath it all there was a faint and sweet smell of iron.

A number of men descended on their craft, scrubbing it down and attacking hoses to refuel it for the return trip to it's parent ship. A hover-sled approached, no doubt to carry the supplies that the ship brought in with it. A blotchy-faced official disembarked, wearing dusty and once-fine navy-blue robes trimmed in gaudy gold chain. Flanked by two men, faces concealed by rebreathers and shotguns casually cradled in their arms, the man approached them with a practiced smile.

"Greetings, honoured servants of His Most Glorious Imperium. I am Kerred Smyk, and I bid you welcome to our fair Port Suffering. Might I inquire your business and how long you wish to remain here?" The heavies with him leaned over the acolytes threateningly. Xerxes, however, appeared to have other concerns, his eyes fixed upwards and his mouth open in mute horror. It occurred to the others that the man had never experienced open sky before.

(Welcome to Iocanthos. I've taken the liberty of PMing you a copy of the missive you received from Inquisitor Skane prior to your dispatch. Also, Kelne, could you contact me about finalizing Cryvus' advances?)

[Christian]

Mithras had not been looking well after the whole incident. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling worst than ever and his generally well-kept demeanor taking a severe blow. Stubble and unwashed hair were some of the more obvious signs, but the guardsman even, at times, forgot to recite prayers when he actually did care for his weaponry.

And whenever he tried to sleep... The panicked screams and his tossing and turning soon had everyone on edge, and he willingly relocated to a secluded part where his nightmares wouldn't bother anyone.

After a while, however, the dark cloud that hovered above him seemed to break up slightly, and he went from blankly ignoring every attempt at conversation to answering and talking, but there was still almost a tangible sense of regret around the man.

When so they finally reached their destination, he'd eased up enough to seem almost normal, at least by the standards he'd presented them so far. His already salt-and-pepper hair was now right down gray at places, his eyes deeply sunk into their sockets. Yet he seemed to have managed to deal with his problems for now.

The sight of an open sky seemed to send a slight quiver of relief through the soldier, and he seemed to almost sag a bit as if a great burden was lifted off his shoulders. For those who remembered, the man had mentioned coming from a farming planet maybe once or twice, and it was clear that the place brought some manner of nostalgia to him.

As the blotchy-faced man welcomed them he shifted a bit into attention but when he noticed Xerxes reaction an expression of surprise flashed over his face before he gave a quick nod to Cryvus. Hopefully the older man could step in to handle the introductions...

[Kelne]

"It is our intent to attend the consecration of Our Lord Emperor's cathedral at Stern Hope," Cryvus said, this being the absolute but incomplete truth, "We shall be remaining for some weeks."

[Jak Snide]

Xerxes averted his eyes downwards with a jerk of the head, muttering something under his breath as he kept them firmly pointed in that direction. Kerred didn't seem to notice, instead rapidly nodding as he absorbed Cryvus' response with a phoney grin.

"Of course, of course. Simple pilgrims, I'm sure." he said with a smile and a wink. "How did you make your way to our humble planet? If I'm not mistaken cargo haulers don't usually take on passengers with such, pardon my assumption, limited funds." The thugs loomed closer, doing their best to intimidate the old man.

Two things were immediately clear to the acolytes. One was that Smyk was fishing for information with no great subtlety, which of course raised questions about what he knew already. The other was that he thought he could pressure them into revealing said information.

[Capntastic]

Mik, not so concerned about the game of wits being played out around him, was content to grin at the sky and then look to the heavy nearest him.

"Hey, where can I get some water? The stuff on that ship ain't fresh at all."

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis, on the other hand, was increasingly annoyed. While his expressions couldn't be read through the gas mask, his hand twitched for a second...he wanted to shoot those bastards. Especially those thugs. Just one. Just kneecap one. With the Stormchild-pattern Hand Cannon...

...were it not for Inquisitor Skane and her representative on this planet, he WOULD have..

...and then Mik cut in.

...

...the fucking moron. Might as well kneecap him with the Stormchild as well...

[Jak Snide]

Smyk, in response to Mikolas' question, began to sputter uncontrollably, trying to form words to express his shock over being interrupted so rudely but apparently unable to do so.

The nearest heavy, the one that Mik had actually asked, didn't say a word, a pained expression crossing his face as his boss continued to stammer.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis glared at the rest through his gas mask. This was insipid. No, retarded. He didn't have time for this.

NONE of them had any business here. And as such, the Voidborn started walking past Smyk and the rest. It wasn't even worth the entertainment that would be garnered by kneecapping one to get the rest out of the way.

His hand was ready to reach for and draw any one of his guns should anyone intervene. Given their predictable reaction to Mikolas' idiocy...that would be unlikely.

[Christian]

Mithras left hand had reached his forehead just when Crisis started walking. Mikolas' somewhat... eccentric behaviour was annoying him. But the gun-obsessed void-born's mute... teenage rebellion, or whatever it was, made him rub his temples in frustration. This was going to be a long day.

"Until whatever problem there is can be resolved, and all of us are fit to continue, you will remain with the group, Crisis." He had had enough of the stubborn, arrogant man. "Or is that going to be a problem?"

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis stopped for a second, before waving his hand in a "come along" gesture to the rest of the group. And then continued on.


Those three really weren't worth the time. They weren't even RELEVANT to the mission. The way he saw it, Smyk was merely some official who was trying to bully info out of him and his squadmates, for some inexplicable reason. And they really didn't have the time to be wasting on someone like him. And Mithras didn't seem to understand that, to the sharpshooter's immense frustration.

And anyway, he wasn't in the mood for putting up with Mikolas and his...tendencies...in conversation.

Were ALL typical Guardsmen this liable to use comparably poor tactics and regard anyone who presents even a semblance of authority as worth their time?


As such, Crisis then continued walking. The ones who'd get it would follow, he figured, and get along with the real mission.

[Capntastic]

Mik shrugged to the stammering bloke and his cronies, and then hauled up his kit bag to follow Crisis.

[Kelne]

"My apologies, gentlemen," Cryvus said, "I really should keep my colleagues in sight. It's like herding cats sometimes. You understand, I'm sure." Xerxes could probably do with a roof over his head while he acclimatised as well.

[Christian]

Mithras gave a drawn-out sigh of frustration as Mikolas followed after the sharpshooter like some kind of dog on a leash. Why couldn't they just follow standard protocol? Why couldn't they just be polite? Apparantly manners... no, social functioning, was something far more unique in the Empire than he'd first imagined...

Noticing Cryvus intent to start moving he gave up and grabbed ahold of Xerxes, leading the stunned man if the oldest of the group started moving.

[Jak Snide]

The remaining acolytes walked past the petty official, the man continuing to sputter and protest at being ignored. Xerxes kept his eyes on the ground and followed after them. Crisis, at the head of the pack, was looking for a way out of the landing field when a small child, held aloft by tarnished metallic wings, fluttered into view and closed on him quickly, it's cracked and cherubic features beaming. While most of the acolytes had heard of this specialised type of servitor it was still a strange sight.

As it drew closer it cast it's gaze over the group, pearls set into sockets where eyes should have been, before fluttering over to Cryvus and handing him a parchment bearing a seal, the latter recognisable to him as that of Inquisitor Skane's personal cadre, which instructed them to follow the cherubim to Aristarchus "who awaits the pleasure of meeting you." With all their belongings firmly secured in the kit-bags they each shouldered the acolytes saw no reason to delay and followed after their messenger and guide.

---

Port Suffering was a crowded, ramshackle and anarchic place. The buildings were a overbuilt mismatch of prefabricated metal sheeting, clay brickwork faced with crumbling plaster and stone blocks baking in the sun. The streets were packed with throngs of workers, grimy and hard-faced men and women wearing a mixture of patchwork clothing, overalls, headscarves and coats, all stained a flat grey-brown with dust. Moving through the crowd proved troublesome, the cherubim occasionally stopping and waiting for them to catch up, waving enthusiastically until they did.

(Mikolas and Mithras:

Spoiler:

As you walk you notice individuals in local garb, standing unmoving and staring at them from a distance, their faces bright with gaudy blue and white dye daubed in patterns like flame. The rest of the populace seems to pay no mind to them.

)

They'd been walking for some time when, after turning into one of the many alleyways of the port, a half-naked and badly sunburnt man with wild dirt-caked hair and blue and white flame tattoos across his face flung himself into their path and began shouting a string of wild phrases and obscenities at them. The man, clearly insane, was making progress quite difficult.

(All but Mikolas should cast their eyes to their PM inboxes)

[Christian]

Mithras felt ill at ease at the sight of the Cherubim; He was not used to servitors of any kind, having only seen a scant few working on the Warmachinery during his time in the Imperial Guard, and the child-like... thing sent uncomfortable chills down his spine.

Yet it obviously meant them no harm, and he followed after in silence.

The sights, sounds and smells around them stung his senses and a dull, throbbing headache, already present from the recent pressure change, grew in intensity. He wiped his brow several times with the back of his arm, the sleeve of his pale green fatigues soon some shades darker than the rest.

...And then there were the people. As the intensity of his headache grew, he spotted the odd observers around them, and when the raving madman threw himself before them, he groaned.

"Out of the way!" he barked at him, trying his best to ignore the ranting. He looked to Xerxes, that man if any here was the most competent... should be the most competent to handle these situations...

But then again, he might not even have recovered from the shock of seeing clear skies yet...

[Kelne]

Cryvus was just as glad to be moving along with a guide. There was important work to be done here, and it was best to be about it as soon as they might. Nevertheless, he made no move to barge past the man accosting them.

"Easy, Mithras," he said, frowning, "The ravings of lunatics and madmen may contain His words. Not that any ever listen. And so the world spirals towards its end. Not by fire, nor by ice but in darkness eternal."

[Jak Snide]

The lunatic, initially having recoiled from Mithras, heard Cryvus' words and drew closer to the old man, head bobbing rabidly in agreement as he gripped his shoulders with two sweaty hands.

"Yes, yes! False, false, the two faces he has! First of the three has two! They are all blind! He dances to and fro!"

Crisis heard the footsteps behind them before another voice called out. "Begone, off-worlder! We don't need your kind!" Mikolas had been expecting this, showing no surprise as he turned around to face the small mob of blue-faced ruffians bearing down on them. They appeared to be unarmed, but both of them knew how easy it was to conceal a shiv.

(Some young Ashleen ruffians appear to be of a temperamental disposition and have taken a disliking to the acolytes. They appear to be unarmed, but still bearing down on them aggressively.)

[Capntastic]

Having been content to keep quiet and look for a stream or faucet, the large fellow kept quiet and strolled leisurely. When the cherubim came into view, he observed cautiously, keeping a bit of distance.

As he turned to face the gang, Mik unslung his grim weapon- a large piece of some ancient machienry that roughly conformed to a bat shape. It was wrapped up snug in barbed wire, and the dents around it showed it to be something that had been employed numerous times. He helf it aloft, and glanced back to the acolytes to see if they got his reckoning.

"They ain't got guns. I don't think it's fair we fill 'em full of lead. Ain't sportsmanlike. And, well, ..."

The acolytes were left to mentally finish his sentence as he set his sights on the opposition, shrugged, took a deep breath, and then galloped towards them with his bat held out to the side. He quickly gained speed, and started to holler something two notches too primal to be considered a proper warcry- more of a war roar.

(Charge aimed at A3)

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis was glad for the cherubim servitor. He remembered that he was given no real information on where their contact would be, and that it would have been an absolute nightmare trying to find him here without one. He was curious: What did they outfit it with so it could fly? This...wasn't a low-gravity world, after all...

The gang of ruffians, however, broke his curiosity. While he could pick out a phrase that the madman was rambling, he couldn't make two bits of it. The thugs, however...while they do not even resemble being armed, he remembered very well the "persuaders" used by ship captains--concealable shotgun-pistols that would easily scare the living hell out of anyone close enough to start anything major with or threaten the captain. Pity it hadn't been useful against things that were much less...human...

But there was another lesson from this. While he didn't have a Persuader of his own, for rather obvious reasons, he did know the basis of dealing with crews turned unsavory, for lack of a better word--once there are too many people in a group, one can almost say that the collective intelligence goes down significantly. And idiots understand pain and death better than anything else.

Immediately upon seeing the gang, the sharpshooter drew not one, but two of his guns; the autopistol liberated from last mission, outfitted with a silencer, and a massive revolver--a Stormchild-pattern. It was no Carnodon, but it would do for this--if the size and noise didn't intimidate them, then the result of one of these shots would...and if that wouldn't, then some automatic weapons fire would--if it didn't kill the rest.

...seeing Mikolas charge them, he decided to watch--if they ran away, there'd be no need to fire. But if they focused on Mik or turned on the rest of the Acolytes, he was all too willing to take one or more out. Forget about "sporting". To care about such would be idiocy. As it always has been...

[Christian]

At first Mits had been ready to just dismiss the group of natives as nothing more than that; xenophobic locals.

But when they came towards them he instantly drew his laspistol, fingers undoing the tied shoestring and pulling the weapon out of its make-shift holster. He began to aim a shot at the ground before them, hoping to perhaps persuade them that this was, indeed, a group that were armed and knew how to use them.

The bellow and charge of Mikolas, however, made him just lower his weapon and sigh.

Good riddance, let the man act as a bloody guinea pig for local aggression, he really didn't care about the big lout anyway.

Instead his eyes remained focus on the group of natives, ready to fire should anyone pull a weapon, firearms for instance. Through the grace of the Emperor, a nearby pile of crates would provide ample cover should the whole thing go south...

Thinking over his last conclusion, he took aim at one of the men with his pistol. Considering their gun-obsessed mute and the prehistoric beard, things would most likely go south.


[Mits spends a full round aiming his weapon towards A5, who should be within half the range of his laspistol. If such is not the case, switch aim to A2]

[Jak Snide]

Crisis' weapons were in his hands instantly. Cryvus tried to turn to confront the situation only to be grasped fully by the lunatic, the sun-baked man howling more nonsense in his face, splattering it with spittle.

Mikolas piled in, his roar giving the natives a moment's pause. He brought his weapon down into the leg of his chosen victim, the young man howling as his bones cracked. Xerxes followed in right after him, thumbing the activation rune on his own baton. He struck a youth across the chest and grinned as the man convulsed and dropped to the floor, convulsing with electricity as he emptied his bladder. The hiver grinned wickedly right before catching a shiv in the face as the foremost ruffians closed in, screaming their own war cries. The arbitrator was alive, but his assailant had managed to puncture the plastic visor of his helmet and cut his face. Xerxes howled in rage as he span to confront this threat. Another tree piled into Mikolas, realising a little too late that he was decked out in no small deal of armour. It didn't help that the man was an experienced combatant, swatting away blows and forcing one back with a well placed boot.

It was at this point that Crisis' shot rang out, though far from the usual whisper of silent death. The pistol in his hand roared with righteous fury, his arm visibly shuddering from the recoil. The shot went wide and punched a hole through a solid metal crate. Mithras, drawing a bead on one of the thugs, noted the ones who hadn't been so quick to get stuck in draw their own firearms. Some went for cover, others snapped off shots. Crisis idly noted one impact against the wall behind him, the native a poor shot as expected. The other fired into the melee, panicked by the sudden resistance. The man Mikolas had wounded collapses, a bloody wound in his back.

(Map updated. Xerxes took a shiv to the face for 3 damage, but not before he wounded and stunned the one marked with a yellow X. He's pretty much out of action. Mithras wounded one and the watched the man get shot in the back by his mate. Cryvus should check his PMs.)

[Christian]

Mithras gave a shudder of disgust as the fight broke into a brawl. He would have paid for this not to happen... but now it was, it would seem these natives wouldn't go down with a fight.

His gun was still aimed against one of the men who had drawn firearms...

"Give up now and there won't be any more needless bloodshed!" he yelled as he fired his laspistol, the weakest of his firearms, at one of the thugs holding a firearm. He aimed at the arm, hopefully disarming the man, but if the whole limb got vaporized... really, that would just add some credit to his warning.

After firing of a round Mits began to move to his left, shifting around the pile of crates and moving closer for either a better shot, or to get closer to the fray...


[Mithras fires at the closest thug having a firearm in his hands. I assume it's alright to switch targets despite having aimed at someone else. If this isn't alright, Mits is firing at A2 (him being the closest) as mentioned previously. After shooting, Mits moves half move to the far left (from us) side of the little platform with stairs.]

[NamagomiMk0]

This was a predictable outcome. There's no other reason a gang of thugs like this would harass the squad in a group so large, in the middle of an alleyway, and Mik sort of sealed the deal anyway. Of course.

Worry about his idiocy later. Crisis quickly dashed behind a nearby playform and set of stairs and crouched before taking aim at one of the gun-users. Those stairs weren't providing much cover, but given his unarmored legs, was superior to standing there in the open...


[Aiming autopistol at A10]

[Kelne]

"Calm yourself," Cryvus snapped, attempting to extricate himself from the lunatic's grasp, "There will be time later." Being tangled up while gunfire was echoing behind him was not a comfortable position.

[Capntastic]

Mik glanced around a bit, noting weapons being fired. But that did not deter him, or even slow him down. He raised his weapon, stared wildly into the eyes of one of the toughs, smirking, and then brought it down.

(Half aim, attack, to A4)

[Jak Snide]

Darting under Mithras' field of fire, Crisis took up position on stairs, keeping low and taking aim at the local who seemed fine with firing recklessly into a melee. Mikolas brought his weapon down again, apparently still favouring limbs as he battered an arm. The ruffian winced and lunged at him with his own weapon, a clumsy and easily avoided attack. His friend, however, drove his shiv straight into Mik's leg. That was the desired effect, at least. Instead the blue-faced youth found himself staring at the snapped blade of his shiv, apparently not used to dealing with fully armoured opponents. A second later the man to right hit the ground, jaw shattered and convulsing, Xerxes applying a solid kick to the man's stomach and sneering at him.

Cryvus freed himself to the lunatic's grasp, the topless man muttering something about "no more time." He turned to take stock of the siltation and achieved such just in time to duck, narrowly dodging a bullet that would have buried itself in his skull. Mithras returned fire, pitching one of the gunslingers off his feet before he could snap off a shot. Then the alley was filled with gunfire. Mikolas felt one slug take him in the chest, the pain barely worth noting. Mithras, though, had his leg almost knocked out from underneath him just before a second shot took him in the chest. His armour had absorbed the first bullet, but the second had just managed to push through his vest and find flesh. The fact he wasn't coughing up blood and doubling over told him it was only a flesh wound, but damn if it didn't sting.

(Map updated. Mikolas deals a solid blow, Mithras' shot took A8 in the chest and pitched him off his feet, and Xerxes brutalised A2. In return Cryvus narrowly avoided having his taken off, Mikolas took 1 damage and Mithras took 2. Crisis now has +10 aim on A7, which is the happy chappy who's plugging away at the melee. A6, A9 and A10 are in varying degrees of cover but are somewhat exposed. I also added grid references so you can describe your turns more accurately.)

[Christian]

Mits could hardly even grasp what was going on.

He'd just been shot.

Everything seemed to slow down to a snail's pace as he looked down on his chest-armor, the point of impact clearly visible...

What?

He felt the bullet hit him in the leg, and then the one in his chest. He unwillingly took a slight step back, surprised by the sudden pain. What was that sting? A wound? What?

Well, this didn't hurt so much... not as much as he'd thought...

A mixture of confusion and anger simmered through him as he began to move, apparantly paying no heed to the firefight around him. He'd gone through Tranch, Tranch, without getting shot a single time. Not once. He'd been fired at, he'd been hunted, but not once had anyone managed to land a bullet on him.

And now this. Punks from some distant fuck-up hellhole of a backwater planet manage to draw blood. His blood!

He dashed, fishing out his axe while running, head kept low as his body clicked into the gear drilled into him all those years ago. He ran as fast as he could and then threw himself in behind a large crate, sitting half-crouched while he tried to remember where he'd seen the thugs... and who it was that had shot him... Damn that stung!

Catching a few breaths he paused, weighing his options before putting down his axe again. Right now he wasn't sure he'd need it, but that could change at any moment.


[Mits spends a turn running towards I10]

[Kelne]

Now this would simply not do. To be attacked by common thugs within half an hour of planetfall was the kind of thing he could do without. And somewhere deep down inside, the voice of paranoia questioned whether it was coincidence.

Coincidence or not, these people were acting as the catspaws of darkness by attacking the servants of His most holy Inquisition. Cryvus informed them of such in no uncertain terms.

"Lurgi could easily destroy all of Iocanthos!" he shouted, "And that includes you!" then he shot one of the thugs for emphasis.

(Aim and fire with the laspistol at thug A6. Red dot laser sight in action.)

[Capntastic]

Mik was content to put the hoit on the thug nearest him.

(All out attack, A4)

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis watched as he ran for cover, seeing his fellow Acolytes get shot and shivved by the thugs. This would not do. It was clear that the feral was, irritatingly enough, treating this as a game, and the others were doing a rather poor job, tactically, from the looks of it...

The warning shot was a waste. Go figure. However, so be it, he thought as he held down the trigger of his autopistol, barely-audible rounds flying from the gun...

[Full-auto at A7]

[Jak Snide]

Two ruffians dropped, bullets tearing into them as Crisis swept his fire to the right. Mikolas watched his intended target topple and the one left next to him catch a round in the shoulder. He took the opportunity to slam his bludgeon into the youth's chest. His head jerking back from the impact as a jet of blood spewed from his mouth and crumpled, dead before he hit the ground. Xerxes yelled something and gave the injured and stunned man who'd cut his face another taste of his stun baton, "excessive force" apparently not to be found among the arbitrator's vocabulary. Cryvus aimed a shot and fired as Mithras darted forward, but it was too late. The bolt of energy barely grazed his target's head as the few left functional turned and fled, crying out in some native dialect.

(Map updated. A9 and A10 fled to the North, while the other two are still in sight and scrambling around the corner. You could let them go, or you could put a round or two in their backs just to be sure.)

[Capntastic]

Mik grinned, clipping his weapon back onto his belt.

"That'll learn 'em!" he shouted. He then placed his boot triumphantly atop the downed but still breathing thug near him, glaring down. "Right?"

He would await the fella's response before acting further.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis reslung both his pistols. This engagement was a joke, and from the sounds of it, they were quickly fleeing. So be it. He'd wait a moment before looting and appraising any weaponry and ammo they were carrying. Mithras needed a real gun. Not one of those worthless mass-produced lasweapons. How the hell did he think that would actually serve him? Mind, a real gun might be wasted on Mithras, the sharpshooter thought...

Of course, he'd take ammo suitable for his own weapons for himself first. At least enough to compensate himself what he expended.


Shaking his head at Mik's comment, he waited. And planned to reload on the way there now that those are gone--


...Yet he had the sneaking feeling that he hadn't seen the last of any of these hostile ruffians on this planet.

[Jak Snide]

All Mikolas obtained in response to his question was a pained groan from the man under his boot. A couple of the ruffians were still alive, though in no shape to do anything more than moan and bleed. The acolytes waited a moment to see if their assailants would return. The nearby streets were empty, the crowd having scattered after the first shot was fired, their cherabim guide being the only thing remaining close by. The lunatic had apparently fled while their backs were turned. Then they heard the sound of heavy boots running towards them.

Five men clad in worn flak coats and something resembling a uniform moved into the alley, pistols. They relaxed slightly at the sight of the dead Ashleen and the lack of any ongoing fighting, though they were clearly offput by the strange and varied appearance of the group before them. "What happened here, then?" the foremost one asked. Xerxes turned to him, wiping blood from his face and flashed a badge with his free hand.

"Old man here was hassling us and some criminal scum tried something while he had our attention. We put 'em down, and the ones we didn't ran. Should be one left breathing who can tell you how to find his friends."

The guards had holstered their weapon at the sign of the badge. The obvious markings on the arbitrator's armour made his affiliation obvious enough as it was, but the man clearly wanted to throw his authority around. The lead guard nodded sharply, doing his best to look respectful.

"Damn savages. They've been restless for weeks now, jumping anyone from out of town and trying to rob 'em blind. The old man here giving you trouble, you say?"

Xerxes shook his head in response and the guardsman nodded.

"Alright, we'll take care of this mess. You can be about your business, sirs."

(If anyone has any questions for the guards, or wish to try reviving and interrogating one of the Ashleen thugs, then PM me with the details)

---

The cherabim proved patient and as cheerful as ever once the acolytes left the alley, darting off without hesitation and leading them onwards towards their destination. They eventually left the crowded streets and entered a walled compound through doors embossed with the Imperial eagle. The cherabim fluttered away once they were inside, leaving them to be attended to by a functionary, a short man with a shaven head bearing numerous small bionic implants. He informed them that they were expected and lead them into a high-vaulted dark room, blessedly cool after being under the sun for over an hour. Some effort had been made to make the chamber feel comfortable; thick rugs had been layed on the floors, furniture built from real wood being placed sparsely and even a few tapestries decorated the walls, all bearing Imperial motifs. The most notable thing, of course, was the man seated at the table. He wore charcoal grey robes and a small smile on his lean, handsome face, the latter also being marked by a strange electoo on one cheek. As the acolytes entered he replaced a set of large ivory cards into a silver case and returned it to the pocket of his robes.

"Welcome! I am Seer Aristarchus. I trust the trip passed quickly?" He stood as he asked the question, making his way towards Cryvus to shake his hand.

(Cryvus:

Spoiler:

The electoo is a sanctioning brand of the Scholastica Psykana and the cards are undoubtedly a fine set of the Emperor's Tarot.

Mikolas:

Spoiler:

You note that the Seer's eyes are a curious grey-gold colour.

)