Dark Heresy - Wisdom is the beginning of fear.

[Christian]

Mithras had waited to holster his laspistol until he was sure the thugs were out of reach. His eyes travelled down to the wounded and downed attackers. A part of him, a rather large part too, wanted to end them. The wound in his chest still stung horribly, and he felt like he hadn't gotten his fair share of revenge about it...

But the other part reeled back at the thought, the sight of wounded, maybe even dying, human beings brought back far too recent memories...

He was saved, thankfully, from making a moral decision by the arriving guards.

He had no objections to Xerxes handling them, the man was an Arbitrator, he knew the procedures.

Before they left the alley, Mits pulled off his chest-armour and looked down at his wound... he'd better have it looked at by a proper doctor, the brief instructions he'd received as a conscript had only taught him how to make and apply a bandain, which he thusly did.

After bandaging his wound, the rat-like man began to inspect the place where the bullet had entered his armor with a frown on his face...

---

As they entered the chamber of Seer Aristarchus, Mithras quickly stood at attention, seeing once more a person of some rank.

"Let those who know what they're doing, do what they ought to be doing," his father had told him once, and it was clear that this was Cryvus' forte.

[Kelne]

"Not so swiftly as we may have wished, sir," Cryvus said with a faint grimace, "but we are here nonetheless, and stand ready to serve." He took Aristachus' hand without hesitation.

[Jak Snide]

Aristarchus took each of their hands in turn and shook them, offering a few words to each acolyte. It seemed he knew a fair bit about them all, though nothing of their recent troubles on the Brazen Sky. Once he was finished he adjusted a black silk satchel at his side held shut with several lead purity seals, the latter each bearing a long crimson ribbon that stretched down to the floor. A blank-faced servitor entered a moment later bearing a tray laden with several glasses and a jug filled with water. After the acolytes had taken a moment to refresh themselves, and the servitor had a chance to take their kit bags away to their rooms, Aristarchus began to explain in his well-spoken accent.

"While I'm certain that the mission briefing you received from our honoured master describes in some detail the nature of our purpose here, I have had the benefit of spending a few weeks in this...unfortunate...outpost, and I have not been idle. You see Iocanthos, for all it's squalor, is near to my heart. The venerated Saint Drusus himself, to whom I have the very great honour of being distant kin, claimed this world for the Imperium, sweeping over the savage peoples and bringing them into the light and glory of the God-Emperor. As you know, the cathedral at Stern Hope is due to be consecrated to the great hero and I would not see the memory of this Saint diminished by heresy and such a holy purpose thwarted by backwoods witch or some such." He paused, collecting his thoughts. The Saint Drusus was known to all of the acolytes, even those as ignorant as Mikolas. He was the most prominent Saint in all of the Calixis sector, and a man famed for brining it into the Imperium.

"So, Stern Hope...the information I have been able to discover does seem to suggest some psychic phenomena occurring there. While I cannot say, based on the muddled reports we have been receiving, whether this is the result of some reckless, previously undetected psyker or of something far darker, the evidence suggests that all such strangeness has occurred in or around the new cathedral. Bleeding statues, manifestations, haunting noises, sounds of scratching from the walls..." he trails off and stares distractedly into space before retrieving a data-slate from his bag and reading it for a few moments before continuing.

"Ah yes, Stern Hope lies to the North, high in those mountains you may have seen on your way in here. On a more civilised world we would have gone directly to the outpost by air, but that's not possible here, so we have to travel by the Pilgrim's Road as they call it. A rutted dirt path is more like it. I've managed to secure us transport, an all-terrain flatbed, and I'm hoping one of you drives as I've never been much of a hand at the wheel. We must pass through the barren shale wastes first though, and this is not a journey to be taken lightly. The locals claim the wastes have witnessed all of the greatest battles of Iocanthos' long and bloody past and remain to this day a favoured battleground of the clans. No one knows for certain, but rumors claim that all manner of terrible things lurk out there, although bandits and marauders are the most likely threat, so we ought to be prepared for any eventuality."

"Do you have any questions?"

[Capntastic]

Having quenched his considerable thirst, Mik was content to listen to the briefing and take in some knowledge.

He raised his hand, timidly, afterwards.

"When we gonna set out?"

[Jak Snide]

"We should leave at dawn. The longer we linger the greater the threat. The consecration is in five day's time and it is our duty to be there and ensure it occurs without any hindrances."

[Capntastic]

"Mind if I take a look at the vehicle? If we're gonna hit the road hard then I wanna make sure it's all proper an' such. Not that I ain't trusting in your judgment- I'm a bit particular about this sorta thing is all."

[Jak Snide]

"But of course. Simply ask one of the staff to direct you to the motor pool once we are done here. There ought to be someone on hand to provide assistance."

[Capntastic]

"I suppose I'll excuse myself to get to it, then, if that's alright? Time bein' limited as it tends to be."

He then made to get himself to that motor pool.

[Kelne]

"A question, sir," Cryvus said, "Does the phrase 'the crow father come to drown us in lies' mean anything to you? I ask because it stood out among the words babbled at us by a somewhat unhinged local." There are those who might classify Cryvus himself as somewhat unhinged, and truth be told, he'd agree with them. Which might go some way towards explaining why he took other unhinged people at least somewhat seriously.

[Jak Snide]

Aristarchus remained silent for a moment, thinking on the words of the lunatic.

"It does not. It might pertain to local folk legend or simply be the raving of a lunatic. Do you have reason to suspect it is anything more?"

[Kelne]

"Nothing beyond a hunch," Cryvus said, "As with so many things, it will either become clear or not with time."

[Jak Snide]

The seer nodded in agreement. "As He wills it. Still, I shall conduct a reading of The Emperor's Tarot before we depart. If there is anything to be discerned from these words then it will be made apparent."

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis, while the other two exchanges went on, pondered a few potential issues, before writing a few things down and showing them to Aristarchus...

'Mithras previously had a quality weapon, but lost it in a previous altercation prior to our arrival. Would it be possible to requisition him something superior to standard-issue lasweaponry before tomorrow?

In addition, I would like to know how in danger we will likely be of attack from either ruffians or beasts on our way to Stern Hope, if it is at all possible.'

[Jak Snide]

Aristarchus took the note and read it swiftly, nodding as he did.

"Ruffians and beasts? Unlikely. Warbands, however, are a greater threat, though they mostly busy themselves with the fighting over fields of ghostfire. As for equipment, well, you could either try procuring some in The Pits or asking the quartermaster here. I doubt either will have much to offer beyond "standard issue," but I believe the former would be the most likely to yield what you are looking for. Do not concern yourselves with procuring outdoor gear and supplies, it has been taken care of already."

After a moment of thought the seer reached into his bag and produced a roll of paper, handing it to Crisis with the words "This should help you find your way." Unraveling the parchment revealed a map of Port Suffering. "Do not worry about the Alm's House. This one is free of heresy." he added with a smile.

Aristarchus, having exhausted the acolytes' questions, informed them that the Refectories had rooms for them to lodge in over night before bidding them good day and retreated to his quarters, pausing only to remind them that they must depart tomorrow morning. It was mid-afternoon now, leaving plenty of time for them to explore the Port and see to any last minute needs they might have.

(Either post or PM me with what you'll be getting up to for the rest of the day.)

---

Meanwhile, at the motor pool...


Mikolas had found some meek looking official to guide him to his destination. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed at what he found. The motor pool was simply a motley collection of a half-dozen vehicles lying in the shade of a canvas stretched between four poles, most appearing to be in a state of disrepair. The two that looked serviceable one was a flatbed truck sporting heavy-duty wheels an a tarpaulin covering that stretched the length of the vehicle. There was no semblance of a cab at the front; just two seats and the controls, the latter looking mercifully familiar to him. The other was a sturdier looking machine and, if he wasn't mistaken. awfully similar to the a jeep he'd once had the pleasure of owning back home. It even had a beefy looking heavy stubber mounted on the top, complete with a gunner's position. He felt nostalgic for a moment, remembering just how he'd lost such a beauty. Shame, that.

The last thing he noticed was a lone figure off in a corner of the area sprawled out in a deck chair. His overalls had a symbol similar to that of the Adeptus Mechanicus (one which he'd seen a fair deal of these past few weeks), the difference being that the skull in the center of it was absent.

(The flatbed truck looks alot like this, except that it doesn't have a compartment for the driver and passenger, doors and has a tarpauling attached to 4 poles stretched over the length of the vehicle. It also has far sturdier looking wheels. The other vehicle is pretty much this.)

[Capntastic]

Mik circled the two vehichles, before focusing in on the flatbed. He pondered, tugging his beard. This wasn't very pleasing.

He turned to the Mechy.

"Hey, this truck's the one I'm gonna be drivin', ain't it?"

[Jak Snide]

The man yawned, rubbed his eyes and sat up, taking a moment to register Mikolas' presence, and then another for his question.

"You one of them boys who gonna head out 'morrow? Yeah, that creepy lookin' feller, er, Emperor bless 'is soul, gone requisitioned it, yeah. Why yer askin'?"

[Capntastic]

"Yeah- I'm the driver. An' I wanna make sure this...truck...is tip top."

He glanced over to the warjeep.

"Any idea why he didn't pick this beaut' here?"

[Jak Snide]

"Well, as I been sayin' before, you can't go takin' that. It's the only thin' we got fer fightin'. Vehicle wise, mind. Anyways, that ol' girl there's a beauty. Tech-Priest come through here few months ago and give her and the other one his mark of approval. Dun say much nice 'bout the others, mind."

[Capntastic]

"Don' blame him much. Well, the truck runs well, right? Fast as Hell even off-roads, maybe?"

[Jak Snide]

"Sure does. No Salamander, that's what we used back in the guard, but it'll fare better than yer regular wheeled vehicle offroad. Built tough, too."

[Capntastic]

"But it ain't got no gun, no armor... hn. What can we do to make this,"

He gestured to the truck, and it's overall lack of defensive measures. And then to the jeep, nearly its opposite in that respect.

"More like this?"

[Jak Snide]

The man looked at Mikolas with a mixture of disbelief and fear. "Now dun you go talkin' like that. Been taught to fix 'em up, make the machine spirits all happy. Dun been taught to go changin' them. Told not to. Dun want anger the spririts, y'hear?"

[Capntastic]

Mik pondered this. He'd heard this line of thought quite a bit, and especially during his recent time aboard ships. But when something like this was on the line, he had to speak his mind.

"Well, think that spirit's gonna wanna get shot to Hell 'coz it ain't got no scales or teeth to bite back with?"

[Jak Snide]

Mikolas could see the conflict going on inside the man's head. On the one hand they were in agreeance with each other, but on the other hand the man had a very real concern about upsetting the machine spirit of the flatbed and, more importantly, the next tech-priest who came to inspect the motor pool.

"Now listen 'ere. I ain't gonna go carvin' nothin' up and strappin' new bits on. But I sees where yer comin' from, and I reckon a few bits o' improvisational armourin' wouldn't go upsetting nobody or no spirit too much. Didn't do so on Kapella, anyways. Course, I'd be needin' some sheet metal fer that. And, er, a few thrones to make it worth the while. Ain't supposed to be doin' this sort of thing, y'hear?"

[Christian]

Mithras had not seen the note that had been handed to the seer, but at the mention of purchasing gear he relaxed his posture a bit. He hadn't known the void-born for very long, but it certainly seemed as if Crisis had his little obsession. And he wasn't going to stand in the man's way...

But then again, he had used up all of his grenades...

"Crisis, would you mind if I joined you to wherever you're going?" He hated the little notes the man produced, it'd taken him four years to finish reading the Primer, and the man's handwriting was nearly indecipherable.





((Well, here I thought the ability to read was merely something related to intelligence. Clearly it wasn't (found the skill on my last trip through the book), so I apologize for the meta-gaming of before. Anyway, I'm kind of semi-back now, sorry for the problem))

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis nodded, and provided a 'come along' gesture in response. The shopping trip was originally to acquire something that is actually viable as a weapon for Mithras anyway, so his insistence on coming along was merely convenient. Better than the awkwardness of explaining WHY he gave the guardsman a new weapon to a few people who were more than likely unable to read his explanations anyway...

And, map in hand and weapons at the ready, he started off toward his destination. If Mithras didn't follow, his loss.

(OOC: If you have Literacy as Basic, then you can still read the languages you can speak. Just that it isn't easy.)

[Christian]

Mits hoistered his backpack again and headed after Crisis, giving the others a nod before leaving. The silent sniper seemed to know where they should be going, so he merely followed. Striking up a conversation really didn't seem worth the time and effort, so he merely made the best of it and tried to take in as much of their current location as possible. The city seemed hardly ideal for an eventual siege by anything... but then again, this was usually never something architects planned for when they designed cities... or so he had come to conclude.

[Capntastic]

"Sure thing; now, we got until dawn. Let's see what we can scrounge together and get to work."

[Jak Snide]

(Doug is right. Mithras can read, though he has a hard time with longer and esoteric words. Any in the Primer are probably going to be known to him.)

The Pits

Crisis and Mithras didn't have much trouble getting across town, even with the streets still heaving with activity. People steered clear of heavily armed men, even on a planet as reputedly fraught with strife as this. As they made their way towards The Pits Mithras caught sight of something he'd missed before; the port was indeed ringed by a metal wall, the guardsman occasionally catching glimpses of the defensive edifice between buildings. Xerxes had remained behind to get the cut on his face seen to, while Cryvus had muttered something about an avian menace and gone to inspect his quarters.

The Pits were part marketplace and part slum. Few of the structures were permanent, most being clusters of tents and wagons arranged haphazardly, and the area appeared to a home for exiles, freaks and vagabonds. Despite this, however, there was a wealth of merchandise on display.

(Most items of common or better availability can be found and purchased here automatically, while anything rarer will require an Inquiry check. PM or post here with what you're after.)

---

Elsewhere in town...

Mikolas and the mechanic, who turned out to be named Dannis, spent the next few hours productively. Taking the flatbed out for a spin Mik was pleased to find it was what Dannis said it would be: it didn't look like much but it was in good condition and handled well, though it didn't have much in the way of suspension. Stops at both the Spaceport and The Pits yielded results, though Mik found his pockets significantly lightened after procuring what they needed. Still, he wore a grin all the way back to the motor pool, truck laden with promise. He'd even managed to get a little shopping of his own done.

(Mikolas is now 60 thrones down, having spent 50 on various materials. With the help of Dannis they should be able to make some improvements by tomorrow. What those are, exactly, will be revealed then.)

[Kelne]

Cryvus had decided to take the opportunity to walk the streets of Port Suffering, getting a feel for the mood of the place. In light of their recent encounter with disgruntled locals however, he didn't feel comfortable going out on his own. As a result, he decided to tag along with Crisis and Mithras. While he had no shopping list of gear of his own, feeling what he had would suffice, he felt that, as long as he was there, he might as well peruse the various stalls, and perhaps gather some gossip.

[Capntastic]

Mik pulled into the motor pool with glee. He immediately hopped out- the best part of lacking proper doors- and clapped his hands together eagerly.

"Alright, we're gonna need to figure out what places'd be best to cover up, right? Driver seat, a'course, but also our passengers in the back 'n such. Ambushes comin' from the side an' such. This is gonna be some good thinkin'..."

[Jak Snide]

Dannis nodded in agreement. The man seemed to have grown fonder of the work ahead of them over the last few hours, especially once Mikolas had greased his palm.

"Way we used ter be doin' it back in the Guard was fix up the sides an' rear. 'Course, back then we had vehicles with some armour up front an' all. If you go runnin' into trouble out in the wastes you'll be catching stub an' las fire I reckon. Good sheet o' scrap should stop most of it, maybe two ter be sure. Shield the engine an' tank too, if yer can. No good bein' safe from bullets if yer ride turns into a great big ball o' fire. But I gotta ask, whatcha gone purchased all that wire for?"

Mikolas grinned and began to explain.

(I realise this week has been busy for several people. As such, even though we're moving along, feel free to finish up any shopping retroactively via PM.)

---

The following morning.

The acolytes met Aristarchus bright and early the following morning. Xerxes was sporting a couple of fresh stitches on his face and Mithras' minor flesh wound had been seen to. The seer informed them that their transport would be waiting at the motor pool and had already been loaded with their supplies. The temperature outside had yet to become scorching, the rising sun obscured by the walls of the port. Compared to the previous day it was positively peaceful. Then they reached the motor pool.

It wasn't hard to figure out which of the vehicles they'd had requisitioned for them. Of the two that looked operable one had clearly had been worked on recently, and it was clear that Mikolas had been an active hand in the process of improvement. What was once a simple yet sturdy flatbed had been augmented with sheets of scrap metal bolted to it's hull. The wooden elements had been covered and a shield had been erected in front of the driver and passenger seats, newly cut holes present so that the road ahead would actually be visible. The front grill and bumper now sported several uneven spikes which jutted forward, which would no doubt spell a painful end for anything that got in the way of the truck. Last, but not least (in the eyes of one acolyte, anyway), was the presence of razorwire. It was wrapped around the spikes at the front as well as some bolts which had been hammered into the armour plating. The man who had arguably done the majority of the work was nowhere to be seen, deck chair empty and tools neatly stacked nearby.

Aristarchus stood in silence for a moment before speaking.

"So. Does our means of conveyance meet your standards, Folus?"

(Despite the ramshackle appearance of their ride, Mikolas'...augmentations have provided some benefits. Those riding in the back can go prone and be shielded from any incoming gunfire from the same level as they are on. It's also possibly to crouch and gain cover for your legs. The driver and passenger seats are reasonably well protected from frontal attacks, though the sides are still exposed. Finally anything trying to leap aboard will have a hard time of it, thanks to all the barbed wire.

Secondly; after the misadventure aboard the Brazen Sky everyone had their Fate Points restored. Mikolas has healed fully during the night, while Mithras is 1 wound off maximum.)

[Christian]

Mithras had wound up following his fellow acolyte around at a preciously rare period where neither of them were attacked or otherwise abused by neither locals nor witchcraft in general. It felt, Mithras considered as he looked at a small stand selling an assortment of local... cuisine, good. Especially since they weren't cramped up inside a ship.

Having lacked the foresight of saving up any money for this trip, he had to make do with browsing. His two precious frag grenades would remain unreplaced for the time being, but he doubted they'd run into something requiring them any time soon.


Clearly he was still a bit green at this job.

When so the next day came the soldier turned Inquisitor hired-hand showed up along with the rest of the group, his gear packed and, surprisingly, his armor meticulously strapped to or put in his backpack, his usual military fatigues replaced with a uniform that looked more or less completely unused...

The edgy man wearing it look a few degrees above comfortable wearing it, a finger going into the necklining and scratching. His weaponry were still close at hand, but he certainly looked a lot more respectable in this get-up... Unfortunantly, it also made his graying hair and stubble a tad bit more obvious than when he'd been in full battle-gear.

[Kelne]

"Job's a good one," Cryvus remarked absently, casting an approving eye over the vehicle. The alterations were primitive, certainly, but looked very much as if they would do well in protecting its passengers.

For reasons which, as usual, were known only to Cryvus, he had acquired a large and actually rather nice-looking vase from the market and installed it in the lobby. It was probably best not to question this course of events.

[Capntastic]

Mik nodded, grinning. "Yeah, should be much better now."

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis had gone to the Pits in hope of acquiring something useful for himself--given that Mithras insisted on going, he presumed that the Guardsman brought enough money along to make it worth his time. The voidborn, on the other hand, had some ideas for what to acquire; he had taken a few too many close calls as of the last conflict, and expenditure of resources on the previous fight was leaving him short of grenades, to say the least...all of this rectified by his visit to the Pits.

Crisis looked particularly different the next morning. Gone were the helmet and flak vest, replaced by a gray cloak that looked interleaved with several small plates, as to make it protective but retain the basic properties that cloaks possess. The hood was down, and surprisingly, the gas mask was off, held in one hand. Present was an eerily androgynous face--such that it would be immensely difficult to merely guess Crisis' gender. Long, flowing auburn hair contrasting the greyish skin, and making for a less than settling appearance for the Voidborn assassin's face...

Said face contorting into a look of shock, and then seething anger as he pulled out his writing tools, furiously scribbling on the pad as he held both it and the gas mask...

'In the name of all in favor to the God-Emperor himself, WHOSE IDIOTIC DECISION WAS IT TO COVER THE TRUCK IN WIRE?!'

[Kelne]

"We all have our little foibles, Crisis," Cryvus said calmly, seeing little point in answering a question with what was surely an obvious answer.

[Jak Snide]

Xerxes kept his expression blank as Aristarchus nodded in acknowledgement of both Mikolas' and Cryvus' words. "I'll take your word for it." he said, sounding less than convinced as he read Crisis' hastily scrawled note. "I certainly hope one of you is trained in the treatment of lacerations." The seer took his place in the passenger seat of the vehicle while Mikolas swung himself into the driver's. The rest were left to crouch or sit in the flatbed itself, the poles that held the canopy over the vehicle thankfully free of razorwire and proving to be decent enough handholds.

---

It didn't take long for Mikolas to find his way to the Northern gate of Port Suffering. There were few people around at this hour and those that were made an effort to stay well out of the way of his customised ride. A quick check at the gate and they were out into the wilds, swiftly leaving the what little civilization the planet had behind them as they rattled along the Pilgrim's Road.

The barrens lived up to their name; the landscape was a desolate plain of dun-coloured stone, loose, thin soil and thorny weeds. Stretches were pitted with old blast craters and marred by spills of blackened earth. Every few kilometres they would catch sight of a ruined settlement or clan camp, each lying empty and abandoned, some old and some new, the latter still splashed with rust-coloured dried blood. Skeletons lay where they fell and, eerily, the Ghostfire flowers the planet was so famed for seemed to take root where the dead rested, wrapped their roots around the shattered bones and opening their multi-hued iridescent blooms. The land seemed utterly dead, the only animal life evident being a odd bird or two. The weather was just as inhospitable, winds blowing from multiple directions at once and kicking up dust storms, always carrying the stench of a charnel house. At least they kept the acolytes cool, the canvas stretched above them doing a reasonable job when the winds died down.

Aristarchus made small talk as they travelled, prying into the details of their previous mission as well as their troubles about the Brazen Sky. The acolytes couldn't help but feel that he was gently testing their loyalty to the Imperium, Inquisition and God-Emperor. Crisis found himself using a fair deal of ink and parchment, his superior intent on questioning him despite the bumpy ride. He seemed satisfied with the responses he got, though Mikolas was was given a chiding when his lack of knowledge in religious matters became apparent, swiftly followed by an impromptu lesson on the sector's most notable saints.

(Mikolas' ignorance has given everyone a chance to learn something about the primary saints of the Sector Calixis. Click here if you'd like to know more.)

In one of the quiet moments of the journey he produced the cards the acolytes had seen him handling when they first met him, staring at them for several minutes.

(Cryvus:

Spoiler:

Even at a glance you can tell what these are. A rather fine set of The Emperor's Tarot, possibly of the psycho-active variety as opposed to his own mundane set.

)

(If anyone wishes to make small talk or ask Aristarchus some questions the time would be now. Otherwise I'll move things along shortly.)

[Jak Snide]

The day eventually turned to night, a red sun dipping below the horizon and ushering in a biting cold. They stop and make camp, the canvas covering of their flatbed removed and planted into the ground to serve as a tent. Arisatchus lights a fire to warm them and suggests they keep watches. The camp fire proving to be their only source of illumination, the stars out but providing little illumination.

Crisis took the first watch, the others dropping off to sleep as the full darkness of the night rolled in. He fought to keep memories of another darkness buried for the next few hours until, mercifully, his watch ended. Mithras took the next shift, the fire and the sounds of his sleeping companions being the only company he had, save the the odd sighting of a bird flying by.

Mithras:

Spoiler:

As you turn your head to the left you notice what appears to be a human figure walking slowly towards the camp, barely visible in the twilight. It stops as he fixes his eyes on it, standing rock still just beyond the reach of the firelight.

[Christian]

This was a somewhat nostalgic experience, the grizzled... or... battered guardsman thought to himself as he poked around in the fire with a branch and shifted his weight a bit. Last time he'd have to sit nightwatch in a camp was... was before they'd been sent off to Tranch.

No, no real point in thinking about them, better to...

What was that!?

He froze in motion completely, eyes focused on what he was seeing as countless thoughts poured through his mind. Wake the others? Grab a rifle? Tell whoever it was to reveal himself?

Thankfully the weapon wasn't far away and, without ever dropping his eyes from the shape, he grabbed for his lasgun, pulling it into an aim as he barked: "Show yourself!"

He was already in a low position, but the presence of the fire would limit his nightsight... he'd need to move a bit, but would he risk it?

For the moment he remained still, waiting for a response.