Dark Heresy

[firemagehao]

You have all risen above the lay folk. Some are unaware of mutants, heretics, and aliens. You however, have, and you have been charged to fight them. You have come to know one person, also fighting the forces of darkness, but one step closer to the god-emperor that yourselves. He has passed on to you, your mission, that you should travel to the colony of Praetorum. When you get there, your job shall become clear.

And with that, your inquisitor walks into a corner of the room, and a he does, the shadows draw nearer to him, until he can not be seen. The shadows vanish, and him with them, leaving the party in meeting room on a ship. Alone. The metal walls of the ship cold to touch, the automatic doors emblazoned with the emblem of the empire. The ship is by no means the best in the fleet. It has signs of wear, and even in some places rust. In some of the less traveled corridors, pipes are showing, and the ventilation system hisses away.

[Mr. Moon]

Alistar leans against the wall, opposite to the corner in which their new Inquisitor had chosen to make his exit. The sanctioned psyker is clearly quite fastidious in his appearance. His shoulder-length black hair is perfectly combed and pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, with his bangs loosely tumbling over his forehead just so, above his silver-grey eyes. He is dressed in more than the usual rags of a psyker fresh off of Tera - under a rather tattered psyker robe, he wears a snug black shirt with long sleeves, and pair loose fitting fatigue pants that were likely 'borrowed' from the Imperial Guard. His skin is terribly pale, almost a sickly grey colour. He looks almost ghost-like under the ancient lights.

As the Inquisitor describes the new mission to them, he spends the briefing looking around at his new companions. So, this was what it was like to be an Acolyte, huh? Well, it was about time he got to actually do something.

"Well then." Alistar speaks up, after the Inquisitor makes his rather flashy exit. "This is going to sound terribly foolish, but I don't suppose any of you caught our new employer's name, hm?"

[Vespe Ratavo]

A few feet down from where Alistar stands, a dark red robe, trimmed with gold, lies slumped against the wall. From one of its folds, a few slender fingers extend, nervously drumming on the fabric. "Rust," comes a frigid murmur.

She wasn't used to rust. She knew what it was, how to fix it, but she had only seen it in small amounts. The hissing, rattling ship seemed to give off a quiet despair - a routine agony, commonplace suffering. She wanted to fix it. No tools. Where were they? Doesn't matter. No permission, either, pilot would be angry. Want to be angry. Can't. Won't? Possessiveness. Why? Want my tools. Have a medikit. Can fix people, not machines. Ironic.

Sound, speech.

She turns, pulling back her hood, letting a full mane of copper hair loose, bangs settling around her cheeks. Blue eyes glance towards the sound. Psyker. Dangerous? Friendly. Mental manipulation of energy field. Very interesting. Closer examination needed.

"I did not, I am afraid," she says, respirator tuning her words, shifting, almost melodic. "He likely intends to tell us later. Gemma Tauros," she adds abruptly, as if apologizing.

[RogueTrader]

Sgt. Daniel Cutting, a tanned and muscled man with a personalized Longlas strapped over his shoulder, gives a noncommittal shrug towards the group at large. "Sounds like we ain't getting the full picture yet. Fine by me, 'course, I just take 'em as they come." Checking a chronometer on the wall, his eyes narrow in thought. "We leave now, we can catch a trans shuttle, take us to a pad about 50 clicks to the north, get us on our way to Praetorum."

[Shieldheart]

Euphrati let her shoulders slump as the Inquisitor left them. Her dark green hair hung limp about her shoulders, her tanned skin glistening under the lights. She felt a little tired. She had been looking forward to the briefing as the culmination of a long trip, but the meeting had been vague and slightly ominous; it did not seem as if she would actually learn anything until they reached Praetorum. Perhaps that was just as well. She had some inkling of what the likes of Inquisitors got up to. She did not want to know too much of what they were likely to face beforehand. It might interfere with her focus.

She stretched, feeling her bones crack. Getting off-world wasn't nearly as glamorous as she'd hoped it would be. Cramped, gloomy quarters and subpar temperature regulation made for irritable travel and she hadn't even gotten the chance to catch a glimpse of space. The whole ordeal - from the summons to the office of the Lord Marshal to the rushed dispatch to the spaceport and the arrival at this rusty tincan - had taken place so swiftly, Euphrati hadn't really had the chance to come to terms with all of it. Her life had changed irrevocably. She was off-world for the first time in her life and for the forseeable future. She'd been drafted into the retinue of an Inquisitor, a man who could destroy a planet if he had just reason to. Things were happening in her life. At the moment, she just felt like taking a nap. But this wasn't the time.

She turned her attention to her new comrades. She knew from experience it was best to get to know people you'd be working with as soon as you could. In a job like this, your life would be in their hands and vice versa too soon for comfort.

She nodded at the Tech-priest who'd introduced herself as Gemma Tauros. At least, Euphrati thought that was her name. Could be code of some sort. She didn't think that one would let slip anything more anytime soon. Most Techies she'd ever met had been very tight-lipped.

She spoke up. "I think the gun-man has a point now. Best not dawdle too long here. Who knows what's waiting for us out at Praetorum? The faster we get out there and see what we're to deal with, the better." She paused and looked about. "I'm Euphrati Aenholt, Arbitrator from Hive-World Arhanine, Sub-sector Malfian, Sector Calixis." She smiled. "Good to meet you all."

[Miraqariftsky]

"Chief's charyaka!" comes the hissed curse at the Inquisitor's departure through the shadows. He's... not some sort of wall-walking shadow-swimming mutant, is he? Though... that might have been wise of him, not revealing his true identity, so't daemons mayn't use it against him...

A grimy, scarred visage faces the closest air-vent, unabashedly enjoying the simple pleasure of a ventilation shaft untainted by slaves' screams and mutants' moans. The woman's eyes are closed as she slowly exhales, releasing the breath she didn't know she had held. Up on her forehead, an old tattoo of a stylized burning eye glares out at all and sundry.

She straightens up in her spot opposite Euphrati and rolls her shoulders, scratching idly at her near-fresh almost-ogryn-sized shirt of simple grey cloth stretched taut across her savagely built frame. She fidgets for the umpteenth time, chafing under the unaccustomed weight of her flak armour. Scored and scorched hands hold a battered shotgun across her lap with a ready ease.

Nodding sagely at the psyker, she says, in a voice deep, slow and deliberate, "Aye. Our lord is wise not to speak his true name, lest foul spirits hear and use it for ill." And then she blinks, slowly, and adds apologetically, "Nawt tha' I'n sayin' there be a traitor 'mongst us, jus' tha'... erng... jus' bein' safe, ye get me drift?"

At the pronouncement of Gemma, the scarred savage shrugs and says, "As the Emperor wills"

She grunts at the sniper's words and says in turn, then casting a burning brown glance her newfound companions. "Know y'all aught o' this 'ere... Preetorrrhum place?"

But when the Arbite speaks, the feral worlder's thick jaw drops slack. She blinks, then squints in thought, her mouth moving up and down but no words come forth. Finally, she coughs and says, "F'sooth, yer right, but... erm... can I just call ye, I dunno... Smiley?"

Her face then twitches as she remembers that she has yet to introduce herself in turn. She pats the fine axehead with the Omnissiah's cog engraved on the blade and slaps a fist onto her breast, her eyes meeting those of all, then nods and says, "Y'all kin call me Axe".

[firemagehao]

A voice on the intercom rings through the room, giving off a metallic hum. "We will be arriving shortly, sooner than planned. All passengers please report to the boarding docks."

You hear a click as the microphone shuts off, the low technology of the ship very prominent. You can hear a few clanking footsteps off in the distance. You all can recall the location of the boarding decks being two floors up, on the central right flank of the ship.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Gemma slowly turns her head around the room, studying each speaker in turn, her only reaction a curt nod or eyebrow raise, eyes studying and calculating. All the while, her mind is rigorously analyzing them all.

Informal speech pattern, casual yet practical, indicative of warrior type personality. Longlas. Matches no standard pattern - I think? Must be some I don't know...anyway...looks personalized. Likely veteran, highly skilled. Will be happy if healthy and gun working. Can provide both. Better armor than me. Stand behind him.

Arbitrator. Hive-world breeds gregariousness by necessity, occupation instills organization and procedure. Dependable. Dependable? Likely. Guardsman, then Arbitrator, then me.

Reconsidering. Two Guardsmen, them, then Arbitrator. Guardswoman? ...sure are a lot of girls for an Inquisitor's retinue. Not that I'm complaining, it'll be nice to talk with people who can discuss things besides machines...focus. Tribal belief system, Ecclesiarchal faith. Interesting. Melee weapon? Seems...imprac...

A small smile spreads across her face. She pulls her hands from the folds of fabric, holding her palms up to Axe. At the bottom of each is a small, circular Mechanicus cog electoo, one red, one blue.

Above, the intercom buzzes. She glances up, reaching for her staff. That was fast.

[Miraqariftsky]

Axe's eyes grow wide at the techpriestess' magic tattoos and a slow simple smile spreads across her hard features...

...clang. clang! Clang. Clanggsh! KRUGSH!

Loud footfalls crash down a rust-riven passageway. Sparks erupt from broken headless and gutted wire-snakes in walls. Daemons leer out of every bulkhead as I flee past them. Oh Chief... Oh Chief...

My eyes are wide with pain and rage and fear. The world whirls past in a blur. Have to run. Run. RUN! Agh... bleeding can wait, must get away...

...waaagh! Avfff-glub-blub-blub-HUAAAH! Can't drown, can't drown... Chief-in-Sky, where am I?! Great wide cave of rust. Broken things, broken metal, corpses, ****, mutant-things-that-pick-trash...

...oh CHIEF! Here it comes, hide! Hufffftttt... Will I be able to hold my breath long enough? Can it find me? Chief-in-Sky, oh no, here it comes... No, can't die now, must go back for the others, and am I to die hiding like a coward... Must find something, anything...

...agh! A hand, a blade, something down here too...! Wait, it's giving me an axe, Ancestors' bones! That chain, those claws, oh Chief's charyaka, here it comes...!

RAAAAGH! CHKKsklurtch! Chief's charyaka! High Ones be praised! Ancestors' blessing, what weapon is this that cuts armour like flesh? That... is... not the Chief-in-Sky's sign, but... maybe one of his Saints? A shaman's axe, maybe? But... square flower around a skull? Square flower? Like those... spinny things in the great dragon's greasy parts? Huh...

...and then it fades back into a scowl that eases back into her regular craggy countenance. She unclips the axe from her belt and hefts it, feeling its familiar weight, running a callused finger over its unblunted edge--- keen as the bitterest winter in the centre of the blade's crescent, squared off. She pats the face of the Omnissiah engraved on the back of the bit to which the haft is affixed. She then strokes the black iron haft--- almost as battered and broken and dented as she herself looks--- finger by finger feeling down to the bloody-rag-bound grip, where observant eyes can discern a corroded, yet still legible inscription of "-agos Zwei-ker..." on one side and "Ma... -na... -ivin... -perat-... om..." There is no butt-cap on the end, only a jagged, splintered stump.

Abruptly, she thrusts the weapon into Gemma's hands, then points at the cogwheel design on the blade, then the techpriestess' hands and robe. Axe says, "You are... priestess of... Saint Square Flower, aye? I found this in dead hand of one of your... order... in a... swamp of rust and... broken machine-things. Mutants and heretics..." ptui! "...care not for the dead. Ennyhow, this axe, with marks like yours? Saved my life and served Emperor Chief-in-Sky many-many times"

"I know little to read..." she continues, then jabs a finger at the haft's eroded inscriptions. "...but I know this was blessing or prayer and this was name of dead priest who once held it. When next you kill a bull, this I ask, you pray that this 'Aagos Zweiker' or whoever it was, give him my thanks for giving me his weapon. It was-is good. May he find his way to the halls of his ancestors and feast at the table of the Chief-in-Sky"

At the sudden blaring of the intercom, Axe flinches and snorts reflexively, her hands tightening on the stock and barrel of her shotgun, eyes darting like a spooked warthog. But only for a moment. She sighs and relaxes... even flushing with little-understood embarassment... once she realizes that there is no immediate danger.

Leaving her namesake weapon in the tech-adept's hands for the moment, Axe says to the group in general before heading out to through the steaming-grinding-metal-mouth-door, "I go quick-quick to room of sleeping. I will be swift, get my things. Meet in korr-ee-dorr"

...a few minutes later, to the sound of fresh boots pounding on the steel floor, she reunites with the group. Guard fatigues are now worn over the ogryn shirt and the straps of her armour look re-adjusted... which now makes evident the bulge of a holster at her left hip. Across her back is now strapped a stocked backpack and across her waist are belted several magazines' worth of hard bullets, along with a couple of grenades and a shouldered bandolier of shot shells.

With her trusty shotgun strapped back and poking up over one shoulder and holding ready a rugged autogun. Axe flashes a gap-toothed grin at her fellow Acolytes as she says, "To Prey-ahtwo-Rhum, aye? It is good to be alive to be working the grace of the Emperor, aye?"

[Mr. Moon]

Alistar is not exempt from the conversation, either. The psyker stands up from his wall, taking a few steps into the centre of the room. As each of his new team-mates speaks up, he looks over at them, scrutinizingly examining them under the guise of polite attention.

A tech-priest, relatively young and new to the Mechanicus. It was even clear what gender she was, once she pulled down her hood. Likely close to his own age, although with the respirator covering her face and the robes obscuring her figure it was hard to tell. For now he had little idea of what she was skilled at apart from the vague notion of 'fixing machines', which was, Alistar supposed, important in itself. Just what else she would be good for would remain to be seen. Alistar's smile at her would be quite easy to take as open and friendly as he returns her introduction. "We can only hope. I'm Alistar Primrose," the robed man sweeps an exaggerated and decidedly informal bow, "at your service."

As the Guardsman speaks up, the would-be telepath's attention is turned onto him. A quiet chuckle tickles Alistar's throat - the tactless, upfront nature of the Guard always amused him. There was no question of this man's role - he was to kill things. And already, the guardsman wanted to get moving. So impatient, so eager. To Alistar, who preferred to take things slowly and throughly, this was quite amusing. Well, so be it, better someone other than Alistar take the first shot. The black-haired psyker smiles to himself makes a mental note to try to stay behind him.

The Arbitrator speaks up, introducing herself and agreeing with the as of yet unnamed Guardsman. Aenholt... the name was infuriatingly familiar, triggering a shadow of a memory in the depths of Alistar's mind that refused to surface. For a few moments, the psyker is lost to his thoughts, trying to puzzle the reason for his recognition out, but ultimately he is unable to. Abandoning the trail of thought for the moment, he snaps back to reality to discover a few seconds lost. Ah well, perhaps he could ask her, later, when they had time.

Suddenly, Alistar's attention is pulled away from the older woman, as another woman - so many women on this team, Alistar was surprised by it - who spoke up. At first, the psyker is distracted by the tatooed eye that painted her forehead. Was she a Diviner of some sort? Impossible, she bore no signs of Sanctification. Besides, she was far to large and muscle-bound for such a path, and carried her axe and shotgun too confidently. The revolver that hung at Alistar's side was a mass of strange and unfamiliar lead, regarded with a cautious amount of distrust. So, she was another Guard, then. Excellent, someone else to stand behind. However, this still did not explain the strange tattoo and strange manner of speaking. Clearly, she was some manner of tribal worlder. Intriguing, then, that she so surely worshipped the Emperor instead of, oh, river imps? Alistar knew little of the religion of such backwards people. However, now that he was faced with one, perhaps this was just the time to learn of her ways and superstitions. Perhaps he could use them.

"Oh, I'm quite sure we will have no such worries among out numbers." He smiles back with a wink of his cloud-grey eyes at the tribal ape of a woman - Axe, she had called herself. Alistar watches with some amusement as the tribal thrusts her weapon into the techpriest's arms, and the declaration of her to be a patron of 'Saint Square-Flower' nearly makes the psyker burst out laughing.

As the barbarian leaves, Alistar meanders over to Gemma, watching the light from her tatoos play upon the shaft of the axe. "Well, she seems nice enough." He observes in Axe's absence, that smug smile still at his lips. When the guardswoman returns, he turns to face the door, peering at thoughtfully, as if he weren't entirely sure if it begot him to pass its threshold. "Well, I suppose, if we are all quite ready?"

[RogueTrader]

Daniel collects his gear as the group prepares to disembark. He visibly carries weapons on him; knife and hammer on his right side, laspistol on his left, and what looks like a broken down... bow? But of course the most obvious implement about him, the primary tool of his lethal trade, is the delicate looking Longlas gently slung across his back. You can't say the weapon shines, because any reflective surface on it has been smudged down to prevent such recklessness on the field of battle, but even a cursory glance from a novice to their trade can appreciate the meticulous care it has been given and the fine condition it has kept. Indeed, for a rifle that has seen over a decade of service and scored over a hundred kills, it practically pristine.

As the Tech Priest moves to exit, Daniel simply nods once, and falls in line...

[firemagehao]

As you travel through the ship, the metal floor creeks beneath your collective weight. An occasional burst of steam shoots from a rusty pipe running across the wall or ceiling. There are other passengers on the ship, notably one who apeared to have arcane or divine symbols carved into nearly every inch of his flesh, as well as another, who appeared to have armor grafted into his flesh, carrying a giant three bladed scythe, with blades thicker than those of your axes, and sharp enough to cut through steel.

The lighting on the ship is dim and flickering, on occasion, one even goes out for a few seconds before lighting back up. The walls are adorned with not paintings or even signs, but simply paint on the walls, arrows and the name of what is in the direction they are pointing. As you travel through the halls, you pass the mess hall, as well as a room filled with equipment used for exercising, a man inside who is lifting over one thousand pounds at once, who appears to be a regular man othr than how heavily muscular he is.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Oof. Gemma carefully grips the axe as its namesake (or was it the other way around?) thrusts it into her hands, looking over the ornate weapon, running a finger along it. Square Flower? Cog, circular shape with square parapets. Is parapets good word? Likely not. Must find real word.

She shudders at the mention of the weapon's origin. To think, it might have been lost forever in some backwater swamp. Magos Zweiker? Name seems familiar. She looks back up towards Axe. I'm sure he shall. Axe - weapon - not especially mechanical. Is simple machine, though. Lever with plane on the end, for transferring force. Couldn't hurt to bless. Don't think I've killed a bull. Should I? If necessary.

Gemma closes her eyes, murmuring under her breath, interspersed with indecipherable mechanical sounds and static, running her palm over the handle. After a moment of this, she glances up again at Alistair, expression impossible to discern under her respirator. She does...er. She blinks. Would I be more...approachable, she decides, if I retracted my respirator? Is it odd?

Before she hears the response, Axe returns. She rises to her feet, supporting herself with her staff, and offers Axe her axe. I should think you need this more than I do.

[Shieldheart]

Euphrati watched the massive Guardswoman, undoubtedly from some feral world, what with her accent and mannerisms and well, appearance, prattled on. She laughed out loud when the woman offered to call her 'Smiley', perhaps...well, certainly because 'Euphrati', would be quite a mouthful for the poor thing. It would do no harm to humour her and would do much good likely. This one was a warrior; an uncouth, barbaric warrior, but a warrior nevertheless. It was best to have those on your side.

Euphrati nodded, amused. "You can call me Smiley. And I shall call you Axe." She said, her eyes moving over the massive weapon Axe carried about with her. It was well-used by the looks of it. She had had to use primitive melee weapons in the line of duty before, but never something like that. She doubted she'd even be able to swing the damn thing.

Euphrati watched the exchange between the feral Guardswoman and the taciturn Tech-priest curiously and her mouth quirked at the mention of 'Saint Square-Flower'. Quaint. Axe was going to be a source of amusement in this team that was for certain.

Her eyes had noticed the two electoo visible in the Tech-priest's hands. Interesting. Her fingers unconsciously poked at the single electoo she had had inserted into her left arm a long time back. It should be a good conversation-starter with the Techie, Gemma. Or not. Techies were strange, she knew firsthand.

She looked over again at the silent Guardsman. He had said nothing beyond making that suggestion in the beginning. Her eyes passed over to the psyker. He seemed quite but confident, different at first glance from the few psykers she'd ever seen. She'd have to make a special effort to get to know him better. His...abilities...should prove crucial given what Inquisitors were rumoured to handle.

The intercom buzzed. Euphrati took a deep breath. She was prepared. She had anticipated swift departure after the meeting and now all she had to do was pick up her pack and put it on. All the others - except Axe - seemed to have shown the same forethought. A small thing perhaps, but it demonstrated organization and preparedness. Good traits to have in the police and in the military. Perhaps she would have to keep an eye on Axe after all.

She fell into line behind the Guardsman and watched curiously as the Techie appeared to bless the weapon given to her by Axe. Did it count as a machine? Euphrati fidgeted, feeling the weight of her laspistol at her waist. It would be a good idea to have that checked out by Gemma. She looked after it well, but a real Tech-priest would know best.

When Axe returned, Gemma, predictably Euphrati supposed, offered her the axe back. What, after all, would a Tech-priest do with something so primitive? Euphrati wanted to see what the superstitious Axe would do, but time was pressing.

She cleared her throat gently. "Best we be off..." She suggested softly. No point in antagonizing people by seeming bossy.

[Miraqariftsky]

"You... not take it to your temple?" The towering Guardswoman raises an eyebrow when Gemma returns the axe upon her return but after that moment's hesitation, takes it back and returns it to a harness that seems to have seen less than a week's worth of use. "You speak wise. Thankee"

"Aye" Axe nods in quiet agreement with Euphrati and smoothly slips herself in as the vanguard of the team...

...Like the entrails of the great longhorned water buffalo from home, the insides of a dragon of the void, no, Dry-Beard had said it was a starship, a big boat that travels through the sea of stars, are just as convoluted.

I lead this ragged band through ruined walls and blasted bulkheads, ducking into the shadows every time a patrol comes by. Many times. Sometimes I'm too large for an escaped slave and we'd have to fight or run. Run. Run away, many times. Almost can't resist temptation of staying to make a fight to end all fights.

Glorious? Is not glory vanity when I can no longer help these people... friends? No... the tribe that I have now. Gunny... Dry-Beard... Eyes... Rat-Quick... Boom... One-Ear...

Axe... Ratatats... Prophet's Fury, ayyyye, we know your faith is blandiwhatsit-no-can-do, just shaddap and shoot, please... hunting sticks and throwing knives... chain... big BOOM gun ... chain...

...HOLD! Hold... chaaaarg...!

...Chief's charyaka! Emperor be praised, but... why are the guards here already... dead?

...She strides confidently through the press of people in those clanging corridors. Her right hand rests on the handle of the Ngaff Five-Fiver assault rifle, finger ready across the trigger-guard but not on the trigger itself, as she had learned from the time an accidental discharge had given away her position to a Chaos patrol. Her left holds the barrel aimed at the floor, just to be safe, but her muscles are tense, ready to bring the RATATAT to bear, just in case.

And Axe does almost leap back and unleash a point blank fusillade as they round the bend and man-of-flesh-and-iron-wielding-dragon's-claws...

...stupidStupidSTUPID! If I ever, EVER get a gun again, never-NEVER put the finger on the trigger unless absolutely needed!

KLANG-sklurtch! Sorry, please forgive me, brother... Kinsman you once were, though mad traitor heretic now... Still... sleep now. They can't hurt you anymore. THEY did this to you... to us, to us all...

Long-Snorer, he had once been called, the man who had rushed at me with bared blade, with foaming mouth, with bloodshot eyes and the Burning Eye tattoo on his forehead--- the same as mine--- slumps to the sands of the arena, his sternum smashed through by my axe. I hold his arm tight as he thrashes his last, kicking and biting... and finally falling into me with a human light briefly passing through his eyes, sighing gratefully then breathing his last.

One... one of the old tribe... am I the last? I don't...
...whoosh-KRAK! A great green mutant, waddling with fat, putrid with sores, slams its long chain into us... clips Long's head, I duck low, but... aagh, sand in my eyes...

...roll away, run away! Run! Kill! Run! Kill! Run!

World blurs. Pain. Throbbing, searing pain. ChiefinskywheredoIgo?! Wide arena... xenos-things... mutants... dregs... slaves... many slaves... many of those... those like me... failed escapers...

GRRRNNNN! A fanged sword! A fanged sword, augh! Can't... can't die by that! Run... augh! Can't trip, can't fall now... Oh Chief! Bones of the Ancestors... no...

...I'm not dead? And, oh no. No... Damn me for... they shouldn't have! But, I'm still running... run! Kill! Run! RUN!

I stop by the wall, crouching in the shadow of a fallen beastman. Catching my breath. I want to cry, I want to shout, but I am too dry. The whole chain-gang of them...

The crowd of the Chaos crew above stops hollering. Shouting now. Shouting steady. Like a war-cry... Like a prayer...

Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!

The great iron doors open. They cheer as their champion steps forth, eye-hurting, soul-hurting in red iron armour, horns bigger than the biggest buffalo's, eyes blacker than char, in one hand a growling fanged axe, in the other a howling-keening three-bladed scythe...

Good Chief Above! He doesn't see me or thinks me unworthy. Hide! Must keep hidden... but... why can't I not watch? Arrrgh...

Easy as breathing, he rends asunder a spike-jointed needle-toothed xenos-thing and the great bellowing cleaver-wielding beastman that charged right at him. Swift as lightning, terrible as thunder, he wades into the mass of the condemned, slaughtering them all...

...and aha! His back is turned! Perfect chance to kill HIM!

Wait... no! Am I going crazy?! Can't die now, not like this... I'm not alone. I'm not the last. Dry-Beard said so. Mother said so. CHIEF said so. Work to be done... not all is all in a fight...

...and there! Door left open! Run! Ruuuuun! RRRUUUUUUUNN!

Darkness. Darkness...
Darkness...
Emperor...
Chief...
Argh...

...but she restrains herself from firing. It is no longer a ship of the Enemy. That man of metal is... still human, like Lights over there, though she talks strange, is still human. Huh. Just like Sparky. Magos Whosit? Don't know no more, well, good... can't betray 'em to daemons if I don't know their true names. Hah. Honest. Heh. Good ol' Sparky...

As they pass the Room-of-Sweat, Axe flashes a yellowed smirk at some familiar faces within. There's Crunchy, on the bag-of-hitting... There's Shoutsalot, fighting some others on the mat... There's Glass-Eyes, too thin, methinks, running on... a... flat whirly thing...

Passing by the myriad corridors and turns, Axe is grateful that she had run this course to the place they call Boarding Docks. Grateful as well, she is, that these signs are helping teach her to read. Broad White Arrow with those squiggly-word-signs-just-so means 'BOARDING DOCKS THATTAWAY'.

Meanwhile, she slows down just a bit to allow her to look back over her shoulder at her new comrades... her new hunt-mates.

Smiley, woman looks older than her mother, but... small. Looks like she knows how to well-tell and shoot too, if the way she carries that boomgun is anything to tell by...

Moon-Singer, man looks like some sort of shaman by those robes... And yet, shaman? That's what I would have been... From the way he carries his gun, she doubts he can carry it well, but still keeps in mind that appearances can be deceiving. What power is yours, warlock, what lightning do ye wield, O listener-to-the-song-of-stars?

Steel, woman-who-is-part-iron and wears as well the robes of a priestess, seems nice enough. Looks like it must be an awful load, to have that third iron arm like that metal mouth like that... Wonder if she can spit lightning... but if her old comrade Sparky was any measure, Steel should be good with machine-things as well...

Hunter, man carries himself as such. No unnecessary words, a silent stalker, a slayer. His spear is the fire from that long gun... a strong spear and a far cast indeed. Strong as well, by that arm, that chest, that hammer...

But only the Emperor truly knows.

And so Axe speaks, addressing them all while she walks. "'Ey y'all. Smiley, Moon-Singer, Steel, Hunter. We are to walk together, hunt together, fight together, sleep together, yes? Cannot be pack, unless we know what things we do good, what things we not so good with, yes?"

She takes the lead with a shrug, "Me? Fight well, in-close... can keep heads down with RATAT-gun, too. Not know many things in wide Eemp-Ear-Yum, tdough. Had been chain-dreg in... star-ship... of Great Enemy for... uh, -many- flood-seasons. Can learn well, tdough, if be teached"

[Shieldheart]

The ship was a mess. Euphrati wondered how it stayed space-worthy. The pipes all around creaked and hissed. The metal clanged ominously. The lighting dimmed and flared, once going out altogether, leaving them draped in shadows. Euphrati was reminded of the less well-maintained sectors near the underhive. She felt a ball of nervousness had lodged in her guts. Emperor forbid, but if the ship should fail...

Perhaps it was just as well she hadn't had a chance to get a peek of space. Euphrati had heard stories of men from Hive-worlds gone mad from their first glimpse of an unfogged sky and the open vistas of other worlds. Not everyone had what it took to withstand something so alien. She thought she could, but suddenly she was afraid of finding out for real.

The group trudged on, Euphrati just behind Axe, the feral-worlder leading. At the least the press of people did not bother her. If anything, she found a little comfort in that. So far she could almost imagine she was still on Arhanine, safe inside the Hive. Almost.

There were people here who were definitely a strange sight, even for an Arbite from a Hive-world. Euphrati spotted what looked like a Tech-priest warrior or at least a heavily-augmented fighter carrying a deadly and decidely unwieldy lookined scythe. That one had nearly made her jump out of her skin. Then there was that strange man tattooed all over. She'd seemed to recognize some of the symbols, but they had passed him by too quickly.

Strange creatures from strange new worlds. Euphrati felt the old excitement return, mingling with the cloyng fear settled in her stomach. This was part of what had made her look forward to this mission, this new life. The Imperium was huge and this was her chance to get out there and see some of it. And Emperor willing, save some of it.

They passed a gymnasium, with men and women, old and young sweating away. She noticed one man in particular lifting a ridiculously large weight. For a moment, her heart leapt as she imagined she was looking at one of the famed Astartes. But from what she'd heard those supermen were nine-feet tall. This one seemed to be a regular man. Perhaps he was augmented under the flesh. She'd heard that was possible.

They moved on. Euphrati noticed a sign, crudely painted on the corridor wall, reassuring them they were on the right path. Not too far. They were nearing their destination.

She noticed Axe glancing back and was about to ask her what the matter was when the woman spoke up. She listened to the Guardswoman with a combination of amusement and surprise. She'd give the others some fairly apt nicknames. Why was Euphrati Smiley, though? Did she smile a lot? It'd be a compliment, if true.

But what took her aback was the insight offered by Axe. She'd apparently had the same thought Euphrati had had, only she had spoken up. There were hidden depths beneath Axe's barbaric, foolish-seeming exterior.

When the Guardswoman went on to offer details of her own history, Euphrati felt a stab of fear. The Great Enemy...Emperor protect! Axe was far more experienced than she could have imagined. Euphrati shivered despite herself, remembering...things she really did not wish to. She looked up at Axe with a new respect. This was no run-of-the-mill fighter. But she should have expected that. There had to be a reason they had chosen by the Inquisition. She did not want to think of why they'd chosen her.

"Well, I'll go next." She said, clearing her throat. I'm an Enforcer, meaning I'm trained to defend and protect against groups of scum, along with my comrades. I'm good with guns - I have a laspistol of my own - and I have some training with, uh, primitive weapons." She glanced at Axe's axe. "I have some skills in investigations and information-gathering. I think I'm fairly knowledgeable about the Imperium. She paused. Was there anything else to say? "Oh. I know how to appease simple machine-spirits and use simple machines." She ended, with an apologetic half-smile back at Gemma. "Nothing like a Tech-priest, of course. But coming froma Hive-world has some advantages."

[firemagehao]

As you reach the docking bay, you are struck by natural light for the first time in what seems like ages. As your eyes adjust, you see that the docking bay is one of the best kept parts of the ship. Long steel platforms slope down from the ship onto the ground. The planet itself is densely forested, the boarding dock elevated above the canopy. In the distance, you see a mountain range, as well a a pillar of smoke behind it.

[Miraqariftsky]

In the bowels of the great black dragon of iron-beyond-iron that had taken Axe and her tribe so long ago, there was neither sun nor moon, no wind and water to tell the passing seasons and coming days. There were no sundials and drip-clocks to know one hour from another... just hunger and thirst and pain and death. There was no soil to scrunch beneath one's toes and plant crops therein. There were no trees from which to jump nor mountains to climb. There was no breeze to caress one's face and dry one's tears...

...but smoke? Smoke there was aplenty, and where there's smoke, there's fire. And there! Here we are set down and here there is fire? Maybe that is where we are needed?

The feral worlder suddenly checks herself from dashing down the platforms and hurling herself upon terra firma and kissing the good solid GROUND and TREES and ROCKS that she hadn't seen for ages. She slows and stops at the nearest rail, contenting herself for now with a dopey grin and a wistful watering of those hard eyes...
...then her brow furrows in thought, trying to pin down the niggling worry at the back of her mind.

But... I hope the others' tongues and eyes have not been agued by witch-sleep... go Axe's thoughts when she casts some worried glances at her companions. Better get going, though. But... how do we know WHERE to go? Huh. Eh... can't hurt to ask, right? But -who- to ask, I wonder...

Knowing that something must be done, Axe heaves a weary sigh and confers with her companions. "Enny o' y'all KEN where fer sure this Pray-to-Rhum place is? Or should we ask one of them warleaders in th'... fancy hats? And... fire over yonder--- y'all think that that pillar o' smoke might be th' Emp'r tellin' us where ta go?"

[Vespe Ratavo]

Gemma hums softly to herself, casually processing the sights of the ship in the back of her mind as she passes each one, more interested in her new companions and the anticipation of seeing a whole new world. What kind? Ice, desert, hive - no, colony, colony likely not hive - temperate, tropical...

She looks up at Axe. I am Steel now? Fitting. Pack comparison. Wolves? Who is Alpha, then? Warrior is likely, but Psyker carries himself like a noble. Perhaps communist wolves. Most helpful, Euphrati, she says abruptly. Would love to teach you, Axe. I. Hm. Fix machines. No toolkit, though. Fix people, too. Not sure where to put the oil, though. She waits a moment, hoping for a response. Not good with humor. Leave that to others. And...er...

A bulge appears in her robes. A floating skull slips through one of the folds, softly buzzing as it nudges her head. I...have a flashlight?

As the doors open, Gemma raises a hand to shield her eyes from the light, smiling softly as her eyes adjust. Forest. Just like Watcra. Likely. Question is whether fire was set by allies. Anyone know how to drive hovercraft?

[Miraqariftsky]

The eyes of the woman warrior who goes by the name of 'Axe' twitch on hearing the Tech-Adept's brief exposition of her capablities, to which she answers... slowly, as if knowing she has to make herself understood to a youngling...
"No. No need for oil. Only eat people if we be desperately desperate..."

And then the punchline hits. Or not? "Oh. Fix... people? Mebbe your people, but mos' folks, methinks they die if they drinks your... 'black water'"

At the sight of something strange slowly rising up out of Gemma's robes, Axe freezes, then slowly eases her laspistol out of its holster. She creeps it up to aim at the eldritch skull, saying as she does so, "Be verrrry-verrrrry qviet. An' 'old STILL. I'm 'untin' daemony-floaty-skull-thing..."

And then it dawns on her that the thing is actually non-hostile and... possibly friendly? Tentatively lowering the pistol but still holding it ready, she asks, "Um... Steel? Issat YOUR floaty-skull-thing? Izzit... safe?"

thakp!

A weary hand slaps against a helmed forehead as a great sigh escapes the feral's thick lips. "Wus ra'er hopin' y'all'd know how ta harness these... horseless chariots. Uh, ferm wot little I know, ya put the funny knife in th' sideways clicky-turny altar, then pull the no-ground wheel towards here-and-there?"

[Mr. Moon]

As he makes his way down the hall to the boarding docks, Alistar walks with a prideful, straight back. The fingers of both his hands are slid in practiced nonchalance into the pockets of his fatigues, his thumbs tucked along the seams. It isn't at all obvious that the somewhat lethargic psyker is having a little trouble keeping up with the strong-legged warriors he walks with. Not even a little a bit.

When Axe speaks up with her new nicknames for the team, the psyker blinks as he hears his. Moon-Singer? Tilting his head to the side slightly, Alistar spends a moment considering this, not entirely sure if he liked this new name. While perhaps a tad barbaric, it was fitting and had a romantic flair to it that he liked. It was certainly memorable, at the very least. Yes, Alistar thinks to himself, it will do. So long as she doesn't try to make me start mixing potions in cauldrons.

Finally, they reach the open maw of the ship. Light. Actual, natural light, beckons from beyond. Alistar, who had until then never set foot outside of anything with a contained atmosphere, winces and turns his head from it, slowing. But even this momentary pause does not prepare him for what is to come when he steps beyond the confines of the ship. The air on his face makes him feel like something is clinging to it and the light feels like someone is plunging needles into his eyes. Again. Flinching away, Alistar raises arm in front of his face and squints while he waits for his eyes to adjust. All the while his nostrils are assaulted by a range of forest scents, or at least, what he is guessing is forest scents. Something too muddy, something too green, something too earthy. It was nothing like the crisp, clean air of the Trinket or the Primrose, nor the polluted, dirty smell of Terra, nor the stale, bleached smell of Officinalis. Alistar didn't like it.

His eyes finally adjusting, the psyker tentatively lowers his arm and looks around at his new surroundings. Huh. So that's what a tree looks like. They were a lot bigger than he'd expected. Taller even than the stalks of corn that grew in rows in the farms of Level 46. "I fear I don't know how to pilot a hovercraft either. Unless any of you do," he glances around at the others as he says this, "I think our best chance would be to find a shuttle or boat of some kind. At least, I think that's how you travel planet-side?"

[firemagehao]

On the landing dosck, there is a terminal. There seems to be a lift of sorts inside the terminal, that is capable of taking people down beneath the canopy. There are pilots standing by their hovercraft, apparently waiting for customers. The craft are all in varying conditions, some without a scratch, and others that look to be held together with run-of-the-mill adhesive.

[Miraqariftsky]

Again, Axe sighs... then snarls and knocks her fist against the side of her helmet. "Th'Emp'rer pertects" comes the chanted mutter beneath her breath.

"Da way I sees it" she begins, looking uneasily at the various modes of travel down to the surface. "We can walk down them long smooth metal things... or we can hop in them box-on-a-rope things... or ride them horseless chariot-boat things"

"If'n y'all ask-a me, there be Emp'rer's charioteer there a-ready, an' looks like that can get us to yon burny place th'quickest, so's might as well, eh?" she says, then fits action to word as she sets for the nearest decent-looking hovercraft, then calls to the others, "Well? Medont think Pray-to-Rhum don't wait fer nobody an' folk who be burnin' wait evven less, so lessa get a go, eh? Onless y'all got better idea?"

[Shieldheart]

Euphrati felt the unease begin to settle in her bones as the docking bay came nearer and nearer. She had heard stories of men who had gone mad at the sight of the open sky, of blasted lands bereft of any sign of human habitation. She had faith in her own will, but doubt crept in every once in a while, as now. It would be...embarrassing...to lose control of her faculties in front of her new comrades.

They rounded a bend in the corridor and the bay opened up before them. A strange light, strong but diffuse, filled the bay. Euphrati flinched visibly and looked down at her feet. It wasn't that the light was too strong - the fluoroscents of Hives were far more powerful. But the...texture of the light, one might say, was simply...alien.

A part of her reasoned it would be best to take it all in at once and be done with it, but she did not wish to. No need to chance it. She would take it one step at a time. As the group moved out onto the landing dock proper, outside the ship, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her boots.

They stopped. Euphrati could hear a discussion going on among her team-mates. For the moment she ignored it. Slowly, she raised her eyes and looked out onto Praetorum.

It was a colourful world. The dome above was vast and intangile. It was sky. Euphrati felt her breath quicken. It was open air. No protection from the elements. Total exposure.

She beat the thought down. If she thought about it, she would go into hysterics, she was certain. Unacceptable. She would need to acclimatize herself to this. Slowly. Steadily.

The air moved, startling her. Wind. It was like the unconditioned Corridors in the Underhive, only instead of the stench of rot and madness, here it carried a very unfamiliar smell, musty and thick. She breathed it in tentatively. It was the smell of nature, she supposed.

She looked down at the trees, shimmering green webs susurrating eerily in bland light. She could not look at it for too long. It unnerved her. Over at the horizon the dome - the sky - seemed to stretch down and from where she stood, she could see a thick grey pillar rising into the air. Smoke. Only she had never seen so much smoke at one place before.

Her head felt a little light. She debated taking a lho-stick. Maybe that would ease the anxiety a little. Perhaps a little later. She looked to her companions, trying to shut away the dizzying emptiness of the world before her and focus on their words.

She caught Axe's last words, as the burly Guardswoman set off for the nearest hovercraft. She blinked, rallying her thoughts.

"Best talk to the pilots first. I don't know about you lot, but I'd want to get there fast and cheap, but safe too." She followed Axe, catching up with her in a moment. Maybe some brisk haggling will keep her mind occupied.

"Transport for five. Reserved. She pointed at the pillar of smoke without looking at it. "We want to get as near that as possible. How much?"

[Miraqariftsky]

The wolf-eyes of the woman who calls herself 'Axe' do not miss the Arbite's uneasiness... but she takes a single step away from the hovercraft's door when Euphrati comes to show them the way. The flak-armoured behemoth tilts her head and watches the proceedings in rapt attention, on the one hand, hoping to learn what she could of the wider Imperium, on the other hand, leery of this sudden apprehension that has come upon 'Smiley'.