On a Whisper's Tail

[Maddness]

There is a sickening lurch of force as the Aquila shuttle you are in suddenly breaks through the atmosphere of Thical, its thruster noise returning with a roar. The light outside the tiny portholes goes red as the craft heats up on entry to the hive world, shaking the cabin and the passengers alike through the force of air-friction.

There is little other light in the cabin, but you can just about see your companions, distinct shapes secured into individual seats as you are. You have only known these people the scarce weeks that it took the Rouge Trader Conor Lucrosus to make the journey from Landunder after collecting you all from your various assignments across the Calixis sector. You have ate, slept and trained together under the watchful eye of Inquisitor Vandomoss, a distant presence who has directed your fate ever since you first met the Iron Haired servant of the Ordo Malleus.

However, this will be your first active mission together, and in honor of the moment the Inquisitor brought you together in the ship's ward room to brief you all personally.

You remember the briefing, when she entered the large room with its solid metal table, her youthful face surrounded by medium length hair as grey as iron. She wore, as she always did, a suit of modified Cadian Storm trooper's armor, surrounded by a shimmering black cape with a fur mantle clasped below the throat as if an afterthought.
At her hip hung a long bladed saber, lopped through her belt on the right and clearly showing flowing symbols designed to ward off the demonic. She gestured the few who were standing to sit with a curt movement of her hand, then walked over to the rooms pict-screen when all had done so.

"Acolytes, your time of testing has come." She said, her voice surprisingly deep for a woman of her stature, and clearly signaling to all who would know that she was from the Kasrs of Cadia. She pressed a small stud on the screen, and a spinning topographical map appeared.

"This is Thical. She is a hive world in the Drusus Sub-sector, and one of the primary Munitorum worlds in this area of space. She supplies over two thousand Imperial Guard regiments across the sector, and specialises Solid-projectile weaponry. Unfortunately, it is also a breeding ground for criminals and scum, hiding like rodents from the light of the Emperor's justice."

She moved forward and placed her hands on the table. "But they are not why we are here. The Inquisition believes that this world has been targeted by a mortal threat. Reports indicate that a wave of anti-Imperialism is sweeping across the system, with many openly denouncing the Ecclesiarchy and denying the divinity of the Emperor."

The inquisitor stood and turned away, looking at the Pict-screen herself, "Whist usually this would make our instigation the remit of my Brothers and Sisters in the Ordo Hereticus, we have reason to think that the pattern of this Uprising relates to a series of events we have witnessed before." She pushed another stud on the Pict-screen and the image changed to a different world. "This is the Hive world Hypestria, in the Flevus Sector of the Ultima Segmentum, the other side of the Segmentae Majoris. One hundred Terran standard years ago she was consumed in a warp storm that followed a massive wave of demonic possessions and chaos uprisings. After a standard year the storms abated, and nothing was left of Hypestria." The inquisitor turned back to face you all, "And she was only the latest to suffer this. Over the last three hundred years seven other worlds have been consumed in this manner from right across the galaxy, all following the pattern of madness and demonic possession leading up to each event. This may seem very generic criteria to you all, but the tireless scribes of the Adeptus Administratum recently discovered a fact that can help us, that each of these events was preceded by the rise of a major cult on every world, all following a leader known as the Shade's Apostle."

She looked each of you in the eye, as she spoke next , "There have been whispers on the wind that the Shade's Apostle has returned, and preaches in the Hives and Workshops of Thical. Only whispers, but enough for the Inquisition to deploy myself, and by extension you. If there is any chance of preventing what happened to Hypestria happening here then I will take it, and Emperor damn what it costs us."

She turned beck to the screen and pushed the Pict-screen's stud again, returning the view to that of Thical. She then pointed, her inquisitional symbol prominent on a ring that decorated her left hand. The image stopped spinning, and highlighted a area on the map . "This is Bravus Hive, one of the major hives on Thical and the source of many rumors surrounding the Shade's Apostle. You will be deployed here. Once planet side you must search for the Apostle, or his cult, identify either a location or their true identities, then either pull back and report to me for further orders, or if you believe you can eliminate either the Apostle or his cult. In either scenario you must communicate the cult's location to me prior to taking any action. You must send an encrypted transmission to the Conor Lucrosus, stating merely your location coordinates. Should your mission result in a critical failure, IE the near or total destruction of your team or an imminent Warp incursion, then broadcast the code epsilon gamma gamma hydra nine-er on emergency channel Beta three. "

She pulled her hand back and the image itself panned out to show the whole landmass, boarded by the day-side mountains and night-side Seas. "You will be one of three acolyte teams inserted onto the planet, but there will be no contact between any of the teams. Most of the planet is hostile to the agents of the Imperium, so the less contact you have with both myself or the other teams the less likely you are to be discovered."

Inquisitor Vandomoss lent forward on the table, looking a fierce as ever, but with a voice that did not seem to change. "As for operational parameters, you are authorized to use any force you deem fit to discover the whereabouts of the Apostle, but remember the longer you remain undetected the greater our chances of catching our enemy unawares, so stealth is advised."

She turned to gesture at an unassuming older man that had just entered the ward room "This is Scholar Rekus, one of my senior researchers and your guide to Thical on this mission. He will be able to give you any details you require once you arrive on the planet. Treat him with respect, as without him i am sure you will be unable to succeed in your mission.

The Inquisitor stood straight again. "That is your briefing. Remember, if you fail me, you fail the Emperor and all those that live on Thical."

With that the Inquisitor left the room, her cape billowing behind her as she strode away.
The scholar assessed you all with a critical eye before turning to follow the inquisitor "Gather your belongings, you leave within the hour." He said, his vice as dusty as his robes as he followed his mistress out of the ward room, leaving you to prepare.

So here you are, dropping into a possible demonic incursion with only your wits, skill and a dusty Scholar between you and the foulness of the Immaterium. You can see him now, sitting at the rear of the transport, his features composed and his eyes closed as the lander seemed ready to shake apart. After what seemed like an age of mankind the ride smoothed out, the roar retreated, and finally you could hear the sound of your own breathing again.

Minuets passed, and before you knew it the pilot-servitor had you landing at hive Bravus' main spaceport. You gather your equipment and disembark, walking from the gloom of the lander onto the gloomier twilight of Thical. The wind is cold, whipping around you in the back draft of the Lander's thrusters, and the air smells of promethium and pollution, filling your nostrils from your first breath. Before you rises the hive, a massive pyramid with its tip hidden high in the smog clouds, although not as high as the Sun-sides Mountains that can be seen, haloed monoliths in the far distance.

As the last of the team disembarks, along with Scholar Rekus, the Aquila Lander's thrusters whine louder, whipping the wind into a frenzy as it lifts back off the rockcrete, its hatch closing as your last contact with the Rogue Trader far above races away from you.

As the scream of the Lander fades Rekus turns to face you all. "We must set up a base of operations in the hive. I have several ideal locations memorized, but you must first select an operations leader for this mission. My Mistress believes you all are capable of choosing a leader, but I ask you make this choice now, as it will prevent any chain-of-command problems as we start on this venture."

... (OOC: This indicates a general tag for all players, names will be used to illicit responses from a specific character)

[Linguz]

Zeroc spoke up, "That would most likely be me. I've probably got the most experience out of all of you, after all. Any objections?"

[bluntpencil]

Ash grunts, speaking from behind a bandana tied across his face. His speech is rough, but his tone suggests that he doesn't give a damn about this or anything else.

"No way, man. Put the techy in charge. He's already got religious rank, soldier, an' he's likely ten times as clever as all o' us."

[Strawberries]

Marcus gets down from the Lander, shivering in the wind. It’s cold here. The sensation of wind blowing around him is foreign and a little unpleasant, reminding him that the atmosphere here is not controlled like he has been used to all his life. The boy looks around uselessly for some sort of shelter, then gives up, and stands a little closer to the others, hoping to minimize the discomfort from the flurries.

“I agree” he says, quietly. It seems everything the boy does is done quietly. “If this has to be a covered operation, Miss Sek or Mr Gallus would probably be a better choice.”. He doesn't think even for a minute to propose himself as a candidate. He feels enough out of his depth as it is.

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

http://img191.imageshack.us/img191/9184/psyker.jpg

During their time on Conor Lucrosus, Constantine had felt surprisingly comfortable. After the Black Ships all those years ago and later cramped freighter crafts, he hadn’t imagined he would enjoy space travel, but he found that it soothed his mind for some reason.

The psyker had listened intently while the Inquisitor had offered her briefing. The acolytes had been presented with a rather delicate undercover mission. They were practically blindfolded, but they had an end goal and Constantine had no doubt that the Emperor’s light would guide them, but they needed to plan accordingly nevertheless.

Much the same as with the Rogue Trader, the trip with the Aquila shuttle had proved unproblematic to Constantine. Not a man to seek out thrills for the sake of it, his trade being the reason, he nevertheless found the thrust as they breached the atmosphere slightly exhilarating and more familiar than he had remembered.

Once down on Bravus Hive, toxic fumes from the twilit Hive met the group. Once the lander had taken off, Rekus suggested the group appointed a leader. One of the feraler, the soldier with the axe, instantly suggested himself. A blunt man who was so quick to state his experience surely had more to prove. In that respect, Constantine agreed with Ash, but giving the Tech-Priest religious rank? The psyker could not stand for that. Her devotion was mostly given to the Machine God. But he did not doubt the priest’s cleverness and knowledge.

None of those present were diplomats by any standard, so that would not be a factor, and popularity contests had little going for them, either. Marcus, the younger psyker, suggested either Constantine or the Tech-Priest. While Constantine hardly saw himself as a leader, he’d rather see himself up front than the Tech Priest.

”Young Lumen speaks true,” Constantine finally said. His voice was slightly hoarse and cold, his words spoken with weight and consideration, as if he was afraid to break the very fabric of the world with them as could his mind.

”Neither of us are leaders of men, but we are not here for that,” the psyker admitted and continued ”however, I would point out the fact that I’m less conspicuous than her,” he indicated, but meant no offense with it. When the suggestions were already there, Constantine had nothing against going forth with it.


OOCI'll leave the picture out for bandwidth-friendliness in the future.

Also, as we've pointed out elsewhere, we do in fact lack a classic leader-figure in this group - as is apparent when a psyker and tech-priest are the two choices and BOTH get their meager social skills (namely Intimidate and Deceive) from being mind-cleansed. But that's the beauty of Dark Heresy. Plus as I pointed out through Constantine: None of us are here because we're diplomats

[bluntpencil]

Ash narrows his eyes, and looks to Sek for help here. He wishes that he hadn't taken the piss and called her a man a minute ago.

"My old man always said to put yer trust in steel, not dreams.

I always thought that was a metaphor, yet here we are; steel and dreams.

I put my trust in the steel."
He pats the gun at his side and nods his support for Sek as he adjusts his hat.

[Linguz]

Zeroc chuckled. "Religious rank versus military rank, huh? Fine, if all of you want her to be leader..." He turned his attention and spoke to Sek. "Will you take up responsibility for everyone's lives and the success of the mission?"

[bluntpencil]

"Lookee here, Colonel.

This ain't an invasion. We're off to speak to a dang scholar, not chargin' across no man's land. When we are, please feel entirely welcome to take the lead."
He's getting fed up with this, so lights up a damned fine cigar, and offers one to Zeroc too, in an effort to be reasonably friendly, but also to shut his ass up.

[Linguz]

"Off to speak to a scholar?" Zeroc points to Rekus, the scholar who had been dropped off with them and told them to decide on a leader. "The scholar is right there. Plus, the leader wouldn't be taking command everywhere. Have to be sneaky? It'd be someone sneaky. Have to be strong? It'd be someone strong. Have to be nice? It'd be someone who can pretend to be nice. Have to be blank? It'd be someone blank. Actual 'leadership' would fall onto the person most adept at the situation. Can't have a priest telling us how to be silent, now can we?"

[bluntpencil]

Ash ignores what the guardsman says now, as he's getting bored. He blows thick smoke in the general direction of Zeroc.

Zeroc had obviously never had leadership training, he'd worked that out. Probably a Private or something. Enlisted. He had seen the type. Sure, they could maybe make Sergeant, and shout at folk and act all scary, but they couldn't provide actual leadership.

And, to be fair, this guy had the personality of an onion.

"So, seein' as I'm not fit to lead, and neither is the soldier fella, that leaves it all up to you, I'm reckonin', ma'am..."
He's obviously speaking to Sek now.

"Personally, an' I mean nought by it, but I'd prefer not to have a psychic type in charge. You're the educated one..."
He drawls a little, but doesn't really finish his point, instead stopping to continue smoking.

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

Constantine would still rather have himself than the Tech-Priest, but felt that none of them were really fitting enough to fight over it. He would, however, wait until the priest had voiced her opinion in full before he decided if he would voice his position more than he already had.

”Are you afraid I’ll burn your brains out if you’re not listening to me?” Constantine asked Ash in the meanwhile. It was hard to tell if he was telling a very dry joke, a possible threat, or if he was in fact addressing a matter of possible fear that the group should likely acknowledge given the number of psykers around.


For fun, let's toss in an Intimidation roll vs 37 [roll0] for added effect. The roll can serve as an indicator on which of the three a person is likely to lean on, if you want. Not sure if the GM wants social rolls between players or not - I usually don't like it unless it's important, but they can serve as a nice pointer and indicator if anyone wants. No pressure from my part.

Edit: Not going to scare anyone with that roll. But it was never his attention to actually do so, either. Just wanted to see about how the weight of the words carried themselves in the dice

[bluntpencil]

Ash shrugs.

"All I know is that your kind is dangerous. In the Church, and in the crappy handbook they gave me when I got dragged into this mess: 'Psykers are dangerous: Be careful.'

Hell, did you read that handbook? It was all black marks an' 'classified'. All I got was 'Shoot Aliens', 'Burn Witches' an' 'Don't trust psykers'. Dang, I learned that before I could walk, man."
He blows more smoke, before looking around at everyone, rolling his eyes.
"What, did I say summit a little unorthodox?"

[Strawberries]

Marcus stiffens a little, obviously uncomfortable at Constantine casual mention of what a Psyker could really do. He steps a little closer to the older psyker. It is unclear if he wants to be close to intervene in case of dangers, or if it has just been an unconscious gesture.

"We are. Dangerous, I mean." he acknowledges, mildly, at Ash's remarks "The book was right in telling you that. And those who taught you that before you could walk were probably wise people. But everyone has a place in the service of the Emperor." Despite the low, unassuming tone, he is looking Ash straight in the eyes.

[bluntpencil]

Ash nods his agreement to the kid, and wonders if he's too young to smoke. He figures that he doesn't want to share, so if Marcus asks for a cigar, that'll be his excuse for not offering.

"We're all dangerous, kiddo. That's why we're here."

[Miraqariftsky]

The voyage to Thical went smoother for the daughter of Dusk than it usually does for most Feral-worlders. Mostly-clean surroundings, a mostly-free run of the place, training facilities, chapels... what more could anyone ask for?

And purpose. A mission. A hunt. Hunting heretics for the Dawnlord.

Strapped into the Aquila, with nothing more than the Mech-men's minstrations and the grace of the God-Emperor and a few plates of steel and glass, times like this that make the usually lively Trapspringer shut up, siddown and think. Like many other hunts and planetfalls before with her Ma and the old crew--- on Dusk, on Malfi, on Endrite, on Volonx, on Scintilla--- sometimes, it's the waiting that bites more than the beast.

Beady blue eyes peer out at her fellow passengers from beneath the shadow of a fur cap. Her breathing slows as she tries to quiet herself, breathing together with twentieth lurch and judder of their craft.

There sits R... Book. Book, the scholar, the wiseman. Our knowing elder. Dawnlord alone knows how many worlds, how many beasts, how many people, how many... things... he knows. The Iron Haired had told us we'd be lost without Book's guidance... I just hope he knows what not to know and knows to tell us that we have known what we must know... ugh, what...

There sits the Rooster. HEH. Brainjob, spook, minder, myster... hnngh... But a wiseman still? Remains to be seen, as the wind blows, as the bones fall. Trust 'im? Not as far as I can gut 'im, no. But bugger's a greybeard, handy with brainwork 'swell as bladework, 'sguta count fer summat, doubtless...

...Candle over yonder, 'nuther brainjob. What, by the jag-fanged maws of the khorschnackten Warp, was the Ironhair thinkin', two spooks in one pack? Eh. Bugger's just a kid. Hah. Says me. Can't be older'n me, huh? Looks barely old enough t'ave killed 'is first grox.

Gears, this Ms Gears, now. 'Nuther near-brainjob. Steel-cold an' steel wise. Can't quite figger 'er, though.

This 'ere Cowboy bugger. Could learn a good deal from 'im. Greybeard Gunn'd always clar'd me's barely fit ta pray 'n spray. What wassat word Ma had used, men like these? Professional...

...like this other man. Charger. Damned grox of a fellow. Emperor's arse, I'm gunna get you, ye damned bugger. Yesssss, Ma, what don't kill us makes us stronger. Yessssss, Ma, never stop learning, especially when getting me face smashed in.

Finally, the Eagle lands. Succumbing to a temptation to take in the scenery, Trapspringer takes the position of rearguard. Heavy boots of steel caps, beast-leather and good rubber clang down the boarding ramp and onto the rockcrete after the others.

A smile and a shudder pull at her lips at the blast of cold air and clinging, choking filth. She still controls her breathing, heeding her mother's words to... ...Never, ever take a deep breath on planetfall. Always wait for the all-clear from the auspy or the pack's brains. Sometimes, not even then.

Magazines, grenades, a brace of blades and a couple of canteens barely clink in well-kept webbing. The tightly-packed kitbag poses barely any encumberance. A gloved hand adjusts the collar of her grey-on-grey mottled flak coat. The only concession to sentimentality rather than practicality, a necklace of bones, teeth and claws clacks on her bosom with every step.

The strap slung about the right shoulder, a ready hand rests on her trusty Maggie's hardwood stock. Though it appears that this last bodyguard is seemingly just pacing along with the rest of her party, hardened eyes flash glances at every door and window and ledge, every bolthole and every person they come across. This is business. The hunt is afoot.

Up 'til now, she'd chosen to bide her time, listening to the various sides of the bandying argument. Drawing now a deliberate breath, she utters a common bird-call on Volonx, shrill and jarring to get their attention. KKKKaaaaaaaaaaahhhh! "Arright, harken 'ere, y'all. Y'all soun' like feggen yenids, yappin'-yappin'..."

Trapspringer raps with her knuckles on her rifle-butt as she lays down her own points to the argument. "We need a solid pack alpha, sure. All due respects to y'all wisemen all... but we dink want a chance o' freakstuff 'appenin' by our oh-so-fearless leader, so gunna hafta say no to y'all brain-boys. Now, who's had 'xperience wi' good damn teamwork in the field, lookin' out fer yer mates whilst crap blasts all o'er the place? Of y'all, who's actually led yer mates outta the ditches an' knew wot they was doin'? Yeah. Can't take Mistah Lone Ranger 'ere fer that, less I'm mistaken. Charger, Cowboy's right... ye know how ta hack, aye, but ye know how ta point? Now, Ms Gears? Y'ever led sumfink other'n keystrokes an' wrench-strokes?"

A hacked-up gobbet of spittle hits the tarmac. A stray scarlet lock is brushed back under the snarling badger-hat. "Dawnlord strike me a fool, but hell, I'll take the job. Ain't the wisest nor the strongest, but I have hunted in pa--- ah, operated in groups before. Whoever's best with whatever, that's where they go. Y'don't put the sniper in the bushwhackin' an' the hackmaster at the back, fer example"

Trapspringer licks her lips and clicks her fingers before continuing. "Well, fer 'xample, wid us buggers. Need a cover, eh? Could be the brainjobs are lookin' ta sell their Warp-crap on the black market, an' we be their oh-so-muscly bodyguards. Thassan' idea. An' if we ever need ta split the party, split by three's best. Me, the Cowboy an' the Rooster. I hose 'em, you get in and take 'em out close-in. The Rooster handles talking-stuff an' wiseman-stuff. Charger, use yer damned grox arse ta pertect the Gear-Girl an' Candle-Boy over there. She covers ye with her big fancy gun an' machine-magic an' he takes care o' talking-stuff an' wiseman-stuff"

"Gnasupl-elyak!" The Duskian Deathdealer spits a curse, raps on her rifle-butt again and says, "Ye gots?"

[bluntpencil]

Ash grins a little, removing the cigar from his mouth. Ah, the compromise, he thought, not entirely opposed to the idea. Still, he did have a question...

"What's a cow?"
It wasn't clear whether he was joking or not, to be fair. Probably not, if anyone recognised his accent.

[Linguz]

"You wouldn't know until you see one. 'Tis where milk comes from. And yea, I'm pretty sure I know how to point, but you want to take responsibility? I'm fine with that. You at least have combat experience, unlike the priest." Zeroc thought for a second longer. "Though, our leader should know our names, don't you think?"

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

His comment coming off in all directions, Constantine corrected. "I wanted to determine if fear was a factor," he said, nodding in Ash's direction.

"Young Lumen speaks true once again; wise men told you to heed the psyker," he aknowledged, "But our curse is also a blessing, for as long as our hearts are in the Light it allows us to better see His Truth and serve Him," the gaunt, bald psyker stated in his hoarse but firm voice. He was clearly a man who lived to serve the Emperor.

"Our weapon and power is our mind, but its execution takes many forms," Constantine assured the group and patted the keen sword at his side. An Armsman-10 pistol, for those familiar with guns, could also be seen easily accessible.

"I live to serve, and I do not limit my options," he concluded, indicating that his mystic powers were but one thing at his disposal.

OOC
Ooh, ninja, or should learn to reload the browser page before I post. Will update post, or post a new.

[bluntpencil]

Ash nods, wondering if the soldier meant his mother was a cow, although he makes a point of pointing out that Techies could fight, and fight hard,

"Where I'm from, the Techies make all sortsa steel. Most o' 'em know how to use it too, eh? How else would they know their guns were the best in the sector?"He shrugs, though, making it obvious that even if he isn't happy with the decision, he isn't opposed to it.

He looks at the psyker and nods. He'd seen a plasma pistol toted by a Khayer-Addin poseur in a duel on the street once. It turned his opponent to cinders, even if they did have a reputation for overheating and melting the wielder's hand off. That might be the same, he guessed... but he'd personally never fire one of those blasters when he could use Westingkrup steel instead.

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

Constantine made a mental note of what a cow was, too, then concentrated on what the Dusker had said. It had two big problems in Constantine's mind.

"I agree. If you claim leadership, you should at the very least address us by our names if you want us to listen to you," he bluntly said, not really sure if taking action the way Iman had really constituted as leadership or simply determination.

"And we cannot go about exclaiming for the world we are Psykers. It is the opposite of a good cover and would draw too much attention, black market or not," the earlier discussion about peoples' fears and the danger a psyker posed should be clue enough.

"But the merchant part, I can do. I know enough about trading to pose as a trader, but my skills are rather advisory so I likely won't win any sales negotiations on my own," Constantine explained.

"Quick-witted as your ideas are, I won't vouch for you yet, if that's what you want to hear." he finally addressed Iman, not too keen on having a person claiming leadership and giving her team gibberish names. "But what the group decides, I will stand by," he added, stating his loyalty to the group nevertheless.

[Miraqariftsky]

Another spatter of spittle sprats on the rockrete as she horribly whispers to the Thunderfist. "Bub. Dunno if 'e knows wot milk is"

Trapspringer flashes a handsign at the Westingkruper, a fist with pointer and little fingers extended. "Cow, my good man. Old, ooooooooold name for grox. MUUUOOOW! 'Swat whence we get milk, leather, meat. Got horns like so, legs o' solid sinew an' bone that can crush a man's ribs in one kick. Bigger'n a coupla quad-bikes stacked one atop another and back-to-front. Eats grass, craps... huge. But dry up their turds an' ye can even use 'em as tinder. Yer... hands an' yer voice, man. Yer gun, too. In the outworlds, the ripworlds, the Empr'er frakken frontier--- they gots men like you. Damn, down to the hat. All yer missin's a ridin' beast an' a grox-herd..."

And then she rounds upon the Thunderfist, her face aghast. "Aye, I ken yer true names, so blithely given. But ye seem like a man of the old ways, or so methought. Names have power, ye git! A carelessly given true name, if a wandering Warp-spirit hears that uttered, could well spell ill fortune, to say the least. So says I, Trapspringer, daughter of Huntress"

"Wanting hearing nothing, PTAGH! Six horses, ugh, six engines are fixed with their ass-ends towards one chassis, that ship's gunna tear isself apart. Six engines fixed facin' ass-ends facing ass an' guts-ends facin' prow-wise, that ship goes forward" she snarls at Constantine, then grins horribly. "Yer right, though! Lots o' me ideas're asspulled. I leave the finer things like real damn cover stories to y'all brainier folk. Merchantry, suuuuuuure, why not? Wotever ye think'd work best, less'go wi' that an' may Dawnlord deliver us from darkness all"

[Linguz]

Zeroc shrugged when she spoke to him. "Going around calling me Charger is bound to gather attention, which is something we don't want, now do we? Call me Thunderfist if you don't want to use my real name, or come up with a nickname that sounds like an actual name."

After thinking about what she had said for a bit, trying to decipher the words and metaphors and all that, he spoke again, "I believe she's saying that all this internal conflict is going to tear the group apart. That we should be all working together, like 6 engines pointing in the same direction. Though, not sure why she can't go out and say that."

[ChaoticSky]

53K Absorbed the conversation, her eyebrows slowly creeeping higher as it went on, before replying, and when she did so it was with what you might call a 'tech-lingua accent', beeps and tones from her vox-grill interspersing her usually toneless words, though their meaning was relatively intuitive, and you all would have learned to grasp her meaning during the joint training "Clarification: Mechanicus rankings have civilian, military and doctrinal equivalences. Addendum: Mine is quite low. // Psykers = prone to catastrophic malfunction =/= leadership material // Leader = Reliable. Caution!: Adeptus Mechanicus... Often unsuited to socal situations."

She let that hang for a while, giving the others a chance to let it soak in, before speaking again, this time she addresses Trapspringer first, dropping the lingo and speaking in her natural voice, in so much as the sound that came out of her grill could be called 'natural' "Former companions have often phonisized my name as 'Sek'... You may all call me that if you preferr, However it is not my real name, and I believe that satisfies the requirements of your belief system yes?"

"Theory: Scholar will become depressed if this keeps up // 53K = willing to fill position if necessary // The voice of reason, as always." And a heretic (for they could be nothing else!) might detect a hint of the sardonic in the tone of her final statement.

[bluntpencil]

Ash leans forward, removing his hat to speak,

"We need to get this crap sorted out beforehand. Better to sort out any differences sooner rather than later, so that they don't get us killed."
He then replies to Sek's point on social situations.

"Kinda irrelevant that Techies are unsuited to social situations, really. The same applies to the rest o' us."

[Miraqariftsky]

"Acause", she starts at Zeroc, cutting off her own sigh of exasperation. "I ain't sure if they know wot HORSES are, either"

Teeth filed to points flash as she barks a laugh. "Good thing we ain't in the wastelands... or Fervious, fer that matta. Duel on duel to see who leads an' who follers"

Nodding to the others' words, she continues, in a far less subtle echo of 53K's point, "An' bloody good points y'all. Whatsay this, then? Me an' her. If summat needs ta be figgered out or what's what, that's hers an' the Book-Man's. I handle the yellin'-at-y'all business. Yeah, I got a fancy hat an' a big gun, but no, ain't never been to no Commisseratingat, ha-ha-ha."

Mumbling "Dawnlord deliver us..." over a sign of the Aquila, she mutters hurriedly, "RekusGallusSekThunderfistAshLumen... What? I yield to logicks... but if I'm not wrong, your blood on your own heads"

Jerking her head, badger-tail swishing and bone necklace clacking as she does so, at the starport terminal's looming eaves, Trapspringer says, "Whatever the bloody crap y'all yappin' 'yenids decide... Whyn't we get under cover'n shelter lest the Scholar here catch his death o' cold, hmm?"

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

The Tech-Priest had a good point, and the suggestion from Trapspringer that followed made sense...in a sense.

"Brains and brawns. I can live with that. Shall we?" Constantine indicated moving on with his hands. He had meant little by his statement, even if he at this point seemed to hold that position. And any sarcasm it might've carried if spoken by Ash, for instance, was lost in the psyker's cold voice.

[Maddness]

Scholar Rekus had been watching the debate with a disinterest that only a member of the Administratum could effect. "I'm glad that we managed to come to a conclusion. Now, let us retire off this landing pad. Follow me please." He said, striding off to the north and the Hive itself with a supprising speed for such an aged adept.

As you follow the Adept speaks over his shoulder to 53K and Iman. "You will both have to decide on our new base of operations. We have two small Apartments at the mid-hive level requisitioned by the inquisitor under different Identities, along with several disused Munitorium offices on the forge levels and a selection of Hab-shacks on the lower levels. Is there any location you would prefer? My duties will not be dependent on location, but considering the wide spread nature of our investigation any of these locations should be adequate."

His tone never changed, even as they drew closer to what could only be a mag-lev terminal and the winds began to lessen somewhat.

[Miraqariftsky]

A crimson lock strays out when the Trapspringer scratchers her head in thought. "Where is't tha's closest to, whawassat, ah, yes, 'the Workshops'. The Munitorum whatsits on the Forge levels, then. Ask y'all--- them aristos can get right damn ehnzee an' hedonestek, but where's the herd of the population? 'Mongst the workers an' the underhivers. They're the most like who cults'll feed off of--- why? Because they're the ones wot suffer wi' all their toil an' drudge an' so might look ta summat other'n 'Is Divine Majesty fer soccer..."

"But..." she continues, fingers beginning to drum once more on the rifle-butt. "...'less I'm mistaken, 'tis small fry dark preachers where we'll be goin'. If we catch a coven, hell, well an' good. If we can take one or two alive, e'en better--- then force 'em ta tell us who, what an' where's their Alpha. Gut tells me it be nobility, but hell, mebbe tha's just the Malfian expedition talkin..."

[ChaoticSky]

Sek followed along as well, a stray gust pushing through her bright red robe, but the garment hardly moved, made as it was of heavy flak weave instead of plain cloth, her hooded head nodded her assent, "Forge level = Access to worker population, facilities, and Mechanicus contacts // Statically high probability of a black market stocked with stolen goods // Poor quality workers are often easily bent towards darkness by cult claims of offering superior benefits, and can be bent again by threats of violence, or offers of wealth or promotion. Not that we have the power to follow through on the latter, but they dont know that // Conversely: Lower levels likely to have less affluent market, less order, more gangs which many or may not be cult affiliated, less access to higher levels, greater likely hood of structural failure during hive quake. Increase in danger with little increase in gain. Mid-level likely to have much less cult activity, or much more deeply buried. Less market for us to clandestinely acquire gear. More police forces to notice us and ask awkward questions. Generally a inferior location for our purposes.".

[Strawberries]

Marcus nods as well and follows the scholar, keeping a couple of steps behind the new appointed leaders, and doing his best to breathe evenly. Truth be told, he suspects he may be a little agoraphobic: the discomfort he felt when he got down the lander is increasing, instead of abating. Still, he keeps his eyes on Sek and Trapspringer, and focuses in following the conversation.

"I have never been in a Hive before-I only ever read about them" he says, to noone in particular, more as a personal consideration. From what he's read, however, the suggestion of the Forge levels makes sense: neither too low to be among the scum, nor too high to be too far removed from them.

It is certainly a relief when he sees the terminal looming closer, and the chill of the wind becoming less biting. He adjusts his robe around him, and walks just that bit faster, to reach the destination sooner.

[Strawberries]

Marcus nods as well and follows the scholar, keeping a couple of steps behind the new appointed leaders, and doing his best to breathe evenly. Truth be told, he suspects he may be a little agoraphobic: the discomfort he felt when he got down the lander is increasing, instead of abating. Still, he keeps his eyes on Sek and Trapspringer, and focuses in following the conversation.

"I have never been in a Hive before-I only ever read about them" he says, to noone in particular, more as a personal consideration. From what he's read, however, the suggestion of the Forge levels makes sense: neither too low to be among the scum, nor too high to be too far removed from them.

It is certainly a relief when he sees the terminal looming closer, and the chill of the wind becoming less biting. He adjusts his robe around him, and walks just that bit faster, to reach the destination sooner.

[Maddness]

The Scholar nods sagely. "A good choice, that is certain. I have just the location in mind." He says as they pass through the terminal's entrance, a low door of solid construction. The interior looks more like a warehouse then a travel hub, with high metal beams crossing the roof and rusted steel walls. A mag-lev rail runs along the centre of the Terminal, lower down so passengers can disembark quickly, but no passenger car is present at the moment.

The glow globes were suspended from the ceiling, casting a florescent light over the Acolytes, far brighter than the twilight outside for sure. There is a ticket office made from what looks to be 'temporary ' pre-fab walls, but whoever was supposed to be on duty seems to be absent. There are a few disinterested passengers standing around, checking chronos, reading data-slates or just standing in wait for the next Carriage.

There are also several servitors in the terminal, either cleaning, maintaining equipment or just standing ready for further orders. As your party enters one of the Servitors suddenly straightens and moves toward you on piston like legs.

It heads directly to the Scholar, and holds out several pieces of previously concealed card. Handing them to the Scholar it simply turns around and heads back to its previous potion, resuming the exact same pose as if nothing had happened.

Rekus hands each of you a piece of card, each bright red and marred by several seemingly random holes. "These are our tickets. It may seem a little simplistic, but trust me, you don't want to be caught without them."

Just as he finished speaking there was a rush of air and a Mag-lev train appears, a cylindrical tube with large widows and a small cabin on top where a Driver-servitor is obviously located. It glides to a stop before the platform. "This is our transport." Rekus says, leading them onto the nearly empty carriage.

The doors quickly close, and you are whisked off. The train quickly accelerates, and you are pressed back into the seats for a moment before being released. The windows show the landscape flashing by, the airfield quickly receding as you approach the hive, and are able to truly appreciate the scale of it for the first’s time. The spires soar up thousands of meters above your head, and as the Mag-lev leaves the airfield you can see the walls of the hive plummeting down hundreds of meters below, out of sight under a pall of permanent smog and darkness.

The Mag-lev eventually enters through the city wall, a sickly orange glow rushing up to greet you in the tunnel as the last visages of natural light are rushed away behind you. The Transport slows now, unable to maintain high speeds as you begin to stop at regular intervals, excruciating passengers on each platform, although never really picking up too many extras, although you get the impression that were it not midday local time this transport would be packed to the rafters.

Finally the line begins to descend, and what was the packed middle class habs became large buildings belching smoke up large pipes to emerge out on the surface. You had reached the forge level, and the red-orange glow intensified as the smelting pits were revealed, rivers of molten metal flowing like water into moulds to form the weapons of Imperial war. the stations you flash past look less clean, but better maintained, considering the large number of workers that obviously pass through each.

It was at one of these stations that you get off, following the scholar as he suddenly rises and leaves the mag-lev. The signs indicate this is Station Gamma-11b on Forge level 3 of Bravus Hive.

You leave the station, walking out onto the near deserted streets of the forge level, its high ceilings making it almost feel like you are outside, even though you are deep within the bowels of this towering hive. This area is very busy, with a continuous barrage of noise emerging from every factorum, the sound of machinery mixed with the shouts and cries of men and women.

Scholar Rekus seems to know exactly where he is going, and within minutes you arrive at a large building, clearly once a productive Factorum, now clearly disused despite the areas popularity, its dark metal walls stained red with rust and black with pollution.

Rekus ignores the Factorum's main doors, instead walking up a metallic side stair and in through a side door. Following him in, you realize that you are in the old Administratum offices, a large space formerly where adepts of the Administratum would have worked recording every shell and bullet that passed through the Factroums doors and out into the Imperium. now it was empty, save for several large windows looking down into the dark factory interior and piles of old paper printouts scattered in corners. Here and there you can see old mounts for cogitators, long removed. It all looks very unused and dusty.

Rekus turns to you all. "Will this area be adequate?" He asks

[Linguz]

(Noone (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Noone) heard you!)

Zeroc reluctantly followed the Scholar into the terminal, uncomfortable with all the metal around. He shields his eyes as they enter, letting them shift before letting the bright light hit them. He takes the card and quickly shoves it into a pocket, not really caring about it.

During the entire train ride, he kept his hand on his knife's hilt. He quickly follows the scholar out, pmuch prefering to be moving himself instead of being moved by a machine.

Looking upon the large area, Zeroc nods. "Any place is fine. Long as we won't be bothered when we sleep or whatever we'll be doing in here."

[Strawberries]

Marcus carefully folds his ticket and stores it into a pocket, following the Scholar inside the carriage. As soon as there are some steel walls around him, he begins to breathe more easily, and the sensation to be pressed against the seat when the train accelerates is comforting in its familiarity.

He can’t help but look around curiously during both the train ride and the brief walk afterwards: he’s never been to a hive before, and some of the sights are strange and disconcerting. Still, at least he isn’t in the open anymore. Definitely agoraphobic, he thinks: he would have to keep that under strict control.

“Adequate, yes. I think so” he answers. He is purposefully keeping as far away as he can from Zeroc: he didn’t miss how the man has kept his hand close to his knife the entire journey. “I… suppose we would need to agree on a reason to be here. To…present to people. ” he ventures.

[Miraqariftsky]

Trapspringer took her ticket with a nod of thanks and entered the train, all the while with wary eyes and ears and nose...

...and her Maggie's muzzle keeping watch around them. Its aim traversing by the strap about her shoulder, she keeps it ready to bring to bear, but doesn't yet bring the large gun all the way up. Duskian Deathdealer though she may be, she knows enough that not all people look upon a bared weapon as nothing out of the ordinary.

Once inside the train, she makes her way to the wall opposite the door they came through. There, with her back against the wall, side braced against a safety rail, she seems to relax... a little. For a moment, she considers taking one of the many Eyes partially obscured by the badger-cap glance over her new packmates.

Right, right. Let them go about how they usually go about at first. Observe, observe. And hope to the high bloody Throne they'll cover the egresses, elsewise, 'smore ta drill. Pfwah. Hmm. You, greybeard, 've always wondered, =DO= you use yer warpcraft ta be keepin' those hands so.. smooth... despite being a steel-singer? Mmh. Robe, robe, robe. Hope ye don't snag on nuthin', Sek--- 'twould be a shame to hafta help you recollect all those things't might fall out if ye snag an' trip an' fall. Naw, yer a hard girl with a hard noggin', you can take a little fall like that. Yer stuff though, Mmmmh. Good bloody Dawnlord, ye damned Grox! Nice knife, but... Cover the points of egress, soldier! Well, well, well. Ah, now there's the professio... damned smoke... MISTBORN! AAAGH! Throne, aaaagh... oh, wait. Damn me. Iman, don't trap yerself. Boy? Aishkt. You'n the big guy, yer like... two sides o' one coin. Jitters o' diff'rent flavours...

Trapspringer winces and grits jagged teeth at the train's initial blast of speed, then lets out a snort of relief through flared nostrils once it steadies out. Fingers flex about her 'Maggie's stock and then unconsciously fall to drumming on the seasoned wood.

Pam-pam-rarararam-pa-pam!
Inyarash kalas walas asukadatan
Tayuti-Puur Apo-Trono-O-O-O
Ooooooh where do you run,
Stumbling, falling, crumbling into
Nooooothing! Mistborn!
Dawnlord pisses on you!
RAM-dam-dam-pam-pam!

Head nodding to an inner beat, bones on her breast clacking, what seems like just another off-her-rocker offworlder gun-for-hire or bounty hunter keeps eyes down yet still tries to keep watch over their fellow passengers...

...but still, wonder is a curious thing. Whenever she thinks she can afford it, she casts glances up and around at the cliffs of steel and glass speeding by, at the jungles of smoke that choke forth from factoria.

When they disembark, Trapspringer takes up the rearguard once more. Catching up to Marcus, she lays a heavy, rough hand on his shoulder and says, "Ain't no cliff 'cept the cliff ye allow yerself ta see. No grass-sea, 'cept what ye letcherslf see. Eyes on yer feet, eyes where yer goin' an nuthin' else. Nuthin' ta be afeart of. Well... unless yer watchin' out fer ambushes, pitfalls, storms, beasties... No, I didn't say nuthink"

"Steady, steady" Walking up level with Zeroc, she crackles a fist to get his attention, then punches his armoured shoulder.

Though the place is nominally clear and deserted, Trapspringer still makes sure, rifle shouldered now, checking every door and window, even checking what cabinets, windows, drawers, floors and ceilings there are.

Turning back to the question at hand, she barks simple answers. "Mercs or bounty hunters is far as I can think, 'least, far right now. Or merchant and scholar on research, with a bunch of toughs for protection. Y'all, any other ideas?"

[Linguz]

Zeroc barely moves when he's punched. He shrugs as she goes off and begins to search the area.

"Mercenary and bounty hunters would attract some attention. Scholars and merchants would most likely reside in a higher part of the hive. Instead, how about we fit in? Foreign workers, brought here to find work. Though, our actual clothing and the fact we have so many weapons betrays us. If we truly want to go around unnoticed, we'd need to drop off some weapons. 'Course, we could always go with the simple 'It's none of your business' deal and get it over with." He shrugs and leans against a wall. "Any more ideas?"

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

Constantine followed the others and listened without saying anything while the scholar gave them their options. He pocketed his ticket when he got them and when the train arrived; he walked in and had a seat by a window after adjusting his sword. Constantine paid the dredges, workers and vehicles they encountered on the trip and in the streets afterwards little attention, but he did marvel ever so slightly over the Hive itself. His dexterous hands subconsciously felt the edges of the book strapped to his side while he awed by how the Hive winded upwards and spiraled downwards. The flicking of his fingers was not a sign of alertness or discomfort, contrary to the stances some of Constantine’s comrades took; it was merely a relaxed gesture to keep occupied with something during the trip. But relaxed or not, Constantine stayed sharp even as he glanced casually at the sights out the window.

When the group arrived at the building, Constantine seemed pleased. The location was out of the way, but not in an area without traffic. Thus, moving about here wouldn’t be suspicious. The reasoning about the forge level that had been fronted seemed valid, and Constantine had nodded in confirmation at the time, even if no one had seen it.

”Well, we’d need some bunks and other facilities, if they’re not elsewhere in the building,” Constantine replied the scholar, ”but otherwise it’s fine.”

Then he turned his attention to the growing discussion about their business. ”It depends on what kind of attention we want around ourselves,” he said. ”But workers? Where do we work? Where’s our permits? Scholars, merchants or fledging entrepreneurs would be better. We have Sek, so we could simply be interested in getting some of these old buildings back into manufacturing.”

[Linguz]

"I come from a feral world. Anything past the basic idea would be you guys' responsabilities. If we want to get buildings back into manufacturing, why would we be moving around and where's the tools to make them work again... and why would a group like that have ferals? We aren't that great with technology."

[I]Anyway, all ideas will have problems because we're not really here for those reasons.[I]

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

"Could be as simple as we're just looking into it for now. Everyone out of place is hired protection," Constantine suggested.

[Linguz]

"That's a lot of protection. Well, whatever you guys choose is fine. I was just throwing in my two thrones (cents)."

[ChaoticSky]

Sek peered at her ticket strangely for a moment, then produced a similar one from her cloak. Hers was not paper, but a thin sheet of metal, stamped with a cog in the centre, and it's holes where much smaller and there were many more of them. It was obvious to anyone who looked that the were clearly of the same sort of system, both were exactly the same size. "My home uses a similar code for identifying people..." she commented, lost in thought, she forgot her code-speak. But the slip only last a moment, and she shook herself slightly, then followed the others into the train.

Here, she was clearly at home, assuming a position more or less towards the centre of the car, she didnt take a seat or even avail herself of the many handles or railings. A instant before it accelerated she swayed forward slightly, which served to counter the effect of its momentum on her centre of gravity. And she continued to do such through the entire ride, swaying around occasionally to correct her balance, but never moving her feet even a inch, no matter how the train moved.

When they arrived in the forges, Sek was practically radiating a sense of.... pleased-ness, though her face remained carefully neutral under her hood. She entered the offices with the others, peering around, and nodded to the scholar, "Approval: This will do." and belatedly seemed to realize that Constantine had spoken. She eyed him perplexedly "Query: Is the floor inadequate?" she asked.

Sek = Has a Plan. Elaboration: Sek = Adeptus Mechanicus, Forge Tech-Priests and Magos = Adeptus Mechanicus. Theory: We shall be inspectors here to ascertain the quality of the workforce. Workers will accept me as another overseer. Additionally: If challenged by my fellows, we can inform them that we are on Inquisitorial Business, and request they do not impede us." she stated, and then, after a moment, added, "You all = My assistants, bodyguards, and ancillary personnel"

[bluntpencil]

"Sounds good to me. If we don't got the training to be an assistant, we're either labourers or bodyguards. Even the Mechanicus needs serfs ta do the heavy liftin', after all."
Ash isn't opposed to the plan, it seemed good enough, after all.

[Miraqariftsky]

A thick brow rises at Sek's question, then Trapspringer nods in agreement. "Correck me if'n I'm wrong... Gallus... but ye meant that, other'n this place being 'dequate, still needs beds and crappers? Sek. Wot he meant was 'shyet-holes'. Toilets. Man's gotta point, y'know. Unless I mistook wot ye said, greybeard?"

Trapspringer then nods solidly in assent to Sek's proposal. "Aye, aye, now THAT"S the way. Damned good idea, that. Just 'member, we're s'pposed ta keep on the whisper an' that this world ain't all that friendly to Imperial control an' Inquisitorial influence. We pull that card..."

She then holds up two fingers of her left hand, "...if one, we're sure whoever's listening's loyalist, or afraid enough for it to work... or two, we really need ta buy time. Surprise some pursuit with that dec'lerration, then run the frak away. Or blow their faces off. Or a quick cut 'cross the throat t'be silent-like. Point is... =if= Inquisitor Ironhair's intel is right... It'd be like the outworlds where Imperial Law ain't no thing an' local warlords'd feed ye ta the pigs if they see some uppity git wavin' a rosette around--- and we don't even have rosettes, HAH-hahaha"

"Now..." she begins, baring a jag-toothed smirk, then pointing at her hat, her own necklace of trophies, then Zeroc's string of trophies, then the sombrero and poncho on the resident Cowboy. "...a question for the hives-wise. Ain't been to hives much, coupla times hunted on Malfi... but hellsteeth, Malfi's Malfi, eh? Well, then, Sek, Cowboy? Do we hafta drab down the ol' attire to as social camouflage, or izzis all nuthin' unexpected fer a Gear-Girl's scholar, porters and bodyguards?"

[bluntpencil]

The gunslinger raises an eyebrow when being told to change his clothes,

"I'm from a Hive. I won't look amiss. Hell, maybe I ought ta dress more flashy... I could put a big purple feather in me hat."He pauses for a while after his obvious sarcasm.

"...but, yeah, yer actually got a point. What's the brains sayin'? How do folks dress here? Boiler suits?"

[Miraqariftsky]

Trapspringer answers his humour with her own, baring her filed teeth. "Oi? Who're ye pimpin', a flesh-tearin' bitch an' one wot comes with 'er very own shock-probe built-in?"

The feral snorts and shrugs, tentatively taking off her fur hat, revealing tightly-bound red hair. "Hells if I know. Traditions and norms'n one world'd be different, stan's ta reason. Metallica's on Scintilla, right? I don't doubt anybody from there'd lay five bones to one that yer a Westy"

[Strawberries]

Marcus shakes his head, silently. He doesn't really know either, even if he can hazard a guess that a necklace of throphies isn't the most accepted dress-code, around these parts.

He hesitates for a moment, but then ventures to reply "You...we are what we are. I mean... I don't mean to offend, but even if you were to change your clothes, your...accent would give you away" It looks for a moment as he was going to add something else, as he gestured towards Trapspringer's face as to point out the several things beside her accent that would give her away. Her theet, just to name one. "I don't think that we would manage to pass as Hive citizens, even if we wanted to. I think it's better we don't try to hide that we aren't from here. It...it wouldn't be that uncommon for someone to hire from off-worlders, would it?". He looks uncomfortable for having spoken at all, and he searches Sek and Gallus' faces as if looking for confirmation.

[Maddness]

The Scholar held up his hand after Marcus spoke, forestalling any further argument. "Our young Psyker is correct. Bravus Hive is well known for it's influx of off-world citizens, most notably the more... unsavory verity. I would not be wrong in saying that even miss Trapspringer would not be out of place in some of the more cosmopolitan areas of the hive, although I would avoid carrying weapons openly, the local Arbites is at its limit resource wise and would not hesitate to apprehend anyone who is showing bare steel."

He gestured to the offices, "Of course materials can be shipped here to allow us to conduct our work. Basic amenities such as sleeping cots and food reclemators will be here within the hour, more complex equipment should arrive by the end of the day." He pulled out a small stool that had been left behind and hidden behind a small desk, sitting with a small sigh.

"I do agree that Acolyte Sek's plan has some merit, but I would resist informing any citizen, even the mechanicum contingent, that we represent Lady Trapspringer. We should be able to persuade the senior Mageos of the region to issue you with an inspectors permit, although that will be up to you Sek. To cover our presence in the building we can state that we are assessing the building for recommissioning. That should cover our extended presence here, as well as the movement of any equipment in and out of the building."

"As for actually beginning our investigation, I will be researching the previous events that lead up to a planetary disappearance in an effort to discern more of a pattern. As for where the rumors are arrsng from, there are several nearby taverns on the resident level below us, between the forge levels, that should be an ample source of gossip and rumors, the locations of which i can provide for you. I would also investigate the local Arbite precinct under the pretense of mercenaries looking for work, just to asses the situation. Plus a little work on the side could help build our groups reputation as mercenaries working for a techpriest."

He steeples his fingers as he finishes speaking, "That is all I believe we can do for now, although if any of you have ideas or questions I would be happy to hear them, that is my job here after all."

[ChaoticSky]

Sek blinked Very. Slowly. as if unable to wrap her head around the idea that her fellows might not be trustworthy.

[Linguz]

After just a moment's thought, Zeroc spoke up, "I'll go meet up with the arbites, since that's a lot more my style. Where would they be, will anyone come with me, and is there anything that anyone wants me to ask the law enforcement around here?" He suddenly remembered something he had acquired some time ago and pulled out a mercenary card. "And would you look at that, I even already have a license." He turned back to the scholar and the rest of the group, waiting to know if this was fine for him to do.

[Miraqariftsky]

Two fingers tap a breast-pocket and slip a similar sell-steel's license partway out, then put it back in. "Lice'd as well. Comin' with ye"

The gloved hand descends once more to caress the rifle's well-worn stock. "Ain't nuthin' divorcin' Maggie from me... plus, like the Scholar'd said, 'td be useful ta scope out the lawdogs this side o' space. Get cleared there, then mosey on down below, smell out some rumours an' gossips, see what's payin', what's packin' an' what's pickin'. Who else's comin' an' where be the place, then?"

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

Constantine nodded silently, pleased with the plan. At the mention of extra equipment, he spoke up. "I'd prefer if we set up a study here, as well. A place to sort through information we bring here," and to simply relax and dive into the esoterics of Imperial Saints and other knowledge at his own leisure, but he didn't say that.

"To what extent does 'not carry weapons' apply? All arms, or simply long arms?" the psyker asked plainly in his usual hoarse manner. The way he worded himself could give the impression that he was thinking about his mind, but he was not making such comparisons at this moment.

"And should we conduct business in pairs or threes for now? I can stay or come along, if he's not the better choice," Constantine nodded in Ash's direction.

[Strawberries]

"The same applies to me." Marcus says. While he would feel a lot more confortable staying at the base and doing... research work, he realizes that's not the scope for which the Inquisition has chosen to employ him We have a scholar to do that sort of work. We belong in the field, uncomfortable as that may be.

"Groups of...three, I think?" he proposes. "As... ah, miss Trapspringer pointed out before, if we work in groups of three, our abilities do...complement each other better, that way."

[Maddness]

The acolyte nodded to the two psykers, "There are several rooms behind me that you can use for study, we have some specialist equipment that should help in you in that arena. However, I advise that you have a quick look over the locality first, if only to assist you in opening this investigation."

He stood, pulling several papers and a data-slate out of his robe's pocket. He then walked over to Trapspringer and Zeroc, handing her the Data-slate. "This holds the location of the two local Arbites precincts, both the main hub and the nearest outpost. Again I advise you do not reveal your true allegiance to the local officers, as they have a tendency to put up blocks to those they see as stepping on their authority."

He returned to his stool "Are there any questions you have at this point?" he asked.

[Miraqariftsky]

"M'thanks, Bookman" Trapspringer takes the 'slate with a nod of thanks and flaps it at the others before settling her hat back on. "Well'n! Awright, ye buggers. Last call for the Copper Crapper Express, now boarding..."

She makes for the door beside Zeroc, about to leave, then stops and leans on the frame. "Cowboy, Cand---Lumen? Goin' or stayin'? I do believe we need at least somebody who's Hivewise... and much as I'd like ta see the true prowess of Mr Ever-Rooster over there, methinks little Lum's needs the... blooding more."

Nodding at the others, she continues, "Sek, Constants, or whoever's stayin' 'ere, if y'all don't mind, I sejjess y'all scout out our neighbourhood, see what's-what who's-who an' where's-where, make sure everything's dandy, always keep each other company fer sake o' security 'swell as try ta 'elp the Scholar 'ere, be on yer guard, keep 'im an' y'all an' ere safe, alright?"

If there are no other objections, the feral then flashes a jag-toothed grin and jerks her head towards the door, waiting for the others of her party to move out. Once into the streets--- and making sure she has marked in her memory several landmarks that might lead her back there, should the need arise--- she tosses the 'slate to whichever Hiver chose to come. "Awright, O ye almighty, rat of steel, O hive-wise slinger-o'-smoke-an'-sparks, O pavement-bugger... lead on. Way I sees it, 'less somebody's got something smarter about it, we head on down to the nearest outpost, get our crap cleared as, say, bounty hounds from offworld, then head on down to the dives and the forges, see what's what, cut some teeth and bones"

[bluntpencil]

Ash nods, settling his hat back on his head,

"Yeah, we keep it legit. Get our papers as bounty hunters. If anyone asks who we're hunting, we give a name of an Acolyte of the Inquisitor we know to be off-world. That way we don't accidentally end up havin' to shoot someone we aren't chasing.

We sniff around, pretendin' to be lookin' for some punk that ain't here.

Nice an' simple."

[Northman]

Constantine Gallus

Constantine nodded, both to the scholar and Trapspringer. "I'll have a look around here and the area, then," he agreed and proceeded to check out the facility more closely. The psyker took note of the layout and suggested a few sollutions for equipment placement.

Once done, he spoke to those who stayed behind. "Shall we take a look around the area?"

[Linguz]

Zeroc followed along. "Can't we just say we're looking for work? I'd rather chase a guy then pretend to be looking for one. Not just would we get liked more by the arbites if we turn them in, but we'd get a few thrones on the side too."

[Miraqariftsky]

"A fox with the sinews of a bear..." Trapspringer keeps pace at the rear of the group, casting wary glances about them all the while. "Was just 'bout ta say that... Big man's got a good point, there. If we cut some good bones there, word might travel that we're good--- those we're looking for might come to us if they need summun taken care of, makin' us both snare AND bait"

The feral gives a shrug that likely goes unseen by any who aren't looking backwards. "Or we could be missing something that the hivewise might enlighten?"

[Strawberries]

Marcus was about to say the same thing- staying behind and giving a look around – but Constantine effectively anticipated him, leaving him with little choice.

“I’ll go” he says, in his usual, quiet voice. No use in keeping two people with similar abilities in the same group…even if, now that he thinks about it, he has no idea of what Constantine’s abilities are. He intentionally chooses to ignore Trapspringer’s comment about him needing to be “bloodied” – the very thought makes him uncomfortable But I suppose she will get her wish very soon, Emperor protect me.

He doesn’t have any insight in how an Hive works, so he doesn’t answer Trapspringer’s question, but he nods in agreement with Zeroc: actually looking for someone would give them the right cover to ask questions, and would look less suspicious than an invented target.