Unyielding Tides of Darker Destiny (IC, Restarted)

[thebothan]

The portends started in the very fabric of space, the normally black edges of space became a fathomless red, the warp began to churn and then the stars themselves began to fall. The warp writhes and bubbles as the outlines of the stars were displaced and shifted by new shapes which entered reality with a roar of anger. These shapes are joined by others, and still others as the bows, weapons and dedications of space ships long exposed to the warp solidified into being. As the color faded from real space, and the blackness of the void returned, three hundred vessels dedicated to the cause of the Eviscerating Flail war-band stood ready to join the ranks of the immortals in the halls of the Gods themselves.

The world slowly materializes around you; the familiar scene of the great halls of Omanyss the Ender of Eternities separates itself from the twisting visages of the warp. Small hiccups of pure Chaos energies remain behind, twisting and rolling as it explored the room before being stomped under the boot of one of the many beings assembled here. Here, before the eyes of the visionary who lead this crusade, you had met with the other captains and champions of the war-band to discuss strategy and plans; each of you now clutches a scroll upon which is written your orders and your decrees from the Apostle himself. The discussions had been brief, and the bickering between the forces had only just begun at the edges of the group when the arrival at their destination had drowned out all conversation with a tidal wave of raw warp energies boiling around those assembled.
As if waking from a slumber, the great being, who only minutes before had been in the middle of a fervent discussion with two hooded men at the front of his dais, turned away and looked out the window behind him. His red armor blocking the entirety of the window from view, a deep throaty chuckle emerges from his throat slowly turning into a harsh, full bodied laugh. The others in the room begin to join in, soon you find yourself joining in, the palpable bloodlust soaking from the dais filling your mind, heart and muscles with an anticipation of the battles to come.
Turning to face you, the enormous arms raise in praise of the good tidings that brings you to this place, then suddenly, one armored fist crashes down onto the command console at his waist, the doors fly open and the roar of the entire ship fills the room, a million souls all intent on spilling blood. Only a single word from the Apostle is all it takes to bring the laughter to a creshendo and an explosion of activity “Go”.

At the words of the Apostle, the Champions of the Eviscerating Flail Warband begin to rush from the halls, towards their destinations.

Your own destination beckons you onwards. The Gods themselves offer you a seat at their table, who would you be to turn away from destiny itself?

[Hemnon]

Agrorn laughed to himself.... Destiny, who needs such a thing. That's for those fools that followed the cryptic and inane bullcrap that was Tzeentch, lord of Plots and Psychic Potential.
HAH. It was laughable to think that such a fool of a God would be able to control destiny or fate.
A man made his own fate, that's what he's learned since he pledged his soul to his One and ONLY lord: Khrone.
Blood, death and the trophies of such events was all that counted. Plots doesn't earn you honour or advancement. ACTIONS did.
But, if he had to work with Psykers or pleasure-slaves devoted to that weakling Slaanesh. He would do so. Khorne did not care, As long as there was blood and skulls to claim, it did not matter who aided in it, or who lost their lives for this.
Had Khorne not Honoured Agrorn himself with both a mighty Gift, his former powerfist now TRUELY a part of him, having fused to his flesh and power armour gaunlet and lower arm? Yes He had. Khrone had given Agrorn more than just that: He had blessed Agrorn with the mighty horns of his blood letters, allowing his helmet to still be wearable even thought those horns now protruded from his cranial Plating, fitting in well with his Crest on his helmet.

Agrorn clenched and opened his powerfist, sending arcing warp-lightning sparking outwards from it, it's taloned fingers, hooked and capable of ripping the flesh off of almost any mortal being in this universe.

Agrorn knew one thing already.... That apostle would die... hopefully by Agrorn's own hand, because agrorn disliked the bastard, just from his tone of voice and appearance.
It would indeed be a fight worth dying for to be able to enter~ Agrorn thought to himself and chuckled, helmet-free (it was clipped to his belt for now).

[ArcturusV]

Raskafei was an odd seeming type in the Warbands of the Apostle. Not just because he was blessed by the ability to manipulate the raw warp and bring it into reality. No, psykers were a dime a dozen in any such large gathering like this. No one who wasn't a complete idiot would go to war with them after all. What set this man apart as being weird was not who he was, but what he seemed to be.

A man in a cast off, second hand Imperial Guard Issue Flak Long Coat, the patches and identifying marks on the coat having been scratched out or marred long ago, and replaced by the 8 pointed spoor of Chaos Undivided, proudly declaring his allegiance, as well as his own personal marking, a verdant seeming planet wrapped in flames.

He was slight of statue, not a hulking brute who could bench press a mountain, nor was he blessed with superior mechanical parts or any outward, obvious mutation of his flesh. Armed with only what seemed to be a saber and two pistols, likely looted from the same source of his long coat. He had no trove of minions following his beck and call, or simpering sycophants trailing behind him, nor did he practically seem to throb with the power of the Warp as the most Nerdy of Nerd Devotees seemed to as their very souls were bound to him. With straggly, greasy black hair and bright blue eyes that seemed a bit watery, he certainly wasn't giving people the 1000 yard battle hardened psychopath look either.

To look at him, none would guess that he was anything but a boot lick, a random member of the Lost and the Damned who served no role beyond cannon fodder. Maybe a minion of someone who existed to capture their glory for posterity considering the pict-recorder and data-slate he had on him. That would have made sense.

... but for reasons most didn't know, he held a Scroll clutched in his grubby little paw, a Scroll that only a select few had, and one he was reading as he walked towards his destination as reflected in the scroll.

The unassuming little man was a Warlord in his own right at one point. He had a world following his beck and call, fighting glorious war against the Imperium, routing the SPESS MEHREENS and Guardsmen who were sent to put down his people. Adding their arsenal to his own planet as they looted the corpses of the False God's warriors. A dense jungle world turned into a blasted, scorched rock in many, many areas as the Imperial Dogs were hunted down ruthlessly. SPESS MEHREENS sacrificed to the altars of the Dark Gods, Imperial Guardsmen pressed into slave labor and gladiatorial bouts for their amusement, machine spirits corrupted, and vehicles added to the growing arsenal.

At one point it looked like his success might have built into him launching out his own crusade, just waiting for the next Imperial Naval vessel or Rogue Trader to show up and make themselves a victim. Instead he was found by this Apostle's warband, a planet devoted to Chaos and this small, unassuming man sitting on a mountain of corpses, seemingly very secure in his own power and destiny.

Now he was here. Now he was conducting another War of Faith, on a much larger scale. He knew none would take him seriously. He wasn't wearing a Tank. He didn't have weapons that could rip holes in ship bulkheads effortlessly. But he had his pride, those bright eyes that could see the future. He had the power of the warp at his hand. And he knew how to fight those who did not have such gifts. He had no plans to overthrow the Apostle yet. Nor to slaughter the others gathered into this cause. Time was always on the side of those who could clearly see the future. The Path of Glory was long yet, and there was no need to act rashly.

[Col.Straken]

Commissar Quint stood out like a sore thumb, he kept his Guard issue carapace armour, helmet clipped to his belt, black greatcoat swishing behind him, and red sash hung around his waist. From a distance you would mistake him for a loyalist Commissar, his stature and composure marked him out as someone of importance, he even had two guardsmen following along in his wake. Both wore their old Guard issue armour as well, and both had cloaks hanging from their shoulders. One wore a Sergeants beret with a matched pair of pistols at his waist, the other had an exotic and xeno looking rifle slung over his back. It wasn't until you came closer and able to make out the details that you could see that none of them were loyalists, just looking into their eyes portrayed how far they had fallen.

Quint's left arm appeared to end in a perforated stump with a lumpen form bulging half a foot from the end which looked suspiciously like a pistols grip. His armour had been stripped of any Imperial markings, crudely scratched out or shaved off, and his eyes almost glowed with a dark hatred. The Sergeant almost drooled through clenched teeth, both fists constantly clenching and relaxing as if he imagined choking the life from whatever fit in his grasp, worst was his eyes which emanated a sickening and pervasive light. Almost his polar opposite was the sniper, who could pass as an Imperial soldier, he covered or had carefully removed all Imperial iconography, but otherwise looked completely sane. That was except for when he looked upon the Commissar, his eyes turned watery as if it hurt and he bowed wanting to please his master as best he could.

The three of them walked with purpose and were not opposed, Quint had clearly been chosen as he brandished the scroll that he had been given in his right and working hand. He read through it quickly and efficiently as a commander should. He disclosed what the other two needed to know, which wasn't much, and kept the rest to himself. They both knew that they worked on a need to know basis and trusted Quint with their lives, one through animalistic loyalty, one through fanatic obsession.

[ArcturusV]

... it seemed a simple enough objective. Perhaps there was something to wearing these bulky tanks that the others had. It was almost an insultingly simple task that this Warmaster Apostle had put before him. He rolled the scroll back up, and calling upon the fettered powers of the warp manifested a little flame in his hand, burning the scroll in the fires of the Immaterium until nothing remained. The objective was now only in the minds of him and those who penned the scroll, which suited him just fine.

Making his way towards his private place, whatever little billet, room, or bunk he had managed to "Acquire" on whatever ship it was that he was assigned to... (( It still smelt of the burn body hair and fat of the previous occupant... )) he sealed the door, taking some time to set down at his small work space he had gathered, setting up the Pict-Recorder to capture the trance, in case he uttered some bit of prophecy in the trance and wanted to recall it exactly later, and readied the runic marking he had left on the floor of the chamber. A pattern that helped focus his mind as it wandered the Warp for answers. Combined with the 8 coins he took out of his pocket, each intricately carved, with a different weight, marking, and shape of a hole drilled in the middle of it. He started to focus his power, calling upon the Warp for Guidance and answers to his mission ahead, casting the coins to read the omens of the future as given by the Dark Gods.

Casting Casting the Runes at Fettered level.

Question asked: "How may I best achieve success in my assigned Mission?"

Focus Power Test: [roll0] vs 45 Perception, +10 Psyniscience Trained, +10 Psy Focus used, +10 Fettered Psy Rating (2 x 5). Final Mark of 75.

Personal Augury Results:
1 Degree of Success: Doom: I receive a symbolic warning of the greatest peril or obstacle faced by the target in question. This is a vague hint for what is to come.
2 Degrees of Success: Malign Influences: I gain intuition about the target's Doom, as well as a further two negative influences that the target will face.
3 Degrees of Success: Benign Factors: I gain an additional impression of the greatest advantage or weapon that the target has in their possession.
4+ Degrees of Success: Fate: I am aware of all previous effects, and may also offer a single sentence of cryptic advice to the target.

[thebothan]

As you slip into the familiar realm of prophecy your gaze is filled with a cold blackness, the void itself surrounds you, filling the very essence of your being. The emptiness of the space begins to fill with images and sensation, a massive dancer, beautiful and terrible, appears in front of you. Enchanting laughter fills your mind, banishing all other sensations around you. Time itself slowly returns to your mind, you can see the strands of space that you traveled through stretching eons of distance away, the dancer now stands besides you, its presence a physical sensation that tugs at your mind and tries to pull you back. With an aching dread you pull yourself away, floating in the air in front of you lies a small crab, like those you used to see on your home-world eons ago. It's shell is studded with hitchhiking creatures, at your approach, a hundred of them release themselves and drift off in separate directions. As your gaze follows them, a feeling of uncontrollable panic overcomes you, somewhere in the inky blackness lies a monster, unfathomable and wrathful. The small creatures reappear, and the darkness follows them, a tide of blackness, that overwhelms you, drowning out even your own screams in a fiery pain. When your mind again focuses, you stand on the shell of the floating crab, the dancer adrift off in the distance, though still visible, before you the crabs massive eye-stalk stands tall, searching out the blackness, seeking you. Suddenly you find yourself falling, the shell falls away below your feet and you fall into a fleshy tunnel of meat, decayed and sickly. As you fall, you can see hundreds of tiny twisted creatures scuttling inside the body of the crab, but they cannot see you, something else has captured their attention. Time has no meaning inside these tunnels, you fall through the entire body, passing millions of creatures, billions of organs, nerves and wires. As you again enter the blackness of the void, you see a hundred cracks in the carapace of the crab, and then the dancer again has a hold of you. The last thing you feel before starting out of your trance is the overwhelming presence of the dancer burning away every nerve in your body. You find yourself again staring at the wall of your room, the familiar burnt smell in your nose. On the floor in front of you the coins you laid out have been covered in blood, it looks as though numerous blood vessel in your nose and mouth burst during your trance. The blood slowly hisses with latent warp energies before bubbling out of existence. Leaving behind blue powder in circular rings on the floor.

[ArcturusV]

The ability to peer into the infinite possibilities of the Immaterium was always maddening, but it was understanding that, and being able to see the pattern in the seeming madness that Raskafei always sought out. The name "Chaos", a lie as grand as any other said by the Architect of Fate, it wasn't purely chaotic and random, it wasn't unknowable. It was merely beyond the scope and vision of others. He wasn't of course at that level of scope and vision yet. He probably never would be unless something truly drastic happened.

Still, there were patterns one could determine. The base symbology that comes to mind. There's obviously an implication of something Slaaneshi in his future, a helping hand which purges the shell... but the others? The implication of the Nurglish signs attempting to overwhelm him was also equally obvious. But the rest was vague and open to interpretation on many varying levels.

He reached out, stopping the recording of the session, putting away his ritual tools, and playing back the feed on his Data-Slate, studying it for phenomenon he might have missed while in the trance itself. There was no need to rush into interpretations before you had as much information as possible.

[thebothan]

The footage shows you reeling from the mental assault, blood flecking in the spittle that forms around your mouth.. Other than at the end when your face erupts in a crimsion sludge, the only other interesting feature of the footage is about halfway through when your eyes open and the fires behind them boil into the world, and you whisper the words "4-32-7064".

[scottsman1]

As the Cheers rang out, as the laughter sang across the room. There was one who just watched and experienced it all. A young woman who despite her ornate armour and masterfully worked weapons seamed plain ordinary at first glance. This was the Pirate Princess Que.

She stood there watching her bodyguard, a large Kornate Astarties with a power gauntlet for a hand, laugh with the others. She supposed he was happy because of the orders in his scroll. No doubt this apostle had asked him to kill lots of people. As for her scroll she reconciled the apostle was at a lost as to what to do with her and her crew, but still felt they where important enough to warrant an invitation. It wasn't an insult more or less, but it sang of poor taste.

She gazed upon the crowd quite a few people where gathered, each capable of commanding a small war band. Perhaps there where some she could turn into her new play toys. Like a predator on the prow she looked though the crowd a second time eying for potential pets, partners, and allies.

"You seem in good cheer my champion. Did our host send you good news?"


Looking for potential pets, partners, and allies. Per 34 Awareness +10 TN 44 [roll0]

[ArcturusV]

A number... Raskafei hated it almost instantly. Numbers were always tricky. Some claimed they had their own particular meaning. It was not a subject he studied. Those who seemed to delve into Numerology always seemed a bit misguided to him. Too focused on making connections that they wanted to see rather than actually seeing real connections. A form of Insanity that he couldn't tolerate, meant to lead people astray and become nothing but pawns of grand liars such as those who worship the Great Conspirator. It was not an alliance he was eager to throw into. All the Dark Gods made their pawns into... well... pawns to be sacrificed, twisted, and played with as needed. He didn't think he could play the Dark Powers against one another. Not even his ego was that large. But cleaving to only one aspect, particularly one clouded in lies and confusion by its very nature, ran at cross purposes to his very nature and what he valued most.

That left the other symbols of the vision. Gathering up his coins he started playing with them absently. Rolling a few of them between his knuckles, stacking and restacking them, noting the odd patterns and images of the markings upon them as they shifted about and helped clear his mind with the simple repetition of actions.

A crab, red, armored, a surly animal slow to act on its own. A scavenger upon the beaches, scum sucking but wrapping itself in armor and powerful claws as if it had some sort of nobility and power beyond its status as a mere scavenger. It could easily represent one of the Warlord figures that had been gathered in this endeavor, perhaps the Apostle himself. Raskafei knew little about him other than he managed to have JUST enough clout to somehow gather all these together. The imagery of the mass of splintering figures launching from the Crab helped support that image in his mind. It was very symbolic of the meeting he had just left and the behavior of the various would be Warlords under orders from this Apostle of the Dark Gods.

He made a note of it on his Data-Slate, the vision might mean something different with time and space from the meeting, but it was worth consideration either way for later. It does suggest that the Apostle is not what he seems, and is not actually a figure worth following.

But what about the Dancer? This was harder. Such a figure had clear Slaaneshi leanings after all. It seemed to be a helpful figure for the time being, trying to drag him out of the muck and traps of the Apostle and the Nurglish Rot and Infestation inside of him. It could be a trap of its own however, luring him away with a well seeming idea towards another fate just as damning. A gilded cage is nonetheless still a cage, after all.

He took a slow, deep breath as he pondered it. A dancer, a crab, and rotting infestation along with the splintering hordes, along with a number that had no meaning for him at the time. It was not the most clear vision he had ever received from the Warp. It wasn't the most vague however. There was clear meaning behind it.

Putting away the Data-Slate he resolved to solve the mystery later. There was still more pressing questions. Mostly of the How variety as it related to his mission.

[Col.Straken]

Quint paced back to his quarters and gathered what little equipment and personal belongings the group had with them before making his way to the docking areas. He has Xerxes rough up a few people for information about which ships and shuttles were still docked. Most were empty, the occupants rushing to carry out whatever pillaging or havoc they have been assigned or wish.

Surely there must be someone on board that could find room for him aboard their vessel. He was beginning to get frustrated, as he paced from docking bay to docking bay.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn left the 'party' and went over to his charge (The sly snake-queen of seduction), looking like he was itching towards strangling someone with his bare hands.... make them experience the sensation of feeling and hearing their eyeballs pop out of their skulls, bursting while it happens, just prior to their own skulls imploding by the pressure.
Well, either that, or the Chaos Space Marine, with the very impressive horns with that Crest Of Khorne formed around them, was having a tummy ache.

[Malthan]

How the mighty are fallen.

Having emitted a vox-filtered laugh, as harsh and discordant as an eagle’s death cry, Abdiel felt his body seethe with an age old hatred. It had been too long since he’d taken a life, too long since he’d had a chance to sharpen his mind on the whetstone of war. The years had taught him patience, however. Patience and paranoia; old Nostraman specialties.

From his perch in the rafters, Abdiel took a bird’s eye view of the hall, his devil-red eyes picking up the various intricacies of human interaction. While the rest of the Apostle’s rank and file might run on command like well-trained whelps, the veteran Night Lord had other plans. He’d broken protocol already, leaving his designated spot with the pathetic warpscum in favour of his new, improved vantage point. It was time to scout out the competition. In an army dedicated to the Dark Gods, the enemy was almost always less dangerous than your allies. Especially those that have such easy access to your back. Abdiel was tense. Just moments earlier, he'd spotted an old rival laughing his intestines out, and during the voyage prior, the Night Lord had managed to make a dozen more. Not that all of them knew, of course.

In all his years of service, the Executioner had seen great warriors, above and below his calibre, brought low by betrayal. Sahaal, beaten by a demon he once called brother. Amon, disintegrated by one who was just beginning to deceive. If the bonds of legions could not resist treachery, then what hope could a ragtag group of power-worshippers hope to accomplish without a little bad blood?
Whispering a single word, the rabble turned red.

“Preysight.”

Years upon years of warfare and Abdiel had never encountered a wilder band of renegades: mutants, machines, madmen, marines, a menagerie of monstrosities, almost all of them now bound only by mob mentality. It was less of an army and more of a procession, herded by some shepherd-butcher through the gates of hell.
The rush of boots and undying laughter expanded upwards, filling the room like toxic gas, suffocating any pretence of sanity or logic.

Abdiel paused, wondering if the Apostle himself to be truly mad. Certainly, he has the aesthetic. His plan on the other hand…

Abdiel could see the hint of genius in it. With a horde so diverse, so conflicting, giving them secret objectives, to delegate the destruction in such a clandestine fashion was, at the least, novel. Any imperial commander would have scoffed at the theatricality of it. Indeed, the Night Lord did not appreciate it; secrecy was one thing, imposed ignorance another. But it was not yet the time to judge. In the end, a military campaign always speaks for itself. Results will always triumph over method.

Ever since his dark rebirth, Abdiel had classified the various chaos lords into two separate groups. There were those who sought to control the carnage, to direct it at some ambition or purpose - usually in the same fashion that one directs a noise marine symphony: towards the enemy. Others embraced the uncertainty, conceding no purpose to their slaughter, losing themselves to the noisy, bloody, death-filled monotony of war, damning caution, compromise and fear to the winds of change. Only the Warmaster could truly pretend to transcend the divide.

Some of the floor monkeys were still staring slack-jawed at their scroll, their special eyes searching for some hint of favour or perhaps just any hint at all.

With all of his prophetic father’s genes, the Night Lord still couldn’t make sense of these scrolls. Do they represent anarchy or artifice, he wondered. They would breed distrust, wariness, uncertainty. Yet that could be the point. Time, or Tzeentch, would tell.

At last, Abdiel gave in to temptation and opened his own scroll. He had resisted till now, hoping to gain some further insight into his comrades before pouring over whatever conceited message the Apostle had so carefully wrought. Reading it quickly, the Night Lord’s anxious pace slowed to a halt. Behind his raptor death mask, a single eyebrow rose itself in grim amusement. Abdiel now knew the answer.

His scroll disappearing into a clenched, metallic fist, the Night Lord completed his sweep, surveying his allies with seething intensity. His master’s words, now but a broken record: Shrouded in shadow, the traitor schemes.

How the mighty are fallen.


Abdiel examines the hall and its occupants for any advantage: a weak mind to exploit, a potential danger to eliminate, an ally to be made. He especially looks for someone who can be deceived, deluded or otherwise coerced into becoming a pawn in his Machiavellian/Tzeentchian plot.
[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[scottsman1]

Que watched as her guardian walked forward looking angrier than ever. Many in the room must have wondered how such a petite woman could control such a large and imposing force of nature. The truth was she didn't. Ever since they had meet it had been this way. She was his voice, money, transport, and meal ticket. He was her executioner, protector, show piece, and escort.

"You seem tense. I know how about we find something for you to kill. There is bound to be a fight pit somewhere. Or we could go about our little missions. Though first there is something I want to check on." She holds out her hand as a lady does for a formal escort.

"Would you mind accompanying me."

[Hemnon]

Que watched as her guardian walked forward looking angrier than ever. Many in the room must have wondered how such a petite woman could control such a large and imposing force of nature. The truth was she didn't. Ever since they had meet it had been this way. She was his voice, money, transport, and meal ticket. He was her executioner, protector, show piece, and escort.

"You seem tense. I know how about we find something for you to kill. There is bound to be a fight pit somewhere. Or we could go about our little missions. Though first there is something I want to check on." She holds out her hand as a lady does for a formal escort.

"Would you mind accompanying me."

Agrorn Chuckled.... many always thought that, just because his loyalty lay with Khorne, then he must be a crazed, suicidal berserker. Not True. it was a wellthinking individual.... although he DID end up acting the stereotypical way quite often~

"Oh I am not tense. I am only itching to kill something and then take their skulls and drink their heartsblood~" He replied at first, before continuing. "Ha Ha Ha Ha, no thank you, if i shall fight, then i would much rather kill something worthwhile, not weakling humans or some one's slavefighter. As for our missions.... are you refering to the useless scrolls or whatnot that was given out?" He finished off, radiating contempt and hate towards most of the 'people' present... even the Lady Que herself. She was after all only a mere human. Weaker in both body, and of Mind.
But it was true. Both of them worked together for the betterment of both... although Agrorn had smashed up the Slaanesh-Temple on her ship a few times when he had needed to cool down.... but hey, that was only fair, right?:smallwink:

[Malthan]

“The primarch does not want slaves. The primarch wants killers.” Acerbus, before he became the Talonmaster, had barked such words to Abdiel once, millennia ago.

I do not need slaves. I need allies, collaborators, transport, shelter, weapons, targets. I need a warband.

The question was who and how. Amongst the crowd, Abdiel spotted an equal number of worthy warriors and charismatic leaders. An odd pair of bestial red and dark beauty ambled below him, earning more than their fair share of nervous glances. The Night Lord chuckled to himself, a birdlike rasp escaping through his helmet. Their fame precedes them; Chaos makes strange bedfellows. Clearly they had earned a dangerous reputation but they were bound to the ground and could be easily caught up to later. A more promising opportunity, and one closer to his own heart, hung but a short away.

While he could not clearly make out the raptors’ markings or their current allegiance, Abdiel could understand their mindset. The majority of raptors hailed from his own legion and while many of them had since joined other warbands as mercenaries, chains of lineage and a sense of shared superiority still bound them. Besides, Krieg had not so much ordered the Night Lords to the Apostle’s side; he had unleashed them. It was entirely possible that these shadowy figures were his kin.

It would be folly to approach them as a conqueror, barking orders and commands. While intimidation and terror were appreciated by those who soar on wings of fire, most raptors valued their independence above all else. Many aspiring lords had learnt this, one way or another. Brute force would do little more than provoke them. Besides, only a fool would hope to tame or make a minion out of such devious renegades. Abdiel smiled to himself, remembering his battle brothers, and his orders.

His killer instincts told him that this place was dangerous only to those who provoked the mightier warriors. Espionage, trickery and deception were unlikely to solicit retribution. But just as crass chest beating was to be avoided, so to was the pathetic mewling that some of the sycophants had descended to on the ground below. Show a raptor weakness, and they’ll show you their claws.

This would require a display of power. If he could catch their attention, show them what he was capable of, then he could rely on the bonds of common past and reputation to align them to him. Striding forwards, Abdiel saw opportunity. A lone pigeon girl, dirty and unkempt, reeking of fear, had wandered too close to the pack. Some poor heretic fool; doesn’t she know what terrors lie in the dark?

Already afraid, the target would be easy prey for intimidation or deception. Flexing his muscles, Abdiel strolled forwards watching his target and the raptors intently for any sign of their allegiance.

Coming into range, his free hand drew a warp staff from the shadows, shadows which seemed reluctant to give up their prize, clinging to the instrument and giving it an aura of darkness which was betrayed only by the subtle hint of lighting dancing along its length.

His sorcerous gifts had an uneasy place in the Night Lords. Some of the old guard had remained wary of his powers, while some of the more corrupt disdained it under the supervision of Khorne’s hatred. Most however respected or even better feared them; there was so much potential for psychological warfare to one who had limitless access to his prey’s mind. Abdiel had considered demonstrating his gifts on one of the raptors but had decided against it. If detected, they would most likely be insulted by his attempt to influence them in such an underhanded way. This little yellow child on the other hand, with her pulsing heart beat and soft mortality…

Who would protect her, so high up, far from the Apostle and the light? Even if she happened to be the slave of one of the raptors, their characteristic disdain for the weak would prevent them from seeking vengeance. She could be made useful, as a source of information or infamy. Making a show of his power should be a good indication of his supremacy to the raptors, so bored and weary as they are. Respect is the ultimate currency.

Finishing his attempt at sorcery, Abdiel emerged from the darkness, revealing himself to both the raptors and his current target. Perhaps she might even be worthy enough to act as his pawn…

If nothing else, she could always serve as sport.



Abdiel examines the immediate occupants of the rafters (3 raptors + one or two sycophants), looking for any sign of their allegiance or power.

Forbidden Lore: Heresy Test

[roll0] vs Intelligence 39, Forbidden Lore: Heresy


Casting Delude on one of the weak minded humans “who sought a better view, and now apparently regret their decision to climb so high”.

Focus Power Test: Challenging (+0) Opposed Willpower Test:

[roll1] vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 15 Unfettered (5 times 3 Psy Rating)

[thebothan]

Abdiel: The power of the warp flows around you, but as you extend your will towards the precariously hanging figure it dissipates and ebbs. Your fellow roosting marines turn towards you, the bright lights inside their helmets piercing the gloom, unblinkingly starting into your face. Their armor has numerous talismans, badges and trophies pinned to them, however you cannot see any sign of their allegiance outwardly displayed. The unfortunate human however, has their allegiance to the apostle covering their very being, dried blood and visceral tattoos cover their body. However, noticing the raptors having all turned around, she as well turns her head, and seeing you here eyes widen, not with fear but with hatred. Her heart rate raises a factor, and she makes her hands into fists with a scream of rage launchers herself at you.

This scream quickly turns into a despairing howl, as her body falls from the ceiling (having just released her only hold), the crash to the floor accompanied by the snap of bones. The small groups on the floor that had been discussing quickly rush to the body.

The raptors continue to stare at you, unmoving, like the proverbial gargoyles your chapter sought to emulate.

[Malthan]

How unfortunate. Superficially, the Night Lord remained still, stoic in the face of such an odd turn of events. To show shock or concern now would be symbolic of weakness. Internally, Abdiel was troubled. He had been certain that the spell had gone off successfully. It was typical of such warpscum to interfere in his plans.

“Pathetic floorwalker owed a blood debt to the Eighth.”
Abdiel said disinterestedly, gesturing at the ground dismissively with his claws.

The warrior paused, savouring the lie, letting the words linger in the air for emphasis. If he could just alter the truth slightly, if they could be convinced that things had gone according to plan, then the show of power might still be successful. After all, unless they too possessed a Psyker’s sense then the subtle difference between deceive and compel might be lost.
”Consider it paid in blood.”

He added in ancient Nostraman. If they had come from his legion then they would understand. It was an old saying amongst the now extinguished gangs of his dark homeworld, where petty spite and vengeance had led to an abundance of grim sayings.

The crowds gathered below were making a racket now, the murmur of their rumours increasing in volume. She wasn’t even dead apparently. Foolish girl didn’t even have the decency to die properly. Khorne’s children were nothing if not stubborn. Abdiel had learnt this in the bitter succession wars following the failure of the Horus Heresy. Their propensity to charge at the nearest target had always been easy to manipulate, with World Eaters often allowing themselves to be drawn into Tarantula turret firing lines. Even then, you couldn’t rely on them dying.

Such is the way of chaos, he sighed to himself. If she yet lived, then there might be further complications still. The colours she had worn tied her as a devout follower of the apostle who might resent the loss of his pet. Not that she didn’t deserve it, given the stupidity of her actions.

Incompetence was punishable by death in many warbands, Abdiel’s own legion included. He had heard rumour of a fondness for mortal slaves had grown in the 10th Company but by and large, mere human life was a cheap commodity in the warp.

Perhaps it was time to leave. He could always find refuge, possibly amongst the pair he saw earlier. Turning back to the raptors, Abdiel felt his old tension return to him. There was something unnerving about the way that they were staring at him. Could they be…?

Abdiel had seen several Warp Talons in his long life, with his master’s embrace of Chaos and his legion’s propensity for jump packs combining poorly in this regard. Running his eyes over the figures, Abdiel glanced over their forms, looking for the tell-tale signs of degeneration: impossibly sharp blades on each hand, ornate symbols lining their packs, a lack of rational thought.
To test the last symptom he asked them a simple question:
“What are you staring at?”

Deceive Test - to cover up the heretic's fall as intended
[roll0] vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive

Awareness Test - to examine the nature of the raptors and see if they're a threat
[roll1] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[ArcturusV]

Vision done, Rasfakei packed up his belongings, such as they were. He kept Dying Light belted to his right hip, and the sword on his left, and the Stub Revolver on a speed holster. He tossed on his flak coat, made sure that he had what he needed... and proceeded to use his powers of the Immaterium to summon forth a small flame in the palm of his hand, using that flame to torch the bed he had been sleeping on these past few days, letting the fire catch and start to spread as the warp flames consumed the material and started to spread.

All while the man smiled, his bright eyes shining out as he left that room and started walking away from the blaze that was starting to rage and crackle. He was done with this place and the Apostle's hospitality after all. He cared not what happened to it, and scorching it down was the only fitting fate for things he was done with. He imagined the fire would catch, spread, maybe take out a few lesser Heretics before some Dark Mechanicus or more charismatic and powerful Heretics managed to whip a few of the dregs into shape to put the fires out. Mass damage, casualties among the weak and foolish, and all while he walked clean away onto bigger and better things.

There was a matter of transport to attend to. With the smile fading as the thrill of the burning was already a past experience, his mind got back to the work at hand. He was stalking through the place, looking for signs of what he needed near the lighter bays of the great vessel.

... too Khorney... too Fat... too SPESS MEHREEN... he was scanning over the various crewmen there, making his mark on who they and their masters might be, what ships might be docked to this one, and trusting in his own intuition and prophecies to help guide him. No, not the guys who were obviously neck deep with the Plague Father, bad omens. Won't get along with Space marines. Yeah, right, him with the Khornates, that'd go over well.

He kept searching, feeling that something might not come by for him until he came across a lighter and a crew around it, apparently waiting for someone(s). The markings on it saying it was the Horizon's Bliss, the dedication to She Who Thirsts quite clear. Prophecy always guides you if you keep your eyes open.

Rasfakei smiled and kept moving, looking for a private place to work. Out of sight of most in the hanger he knelt down and opened up a small case he kept among his possessions. He went to work, crafting a disguise to fit in among the Slaaneshi, changing out the patches on his long coat to markings of excess, applying cosmetics to simulate the track marks and wastes of someone who sought their thrills in the excess of chemical dalliances and suffered their ravages as well, some hair dye to change his hair into a technicolored mess of unnatural hues, and some dye to apply some temporary tattoos to his skin, crafting an image of a Slaaneshi thrill junkie who was always looking for his next high, whatever it might be, and giving a moment to inspect his work on the disguise.

I hope Scott doesn't mind me finding a way to link up with Que, figured it'd help take some pressure off. If it's not cool, let me know.

I do have a Disguise Kit though by the rules it doesn't actually do anything... but... ah well.

Deceive (Being used to Disguise): [roll0] vs 45 Fellowship, +10 Deceive Training, +10 for Pity the Weak (I'm sure random NPC Mooks have less Strength or Willpower than me, and I know that Mistress Que and Angry Marine both do). Puts the Final Mark at 65 barring conditional modifiers.

[thebothan]

Abdul:The raptors don't stop staring at you, but one of their number speaks, his helmet modified to change the pitch and timbre of each syllable, What am I staring at? My wing-kin and I are unsure... Are you a true fallen? Or are you but another imposter, wearing the skin of a greater solider to enhance your own mediocrity? After that small display, perhaps I will win the prize after all. Below you, the wounded bellowing of the human continues, though it is now being muffled by heretics as they carry out the woman to a medical bay. With a gesture the raptor points a clawed gauntlet at the forms below Perhaps you should explain yourself to them and we can see who among us is right once and for all. The other raptors snicker among themselves at the slight inflicted to the honor of another marine.

Quint: Inside the massive dockyards, at least a dozen ships sit in their bays, refueling and resupplying.. not ready to take off. One vessel is prepared for immediate embarking, a party of the crew stands outside, waiting on someone. Their alignment to the Prince of Pleasure is evident from the luxurious texture of their outfits, the elegant and vibrant tattoos and hairstyles, and the bladed weapons and devotional scars they wear. Not exactly guardsmen, but clearly used to fighting, taking orders, and perhaps even decently trained.

[Malthan]

Holding the middle raptor’s gaze, Abdiel paused for a moment, allowing the gravitas of the situation to settle. Timing was everything in a battle of wills. Then he laughed and the madness of the warp laughed with him.

But it was not the bellowing roar of a berserker, the jolly heave of a plague marine or the debased melody of the kakophoni that rung out across the great hall. It was the cruel, spiteful laugh of an angel made monster, demonic reverberations almost distorting it beyond recognition. It was the bleak laugh of a madman who had long since realised that sanity was just an illusion the weak used to escape from an insane reality. It was the laugh of one who had seen too much and yet still hungered for more.

Grating, avian, hypnotic, screeching. It pulsed and shifted like a cancer, mutating and wounding existence itself. Calling on his horrific, hybrid form, his ridicule and scorn was translated beyond avian hysterics. The skin that adorned his armour began to writhe and slither over midnight ceramics, leering and jeering with their killer. Unnatural lightning, crimson and azure and violet raged across his form, contrasting with the shadowy figure in a nightmarish compound.

Then he spoke in a voice that carried the weight of the warp behind it.

“Ignorant scum, such as yourself, might not remember the penalty for insulting a legionnaire of my calibre. I was in the vanguard at Isstavan. I soared in Terran skies as the Imperial Palace burned. The mightiest warriors hire me to kill impudent whelps. Like yourself.”

Abdiel altered his posture into a predatory fighting stance, feet talons clutching the iron supports tightly, allowing him to draw his sword in a masterful flourish, showcasing his experience with its weight and length. This angel still has grace.

“Perhaps you will win but a quick death, cur. That is, if I can muster some small iota of mercy to put something as pathetic as yourself out of your misery. I explain myself to no one. As a true raptor should. My allegiance transcends understanding.”

It was an act of course, a calculated response to the warriors challenging tone. The harsher the insult, the harsher the response. It was the Night Lord way. The danger of such defiance might have caused concern in a lesser being but Abdiel did not, could not believe that he would be struck down here while there were so many words left to conquer, so many battlefields left to master. What farce would it be if he had come so far, only to die here, his campaign and his vengeance unfinished? Rearing himself up to his full height, Abdiel sighed in mock exasperation, making sure to reveal the full extent of his corruption – his armour had been modified around him over the years, adapting and twisting to his new monstrous form.

“So what are you going to do? Kill me, here? The Emperor himself could scheme no greater blasphemy. Perhaps you cannot see that I am a favoured son of the warp. Mine is the will of the dark gods. The Lord of Fate watches over me even as you flap your meatlips in petty insult.”

Slowly, elegantly, as if it belonged to Damocles himself, the Night Lord lowered his sword to point at the screaming wreck of a human that was being wheeled out of the great hall.

“Or perhaps you did not witness what happened to the last bloodthirsty fool who thought to slay me?”

Opposed Willpower Test
[roll0] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0

[scottsman1]

Que was about to show a hint of anger at her associate that may have been fatal when any ear piercing scream of anger followed by a crash filled the room.

Averting her gaze she immediately saw a sight that filled her with ideas. A single night lord if she remembered her history correctly was facing down a pack of raptors. The upstart had balls and if her current choice of escort was of any indication she rather liked astarties with balls.

She watched as the lone legionnaire treated the group claim the lord of change's protection. Brave but in a room filled with traditional Khornates not smart. A fellow non Khornate, why now I am obligated to help.

"Excuse me gentlemen who watch from above." She raise her voice as only a veteran shipmaster could. "I would like to ask that you please stop pestering my associate up there before things get uncivilized. Perhaps sort of trade for what ever slight you feel, how about free transit aboard my vessel. I assure it is quite Luxurious. Besides I am sure our host would be displease by a disruption to his plains. As for you." she points to the Night Lord "Follow me so we may discuses these events." She says with wink.

She turns to Agrorn. "Shall we?" She gestures and begins to exit the room.

[thebothan]

With a hissing sound two of the raptors draw back from the display of power, the leader hops back a few rafters away from Abdel, clearly with no stomach for fighting. Those that drew back retain their perch as they look at the small figure below.

The lead raptors attention is shifted from his imposing challenger to the woman below as well, with a snarl he addresses her I have no quarrels with those follow the Nightmare Corpse's colors, if that is what they be. The thrusters of his jump pack carry him and his wing-kin down to the ground near you, Remember this skin-puppet, we fly with our own and no one else. Your vessel doesn't make you close to our equal, do not ordain to offer charity to your betters. without landing, they race through the doorway two by two, their engines screaming like a choir of the dammed.

[ArcturusV]

Disguise set. Now to make the approach in such a way that they thought he was just another Slaaneshi Thrill Cultist who was joining the crew or at least was pointed at them. Or at the very least distract them so much that they didn't know or care to ask questions. Looking around the Lighter bay he was stalking around and looking for something in particular.

... too fat... too skinny... not enough back end... maybe...

He eventually, hopefully, logically it should be there, found what he was looking for. A relatively large Cargo loader with a flat bed in the back. He loaded it as best he could with some boxes of random things from around the bay, not caring if they were full, empty, or what not, so long as they were spaced around the back side of the flat bed in a haphazard display of six clusters of six boxes each with room to move down the middle of the flat bed.

Suffice to say, it took a while, Rasfakei wasn't exactly in the most fit shape that a Disciple of Chaos might obtain. When he finished he smiled to himself, going to the front of the cargo loader, crudely pointing the controls towards the general direction of the Slaaneshi Puddle Jumper before igniting the Machine Spirit of the Cargo Loader so that it thundered to life and started to slowly chug ahead as it gained speed.

Meanwhile Rasfakei moved along the back of the Cargo bed, calling for the warp flames to his hand again, setting fire to each of the piles of boxes in turn, twisting the warp flames in his hand so that each little pyre was burning in a technicolor rainbow of colors that was only possible with the unlimited excess of the Warp... or a good hand a Chymistry he supposed, but that was for dullards.

He was getting into his role as the back of the truck was burning bright in the excessive flames in The Prince's favorite number. 6 Technicolor flames of unique experience burning six stacks of six crates as the Cargo loader was hauling ass towards the shuttle. It was going to miss it (Well, hopefully), as Rasfakei hopped up on the cab and shouted out, "I DO COCAINE!" following up with an acapella version of some hard rock, headbanging and holding up his hands, putting up the dual set of Slaaneshi Horns as he played into his disguise and made his distraction for the Slaaneshi Crew.

Hope you have no issues with anything, but hey, I figured lets have some fun with it.

Deceive Check again I suppose: [roll0] vs 45 Fellowship, +10 Deceive Training, +10 for Pity the Weak, Final Mark before conditional modifiers is 65.

[thebothan]

Rasfakei's approach to the vessel is observed with annoyance by the pirates, they move to protect the craft behind them and gesture wildly for you to move aside or stop your vehicle, some of those carrying ranged arms brandish them. Shouting for you to stop, move aside, do something other than keep moving towards their vessel.
Scrutiny 40: [roll]1d100[roll], they do believe your disguise, you have passed for a very devoted cultist, whether or not you look like a crewmember has yet to be seen

[ArcturusV]

Rasfakei let out a loud, "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" as he swung down off the top of the cargo loader and hit the deck, letting the thing still go on whatever mad path its machine spirit wanted to once he hit the deck. What did he care where it went after all? He dusted himself off as he rose up, walking bold as he pleased towards the other Pirates making some wild gestures with his hands that made a third base coach's signals look positively refined and discrete in its frantic motions. He swayed when he walked, swerving with every step, his head was twitching around, eyes focusing on seemingly random points, drawn there by the gods only knew what.

He didn't seem to mind if the Pirates did in fact shoot the ever loving crap out of the mobile shrine to Slaaneshi Excesses. It had served its purpose. He didn't break stride as he walked up on the crew with a wide eyed expression and maniac smile on his face. His voice was high pitched and seemed more like a shriek than anyone's normal speaking voice, shooting out rapid fire as he snapped out, "ATTEN-SHUN! Snap to, hup hup, perfection is what the boss demands and perfection in the excess of the Prince of Pleasure is what we strive for! Straighten that shirt, unlace those boots, spit shine that lasgun maggot! Do you want to look like a filthy rabble when the boss comes by? By the warp I will make sure you stand fast and look the part!" he moved into the crowd, using speed and his fast talk to try to stun them into confusion as he went and seemed to fuss with people, tweaking their piercings, slapping some dust off their clothing, thumping some people who were looking about ready to speak up before he was ready.

"You may call me Petty Chief Waldo. I am your new Sub-Boss, personal hire for the duration of this mission. And I will have you operating up to the exacting standards that our captain demands, and we will bring exultation to the Prince of Pleasure," he drew forth Dying Light, holding it pointing towards the ceiling, "Any questions?"

Yep, totally bluffing my ass off as their new Petty Officer and we'll see how it goes.

Command Test: [roll0] vs 45 Fellowship, Command Trained for +0, Pity the Weak for +10, will spend an Infamy Point for +10, Final Mark before Conditionals is 65.

[Malthan]

“What one conceives to be truth is a relative concept. What the Imperium considers to be true, for instance, we know to be nothing but lies. We stood with the Emperor. We fought and died for his light. He was no god. Yet that will not stop his followers from dying in their droves to prove us wrong.” The words rang through Abdiel’s head as he followed his new allies. They had been uttered by Abdiel’s old friend and one time mentor, a secretive sorcerer of the Alpha Legion who had hidden himself only in aliases. The cage-spider. The golden dwarf king. The private speaker.

What then, was the truth behind his most recent acts?

Yes, Abdiel had acted rashly. The exposure of his power and allegiance were …unfortunate sacrifices. To a room full of potential threats no less – was it foolish? His new ally had told him as such, in her sing-song voice, playfully mocking. An unnecessary risk, endangering his mission and his life. And for what? Pride and vanity?

No. They did not understand. The warp rewards those willing to sacrifice. Abdiel had learnt that on a daemon world where fire ate water and the sky rained corpses. His old enigmatic friend had taught him to channel his supremacy, to harness it, to abuse it like the resource it is.

“They will challenge you because they are afraid.”

The Raptor’s pathetic retreat at the exposure of but a fraction of Abdiel’s power had proven that. And as for the Apostle’s red warriors… they would learn to fear him too, in time. Not just for the reputation of his legion but for the power he would obtain. Mine, for the taking.

But such things would have to wait. There was to be no end to his crusade. His new comrades, the Princess and the Dark Templar had provided him with the means to carry out his plans. His indiscretion had brought him allies. It was as expected.

In fact, he’d counted on it. In the dark there are not only monsters. There are whispers in the night. Rumours of deceit, of sorcerers close to the Apostle’s own flesh, seeking means to their own ascension, their tendrils wrapping tighter…

Abdiel had thought to flush them out, to spark their interest. And perhaps he had. News of the incident would spread as all cheap gossip spreads. Along the gutters, like blood from a slaughter house. The Legion’s fear would reach this sector.
See now how the wheels turn? United with allies, collaborators, transport, shelter, weapons. All he needed now, was a target.
Even as the Princess led him away to discuss their new cooperative agreement, Abdiel smiled to himself.

If he had not invoked Tzeentch’s sorcery, would the heretic have fallen?
If he had not invoked Tzeentch’s tactics, would the raptors have seen him?
If he had not invoked Tzeentch’s image would they have learnt to fear him?
If he had not invoked Tzeentch’s supremacy, would the ship have born witness to his power?
If he had not invoked Tzeentch’s name, would the warp have granted him what he desired?

Yet still, something troubled him. Glancing at the raptors, gliding with their tails between their legs. No, it was not them. They had proven unworthy…so far. But perhaps later…

Turning to the bloodstain that marked the heretic’s fall, Abdiel grimaced. No, she was beneath even the slightest sympathy. She had been forgotten as soon as more exciting stimulus became available. He was surprised that the Eviscerating Flail even bothered to scrape her from the floor. It was likely that she would serve as some lab rat, some bloody test tube awaiting the cold hands of the Dark Mechanicus. The thought of her, cybernetic and corpselike, hungry for vengeance, made the Night Lord chuckle discreetly. What was it then?

“It is not the darkness of the night that threatens those who possess power. It is the darkness of their soul.” His master’s words.

But which one?
Ah. Yes.

Once, Abdiel would have shuddered to be so indebted to the dark gods, let alone one so capricious and cruel as the Lord of Lies. Where was the pride in his legion, in his primarch? A knot of nostalgia and melancholy tugged at the Night Lord’s heart, while the Master of Fate fiddled with his strings.

But his father had failed. Fallen, not into chaos, but into the abyss. And there is no life in the void.

Konrad would not have been able to accept aid, as Abdiel did. Too stubborn, too obsessed with self-sufficiency and independence. It had made him weak.

Abdiel had already shown his power and now it was the time to show his versatility. I can play the role of a dutiful soldier. He had done so for years. Sometimes, the greatest subversion a man can instigate is to follow orders.

If the princess needed a monster, he would kill her enemies without complaint. If she needed her men disciplined, he would instill the fear of god into them. If she needed an artifact retrieved… Abdiel would see what its value was first.

Abdiel predatory eyes scanned over her, mortal and meager yet radiant and confident. In comparison, the brutal red monster which guarded her seemed to stand in her shadow. How ironic. There was no question as to who was more intimidating however. At first Abdiel had thought to have recognised Agrorn's allegiance by an ancient Heresy era insignia on his armour but had later realised it to be nothing more than a trophy. So, he knows how to kill. Good. Abdiel had lost patience for cowards that skulked in Astartes armour.

There was no point in threatening chosen such as them. They knew the score. An alliance of convenience. No loyalty lasts forever. Not amongst traitors. Only the gods could claim ones soul forever.

Abdiel winced at the thought. Again, the memory of his renewed connection to the Warp troubled him. Was it he who had invoked these shadows to dance at his back? Or was it instead the voice of the night, calling for him to sway in the moonlight?

"What is worse in life? To believe the old truth, that the universe is cold and without hope or purpose? Or the new truth; that there is purpose, that there is hope and that its ruler would rather set the galaxy ablaze than let it fade."

[Col.Straken]

Quint watched in amazement as a what could only be described as a lunatic set fire to a vehicle and then pranced around on top as it chugged out of control across the loading bay. His eyes widened and he watched a group of soldiers... Fighters at least create a cordon around their shuttle in an attempt to protect it from damage, though it was quite obvious they were more worried about themselves.

It was then that an idea came to him, he strode across to the shuttle with purpose and rose his voice over the commotion and roared at the group "One of you must know how to drive that thing! So get yourselves over there and get that lunatic under control before he gets us all vented!"

He checked that Tirioc was close by just incase he had to send his own man to get the runaway vehicle under control.


Command against the group.
Command: 63 (Fel 53, Command +10) [roll0] 5DoS

I will check what the target is and edit it in.

On the off chance that Tirioc needs to get control

Operate (Ground): 32 (Ag 22, Operate +10) [roll1] 2DoS

[thebothan]

The crewmembers stare dumbfounded at the vibrant, ordering figure in their midst, unsure of what to do and how to respond to such flagrant invasion of their space.. surely such a madman must act on the behalf of the powers he claimed, otherwise he would have to be insane, on the other hand, surely the man was insane given his entrance, his personality and the fact that the vehicle was left driving of it's own accord... Debating such a dilemma proved to taxing for any of them to attempt to apprehend the vehicle as it barreled down the dockway.

Luckily however, Tirioc immediately snapped to his commanders orders, and was able to apprehend the vehicle and slow it to a stop before any damage was caused to the vessel itself.

One of the crewmembers in the circle around "Petty Chief Waldo" reached up to his ear, and in a regretful voice, activated the private channel, the heavy breathing of the body guard of his mistress entered the line, Please inform the Mamzel, one of her new toys is here, says she hired him to keep the crew running... May we have the pleasure of roughing him up a bit before she indulges in hers?

[scottsman1]

Que hand almost moved to her bolt pistol. Almost. She steadied herself as the Raptor made their ungraceful exit. She made sure to memorize every detail about the lead raptor's armour for future ideas.

She then started to walk to the exit flaked by her associates. Pausing at the door she turned on her heel immediately facing the group who had just witnessed the show. "Well it certainty seemed that some have no manners. For any who would be interested in transport please come to my ship or contact via open vox. I would love to stay chat but I feel my crew needing me any moment. The ship leaves in 24 hours."

As she walked she watch her potential new toy from the corner of her eye with entrust. He seemed to be in deep thought, if his body language spoke any thing, possibly pondering. As soon as they were alone in the corridors. "I am going to offer you the same contract I offered Agrorn here a time ago. I will see to your needs, and desires, as well as grant you a rank amongst my crew second only to myself. In return I have three demands, one I will need your name, Two Whilst on my ship do as I say, and three never be anything lest than yourself in any circumstance other than when the second demand needs to be meet. What say you." She finished as she lead the group around a corner that opened to the main docking area.

She had to admit seeing the burning truck was a surprise.

[ArcturusV]

Well, a burning truck of technicolor wonder flames in six pyres. A strange guy who looked like a whacked out drug addled thrill seeker holding up a hand flamer, though it wasn't pointed at anyone but empty space above his head. He seemed to have a cracked out of his mind smile on his face, even as the random ratings of the Pirate Princess's crew surrounded him and made blatant threats to knock him around. His eyes were wide open to an extent that he had to be straining to keep his eyes bugged out as much as that, his head bobbing as he looked around among the crew, and noted the less than stealthy approach of some power armored Space Marines flanking some smaller nondescript figure. He took in a deep, stuttering breath between his teeth, his eyes flicking over to the other fellow in Imperial Guard Issue gearing and his flunkies who was stopping the truck, taking it all in with those crazy eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in time with an apparent fading need for a stimulus fix.

Lady Boss, Fallen Imperial Command Figure with his Guardsmen. Two Traitor Marines. A group of (so many) flunkies in close contact. The Space Marines didn't seem to bear the markings of Excess. Possible reason for their presence? Uncertain.

He held up his other hand, index finger up, signaling for them to wait up a bit. He took out his Data-Slate and Pict-Recorder, moving a few steps away, setting them up to record the scene, and having the Data-Slate play a recording of a tribal song recorded on some distant world, heavy beats and quick tempo. He lowered his finger, "Okay, good to go. Can't experience things without the right accompaniment, you gotta savor it like a fine amsec, record it for posterity and all."

Insane? Cocky? Buying for Time wondering if the Astartes would shake up the fight? Playing to figure out where all the pieces fell into place? Hard to say. But at the very least the longer he played out for time, the better his odds here. Well unless they wanted to press him. Then again they were in close range with an apparently obviously unstable guy who had an AoE Flame weapon drawn so... maybe they would have wanted to wait and play for time as well. Play well with the new elements, feel out a new path, call it good.

[scottsman1]

This post comes in after the Night Lord say yes, no, or maybe to Que's proposal.

Que had to admit, she had seen her crew get into all sorts of parties, drunken brawls, and other sorts of shenanigans whilst she was away. However a flaming truck of slaanesh complemented with a cosplaying imperial commissar all while a non crew affiliated slaanesh cultist filmed his own public beating was a new one, and in record time. Hell she had only been gone for a few hours. I swear children, this is why I can't go on dates isn't it.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I evidently have pressing matters to attend." She whispered to the two giants as she walked forward toward the random excess that while on the ship was acceptable was no way to behave during a diplomatic sit down with other leaders present.

"You two." She pointed at two of the crew closest to the ship, "Get some extinguishers and put out that flame." She yelled.

"You." She pointed at a third "Herbal tea Four cups, a small table, and chairs for four."

As the table and chairs are quickly brought out almost as if they were already in place for such a demand.

"Sargent, sit. You with the face as well." Tilting her head back almost as an after thought. "Would the Miser with the hat care to join us. It appears we have some misunderstanding." She spoke in a harsh tone as the third crew member pored the tea his hands shaking.

"Sargent please calmly give your report as to what in the void is going on." She says her tone mellowing out as she lifts the hot tea and sniffs it for a moment taking in the aroma.


Crew Command test
Fel 50 Command +10 Should be some situational modifers, but for now TN 60
[roll0]

Raskafei Command test
Fel 50 Command +10 Please note that no matter how the roll comes out this does not control Raskafei's actions it just gives a little insight as to how commanding she is being. TN 60
[roll1]

Quint Charm Test
Fel 50 Charm +10 Perimone Genoration (Still on) +10 Please note that no matter how the roll comes out this does not control Quint's actions it just gives a little insight as to how charming she is being TN 70
[roll2]

[Hemnon]

Agrorn smirked with a chuckle following, amplified and distorted by his Ceramite Helmet's Voxgrill.
It was rather Entertaining to Listen to the Pretty Human Princess' retelling of how He came to follow her... and how over-embellished it was said.

The Truth was much simpler than what he made it sound like.
He'd wandered battlefield to battlefield, before accidentally stumbling upon the Pirate Princess and her Ship's Forces while he had joined a raid on a Planet near the Helix, claiming more skulls to his chain of devotional trinkets to khorne.

She had merely seen the promise his capability of violence was, and had offered Him all the pleasures he wanted, be it violence, drugs, Combat, food, etc.
And He had accepted on the condition that he could continue his worship of Khorne, Kill when he wished and claim any trophy he wished from whatever battle he might end up joining.

Now. Well, now he had served Her for a while and, so far, all promises had been kept.
---------------------------
Agrorn would follow the Princess Que back unto her ship, looking as big and menacing as always, with an aura of hate and disgust for everyone there... even the Princess herself, although it was only a rare few that He's met that he didn't consider weaklings.

[ArcturusV]

"Seems we have a rain check fellows," Rasfakei said with a wide smile as he holstered his pistol, and went back to retrieve his recorder and Data-Slate, turning off the devices as he looked back to the woman he had hardly noticed at first. Clearly the leader of this outfit. He could smell the recaf, not really his thing but he did know that many leaders seemed to enjoy the more refined varieties as that seemed to be. He sauntered over towards the Table, swaying with his movements, his left hand up, conducting a beat as if he was guiding some unheard symphony as he headed over. Pulling out a chair without a word he sat down, and the wild eyes and toothy grin was replaced by a warmer, more genteel smile and a calmer expression as he sat up straight, all prim and proper in the chair.

"Captain," he said softly with a nod towards Que.

[Malthan]

Three demands. Two astartes. One deal.

It was acceptable. Abdiel had barely given her the chance to finish her oh so charming proposition. He’d made up his mind the minute she’d opened her mouth. But it was pleasant of her to try and make it sound like she wasn’t getting an excellent bargain. To have two Astartes on board would be an honour for any mortal ship captain. Of course, she might genuinely think the opposite to be true. Servants of the Dark Prince are remarkably confident. And clean. They make for excellent companions.

“My thanks for your … gracious offer. This meeting was clearly ordained. I sense that we will accomplish great things together.”

Abdiel sensed only that feeding her ego would curry favour.


“It would be remit of me to not inform you that my colours are forever indebted to my battle brothers in the Eighth Legion. They would be somewhat ...disappointed if I did not return to them. After my – I mean our- mission is complete.”

Abdiel paused trying to gauge her reaction. As sinister as his tone was, it was a genuine concern that she might try and keep him as some weak lapdog. Trust was weakness but knowledge is power. She deserved better than ignorance. He was not threatening her. He was warning her. The Night Lords do not forgive.

Abdiel needed to keep the relationship clearly defined, with set boundaries. Simpler that way. More manageable.

“I will accept your proposal on a condition of my own: you will keep control of your men. I am done with madmen and morons trying to prove themselves by dedicating my skull to whichever warp god they find least despicable.”

The bitterness in his voice contrasted harshly with her soft tones. Yet she did not bristle at his words. She could give no true reassurances of course. Controlling heretics was a balancing act – and a dangerous one at that.

Especially where the Templar was concerned. He was an enigma that Abdiel did not yet understand. Sorcerers and Slaanesh had no quarrel, unless the realms of practicality interfered. But the soul eater founds conflict where there is none. The sense of loathing practically dripped off Agrorn. His betrayal, a single blow, perhaps one misplaced spell and the entire operation could fall apart. Appeasing both him and the pirate would be difficult. Did they not serve opposing masters? Truly, strange bedfellows.

Entering the hangar, Abdiel felt a dull pang. He had not escaped this wretched place yet. Something was shouting. Something was burning. Something was eager to kill.

“Preysight.”

Awareness test to see if Abdiel can see through Rasfakei's disguise. Also to get a general hold on the situation, different factions and general information about the ship and its guardians.
[roll0]vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[Col.Straken]

Quint was about to walk up to one of the two Astartes assuming they would be in charge. Old habits do die hard, that was until the petite woman strode forward barking orders to which her crew jumped to complete. He was taken aback, surprised a woman could command such authority. Sure there were females in the Guard, but rarely in a position of authority, and usually only in the few all female regiments.

"Ma'am, you command this rabble?" it was more statement than question, "You should be ashamed, not one has any discipline nor initiative. This was duly shown by their disorganisation in the presence of the threat of this fire crazed lunatic."

He nodded to Tirioc, "You were lucky Tirioc here knows how to drive, else you may have been stuck in this place."

[thebothan]

Ignoring the Commisar's words about the crew, the Sergeant slowly approached the table with a mixture of reverence and fear. He stood behind the chain indicated for him, shimmering with a pride in his words as he speaks in a sharp and succinct voice. As you requested captain, we were awaiting your return so that we could finally be rid of this vessel, and again feel the void passing beneath us. Nothing worthy of report occurred, until he indicates the seated man This man, appeared out of nowhere, flying that flat-back he indicates the still slowly burning vehicle We didn't know what to make of it, so we stood our ground and drew weapons, figured if this crazy was trying to take down the ship we could take him down... Then he jumped out of the craft, and walked into the midst of us, said his name was Waldo, and you had hired him to keep everyone up to your standards. I micro-beaded the bloody one this information just as you walked in. Other than that, standard routine, good to see you returned all in one piece. With a grin he adds Looks like our gunnery sergeant owes me some money.

[scottsman1]

Que sipped her tea and listened the the three men bicker. A moment after her Sargent gave his report she paused as if pondering, then placed the tea cup down. "Good report, and my complements on the tea." She says and turns toward the critic. "Miser with the hat, it seems you are a bystander in this and I apologize for getting you involved, however feel free to enjoy your tea."

She turned her attention to the man named Waldo. "Well Miser Waldo. I have to ask why are you trying to sneak aboard my ship and who sent you. Think carefully before answering as there is a bolt pistol pointed at your testicles." She says as she draws her weapon under the table.

[Malthan]

Regarding the situation with grim amusement, Abdiel felt a little disappointment build up inside him. Allies are not always dependable, he reminded himself. It was a worthy vessel however, if not as battle-ready as he was used to. Nevertheless, it was sill fast and evasive, qualities that Abdiel had learnt to respect in the Screaming Vortex. As for the crew however…

This insanity must be commonplace. Discipline varies in the Warp, being bought with equal amounts of fear and respect. Love? This is what love buys you. A burning wreck, with tea.

“Mistress Que, if I might interject. I agree with this… hat-wearing warrior.” Abdiel indulged the Princess’ own mannerisms, his knowledge, experience and indeed hatred for the Guard giving the Night Lord a strong suspicion as to the Imperial background for Quin and his men.

“The actions of a crew always reflect their master’s power.” Abdiel hissed softly, feeling more than a little disdain for the motley Slaaneshi crew. This was theatricality however, a power play to establish himself as an authority figure on board the vessel. In the uncertainty of heretical politics, it is better to be feared than forgotten.

Lumbering forwards, power armoured talons raking along the floor like a great flightless bird, the Night Lord towered over everyone anyone that wasn’t Agrorn. Staring through devil-red eyes, Abdiel addressed the sergeant.

“Allowing potentially dangerous, unauthorised personnel so close to the ship dishonours your mistress’ name. Had… this one …been a khorne death worshipper with a grudge, he could have grounded us on this metal hell with but a single grenade.” Abdiel reasoned deftly, playing on the paranoia that pervaded this ship.

Abdiel turned to glare at the supposed slaaneshi cultist. What was his intention? Pleasure-seekers always managed to be both predictable and precarious at the same time. It was best to avoid one so wild for now. Instead, continuing to speak to the room at large, the Executioner continued morosely.

“If we are to be successful, it would be best to ensure.. proper procedure is followed. Sergeant, what is the penalty for failing your duties? Tell me, so that I might render judgement…”

Drawing on the power of the warp, Abdiel felt the shadows gather at his feet. Wielding his warp staff like a lightning rod, conducting a current of treacherous energy, the Executioner reached out for the sergeant’s mind, attempting to subvert the man’s perceptions into reacting to the Sorcerer as he would to his master were she more disappointed.

“Or perhaps an attempt at rehabilitation might be too lenient? I could send a message to your crew, Mistress, a symbol of your authority written in his screams … if that would please you, of course.” The Night Lord felt little pleasure in sadism but he knew that the average Slaaneshi sympathiser would. The Butcher astartes might enjoy the blood spilled as well. One man’s death was a small price to pay for respect. Especially one so sneeringly inadequate.

Turning to whisper a raven’s rasp into Que’s ear, his voice deliberately loud enough to be heard by those immediately around the table, Abdiel continued “Might I suggest that a change in leadership be in order. This one has proven himself indecisive and weak.”

Increasing his volume so that it might be audible to the entire room, the Executioner’s eyes glinted as he reached his inevitable, rational conclusion. Gesturing towards the commissar with a ceramite gauntlet, Abdiel finished his trail of thought.

“The good soldier here would make a fine replacement. In contrast to your own, his men secured the “hostile” vehicle and appears to have taken control of the situation. This demonstrates a degree of leadership above your own...man’s capacity. His bodyguards appear to be well-trained and armed as well and we could always do with more warriors in our war effort. I suspect that this hat-man might have also have … appropriate experience for such a management type role as well. But of course this is your decision, as per out agreement, mistress…”

Casting Delude on the sergeant before attempting to intimidate him.

Focus Power Test: Challenging (+0) Opposed Willpower Test:

[roll0] vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 15 Unfettered (5 times 3 Psy Rating) = 84



Intimidating the poor guy as well

Opposed Willpower Test:

[roll1] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0, (Potential +15 from Delude)

[ArcturusV]

Playing up the part, at the mention of Bolt Pistol to the Testicles "Waldo" didn't even bat an eye, though he did waggle his eyebrows a bit at Mistress Que. No telling what was going on in his mind, though it wasn't like Masochism wasn't a typical excess that the Slaaneshi Thrill Seeker also experienced along side the others. He could feel the not so subtle pulling on the Immaterium as the SPESS MEHREEN nearby opened himself up to the Warp, allowing it to flow fully through him though not actively drawing it in.

Another Psyker. He has seen those before, the armored plated warriors who could call upon the Immaterium. He was surprised that it was apparently as subtle an effect as it must have been, considering normally they were shouting out loud things like "FUR DAH EMPRAH!" or the like and calling down lightning or using their power as a crude cudgel to send someone flying through the air. An armored warrior who actually knew about subtly? A scary thought. He was fairly certain that whatever power was used, wasn't directed at him. He felt no intrusion in his well ordered mind. Manipulating the Captain Lass here? The other Armored Douchebag? The guy with the fancy hat?

All of this ran through his mind as he took up a bit of the tea and sipped it slowly, seemingly very calm and focused on just the ritual of savoring the hot dirty plant water before setting the cup back down.

"Got to love acting on your impulses and jumping into things full bore, yes?" Rasfakei asked Que softly as he leaned back in his chair, "Every bit the devotee to excess one could hope for. Though if you wouldn't mind me playing Tzeentch's Advocate for a moment... Clearly I never intended to sneak aboard your vessel, as you can hardly call all of that Sneaking," he waved his hand dismissively toward the red clad obvious Khornate Marine, judging by his appearances, "Unless I was devoted to his simplistic patron. Which clearly I am not. Otherwise there would be more hacking and slashing here while screaming out for Blood."

He flashed a wide, toothy grin, "As with all things, my God sends me a vision, and gives me my role," he slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out the 8 coins, jingling them a bit in his hand and opening up the palm, revealing the odd markings that showed on their faces as they settled in a jumble. He stared down at them and shook his head.

"He calls for me to serve, and gives me a vision of who. The figure who dances with Slaanesh amid the ravenous dogs of Khorne and Multitude of Nurglish Vermin and plotting Tzeentchians aboard this great host."

"Where's Waldo? Right here, not sneaking. It is the will of Slaanesh that I traverse the void aboard your ship, and see all the galaxy has to offer."

"Or we can walk away. I'm sure that snubbing the Will of a God has always gone wonderful for you in the past, yes? Clearly, I mean here you are. Or maybe you've never heard the cold whispers in the darkness, the ones that urge you to spread the flames, to experience every sight, to deluge your senses in all the galaxy has to offer, to embrace your whims and passions, acting upon your secret desires until everything you could dream of, and much you can't, is in your grasp. Or maybe just to throw it away, for the mere experience of knowing you've given up more than most could even dream of having, all while that cold voice gives a haunting laugh that fills your spine with the cold shivers of dread, and a yearning for more."

He closed up his hand, his soft voice having been working to lure the Mistress into the story, trying to draw her in with his words and make her inch forward a bit to hear, an old storyteller's trick but a primal one that worked on most people.

"Have you heard the voices too? Then you know why I am here."

You play for time, you draw them in, you smile and speak softly, you let them make their own conclusions, then you act. There was always a way through if only you saw it well enough. Maybe it'd work, maybe she'd find him mildly amusing, maybe they'd walk away, maybe it'd end up in a short and viscous brawl. A lot of Maybes.

Well this isn't really charming, it's lying to control and deceive while playing into his disguise...

So just for reference if you wish:

Deceive: [roll0] vs 45 Fellowship, +10 Deceive Trained, +10 Peer (Warlords/Planetary Governors) which... as a Pirate Princess who is forging her own Space marine Warband + Pirate Crew I'd say she kind of is, +10 for Pity the Weak, baseline mark of 75.

[Col.Straken]

Quint was quickly losing the respect he had for the Captain, ignoring his own report in favour of someone clearly incompetent. He refused the tea, not knowing what it could be laced with, and rose an eyebrow at her threat towards the madman. "I would remind you both I have an Inferno Pistol constantly ready and pointed at both of you. I don't believe petty threats will get us anywhere."

That was when the Astartes joined in, and Quint took an immediate liking to him. "Usually the penalty for such incompetent behaviour would be summary execution, however, with the Sergeant not being under my authority I decided against such a course so as not to anger the Captain. I regret such decision and now wish I had melted the mans face as an example of his disgrace."

[Hemnon]

Angrorn smiled grimly, although it was hidden behind his helmet, at Quint's indirect comment about the Lady Captain. A scary Chuckle could be heard from him as well... a hoarse rumbling sound that had no bussiness going from a living being.

"That might be so, little human, but vocally questioning your superiors is grounds for direct execution. I'm sure your prior experiences with the Rotten, False Emperor's little armymen, right? questioning the commander is direct cause of summary Execution. that flimsy Guard Manual also mentions other insane rules that have no place on a battlefield... so i do ask, who are to you question how the Lady Que runs her ship? huh, little man?" Angrorn asked Quint directly, His Power Fist sparkling and arcing with near-unearthly energy-bolts as he clenches and unclenches the hand.

[Col.Straken]

Quint turns to stare at the questioning marine and stares calmly at him the threat rolling over him with ease.
"I did mention my Inferno Pistol didn't I? It once belonged to ome of the Angles of Death. I have seen what it can do to them. But if that isn't enough to put you off, Tirioc there has a Rifle which can take you down, and Xerxes there has two Hand Flamers which could cook you in that suit. I think I have plenty of right to question whomever I wish."

[Hemnon]

Laughed out loudly, his distorted voice sounding closer to the wail of a daemon horde, than mirthful laughter.
"You're quite funny little man, but those tiny flamers won't do me much harm, neither would that tiny dartgun. as for your Inferno pistol, i can only say that it's too small to be an Astartes Weapon. you would need two hands to use it if it was." Agrorn replied mockingly. The little man was but an insect to Him, a bug that is alive right now because Agrorn himself have no interest in killing such a weakling who needs to hide behind others, or claim such lies as having taken a weapon from one of the Foolish Astartes.


not gonna roll for intimidation and whatnot, since i dislike doing rolls like that vs. other players, so i'll just play on the whole, 'hey im a freaking Space Marine' fact and talk OOCly about what might happens and such instead. ^3^

[Col.Straken]

Quint kept his gaze level, he didn't particularly want to face off against an Astartes, especially one that is clearly quite keen to kill for fun. But he had faced alot, and he knew just what his weapons were capable of.

"I think you underestimate what my friends Dart gun is capable of, nor how hot promethium can burn. As for my Pistol, it was taken from the Sanguinary Guard, they tend to wear them on the wrist often making them much smaller than the standard Asartes weapons." he says as he lifts his melded stump so that all can see the distinct muzzle potruding from his wrist.

I think this can only end as a standoff, while you are a hulking giant with a big fist. Quint has the numbers, plus the weapons he have would are more than enough to stop a marine. Lastly, he is Jaded, and has Fear (1) going up to Fear (2) when he shoots which means he is a pretty scary guy for a human and can probably compete with a Marine for who can be scariest.

[scottsman1]

Que had a growing headache by the second of this debate. Now she had her new toy and a fallen imperial commissar (not a cosplayer as she had assumed). Plus her attack dog was trying to scare said commissar. As well just to top it all off a soothsayer, not so sneaky spy, who claimed that her patron had sent him to enjoy her company. She had to regain control quickly or risked losing face and that was something she could not allow.

"Very well, Miser Waldo if it is indeed by the prince of pleasure's will that you are here, then you will not mind a little test to prove what you say. I presume." She said as a grin slowly creep upon her lips.

"As for you Miser Hat and Miser lord of night, you both raise valid points, however you also show your ignorance as to knowledge of what a void ship is truly capable of." She points toward a view port from which anyone can see the ship in all her glory. "Horizons bliss is Havoc class warship, she is exactingly 1.657 kilometers long by 0.489 kilometers wide. Her main armament fires shells the size of hab blocks and her armour is designed to repel shells of the same. I assure you both she was in no real danger. That being said if Sargent was protecting a command bunker you would both be right on the money with you assessments. However he did as he knew best which was to keep potential saboteurs out." She paused taking a slight breath and finishing her tea.

"Now I do have a infantry contingent on the ship and my knowledge of ground warfare to probably similar to yours of void warfare. Miser hat how would you like a job training and disciplining those men or you could always continue your negotiations with my associate I assure you it won't end well."

[ArcturusV]

He sniffs loudly as he turns his head away from the Captain, and towards the men flexing their muscles and getting into their measuring contest. He had a smile on his face that seemed to be one of pure, simple enjoyment, wondering if things were going to erupt into an orgy of violence or what not, eyes twinkling at the emotions on display, not open and raw ones, but still showing a lot of depth to the people involved.

Prides on the line, boasts, measuring each other, the trump cards people chose to display...

He had shifted in his seat to watch the ensuing display while keeping an eye on the captain. One arm slung over the back of the chair, right leg up resting across his left knee, very casual and relaxed despite everything seemingly going to the warp around him or the fact that until minutes ago he had a gang of ratings wanting to try to thug out against him, and probably still were willing to do so.

It was part of that Khornate style, command tested in the fires of battle, and the ability to seemingly remain calm as those lesser than you went off the rails. Evaluate the battlefield, take stock of resources, calmly act with precision, violence, and skill as needed. It was the part of the Blood God he admired, those who hadn't lost themselves entirely to the blood rage and had that calm, adept center still and were paragons of martial discipline.

He turned his head slightly towards the Captain, "The holy Drinking Contest of Slaanesh Test, eh?" he chuckled but his tone seemed an odd mix of potentially joking, and potentially serious, very hard to tell just what he really thought of it. "Last time my fellow caved on the Machine Oil Chugging Round."

[Col.Straken]

Quint nodded to the Captain, "You are quite right Miss. It was simply an old habit which I struggle to forget. I am Eisen Thaddius Quint, formerly of the Imperium, now a lost soul with my two comrades. Your offer is quite acceptable, though I only need stay for as long as the passage to my destination, then you may have your soldiers back."

He looked at the hulking Astartes and smiled. "I like your temperment, perhaps we started off wrong. We can test who has the better skill against the Imperial soldiers that we will surely find, much safer for the both of us."

[Hemnon]

Agrorn scoffed out in a huff when he heard the meantioning of a Slaanesh Test. "Hargh Hargh, The Little Princess tried to seduce me with women, drink and shiny stuff when i first joined her.... undoubtedly trying to convert me to that Hedonistic Hermafrodite Cult. I still do not know if i failed or succeeded her little test, but none of what she offered would sway me, hehehe~" He chuckled.
Agrorn then turned back towards Quint and, had he been helmetless, he would have been seen glaring deadly daggers at the Silly little man and his fancy hat.
"Temperament... Hah! The only reason everyone here is still alive is because it'd be a bore to just kill every single one of you. Little miss Princess knows this, which is why i can go along on her ship and join any worthwhile battles and kill such enemies. More chances to kill something great and worthwhile outweights strangulating weak little men and women.... as for SAFE?? hah! you want safe? go back to the imperium, i want to kill more Astartes, maybe add some more desecrated parts of another Gray Knight's Power Armour... or maybe finally get to kill and mutilate a Saint, ripping their lungs from their still living bodies while slowly squishing their heads into a lump of mush..." He replied to Quint, clearly indicating that he's got no interest for friendship or eluding tales of comradery between them.... at least not until worthwhile proof of value has been shown. Which is why Agrorn, a Chosen of Khorne follows a follower of Slaanesh. Que's worth is shown with her ability to command her crew, direct a battle on her ship, and most importantly, enable Agrorn easier access to great battles and bloodshed!


Hey Col. Straken. I just wanna say that i personally doesn't have anything against you. it's just that my character Pity The Weak, and all that, so im only trying to RP my character as close to what his sheet makes him, as possible:smallsmile:
So don't feel it's a direct attack on you as a player, the way i RP Agrorn. it's just how agrorn is. Hope i haven't hurt, offended you, or whatnot.
I've experienced it before that a player took verbal and physical actions against their character personal, so i just wanted to make sure.

[Malthan]

Abdiel sighed through his helmet, the grating sound only barely audible to those closest to him. It wasn't that he had no patience for competition; it was just the more time they wasted on petty squabbles, the more likely one of them would end up dead. He had little interest in seeing how well an inferno pistol would burn through power armour, although he had his suspicions already.

He'd watched intently at the mental sparring, the subtle hint of recent combat drills in both the Commissar's men contrasting with the more arrogant yet effective intimidation technique that the Traitor Astartes had employed. Both warriors, but with very different styles. Pleasing Quint would be far easier than appeasing Agrorn, although Abdiel hoped that his extensive combat experience would earn some respect from both. They all shared a similar hatred for the Imperium, although only Abdiel's loathing had endured the draining apathy of time.

Meanwhile, manipulating his new companion Que into hiring foreign elements into her crew had been simple enough, even if it was only temporary. No one had to die either - interesting...

The Night Lord had bristled at the small sleight that she'd issued, thinly veiled as it was. He considered educating her on the potential explosives found amongst heretics with Dark Mechanicus connections, void bombs and melta weapons, all of which he'd witnessed personally breaching hulls as a talon rakes flesh. Was the Havoc-class raider that she was so proud of not a relatively lightly armoured vessel as well? Breaking such a ship did not require annihilation, only sabotage. Yet Abdiel relented, burying his contempt, content with the knowledge that she had revealed in her comment; and for what he could do later. Instead, he excused himself politely:

"Allow me to give you some privacy as you interrogate this one. If you should need me, send a messenger. I will be just outside, meditating and keeping watch. Sergeant, can you show me where I would be best positioned to watch for any further intruders?"

As Que continued down the path of diplomacy, Abdiel turned to the sergeant he'd Deluded into trusting him, maintaining the single spell proving no harder than listening to the drivel emanating from the bizzare infiltrator. The confident man was an enigma true but one that could wait until the interrogation at the table had ran its course. Walking with the Sergeant at a slow pace, Abdiel whispered discretely, keeping his pitch too low for the others to hear, the words instead resonating within the sergeant's mind.

"Do not show any reaction to what I am about to tell you. I am leaving for but a moment. I am on a very important mission from the Apostle himself; this group may be compromised by hostile elements. I cannot tell you more. Do not tell the others. Remember what I can do to you if you give me reason to. Follow my orders and you will be rewarded."

Abdiel paused savoring the man's expression, tasting it to see if the words registered into his thick, compromised skull.

"Observe everyone present: the other marine, the commissar, the infiltrator, your men and even your master, unless it makes you...uncomfortable. You are not betraying her. This is for her own protection. Later, you will relay what they say and do in exact detail. Record it if possible, if you possess the means to do so. Perhaps you can use the camera that the trespasser had on him, but only attempt this if you can do so discretely. Otherwise, I expect your report to be detailed. Find me outside when there discussion is ended or tell me in private on board the ship if I return before they are finished."

Abdiel left the man dumbfounded, the words tainting the man's very brain. He would be a fool to betray a Night Lord, especially one on a mission from the Apostle himself. His mistress might have spared him but did he adore her more than he feared the night? Either way, it would be an interesting test of her men's resolve.

Abdiel smiled to himself, so far content with the results of his time on board. Already he'd found a suitable transport, as well as a burgeoning band of warriors. With only some nudging, they'd managed to secure an additional trio led by someone brave enough to stare down a rabid Space Marine. But that was behind him and there was so much ahead.

When he was comfortably out of sight, the Night Lord drew out the scroll the Apostle had issued, regarding it calmly. No, this would not do. Altering but a few words would be simple enough. He needed only to subvert a sentence, change a clause, alter a line here...

And the rest would follow.

First Deceive Test is to manipulate the sergeant into believing that the group/his mistress might be in danger from any of the following: a hostile warband, alpha legion spies, a callidus shape shifter etc. The presence/implied link to Rasfakei/ others should make this believable and the Abdiel's intimidating presence should stop him from thinking rationally.

[roll0] vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive +0, Delude +15

Command Test is to instruct the sergeant to follow my orders. Since I have not ordered him directly to betray his master, there should not be a major conflict of interest. Again, he should be intimidated from earlier. He is essentially only being instructed to relay information that he should obtain passively by doing his job anyway.

[roll1] vs 40 Fellowship, Command +0, Delude +15

Final deceive test is to alter a few words in the Scroll I was given and change its message slightly. This can be done simply via altering the words physically, smudging parts of it or indeed through warp manipulation from my staff etc. The extent to which this is possible can be determined at GM's discretion.

[roll2] vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive +0

[thebothan]

The sergeant stares ahead, looking sick... he shakes his head a few times, then nods as you finish, he looks to you and says with resolve I shall inform the Boson, he will know what to do... have to follow the chain of command... He then wanders back to his crew, looking worriedly back at the table as he does so.

[scottsman1]

Que slowly stands up, holstering her side arm, and walks slowly around the table all the while lightly scraping the tip of her nails across the table top. As she nears the man named Waldo she leans forward gently whispering in his ear. "I had something much more fun in mind, like granting you a new sensitization." She lightly sits on his lap allowing her tail to wrap itself around his leg as her hand slowly crept along his face not unlike a lover before she kiss the man of her dreams. Her and stops each finger directly over the nerve clusters in the face. She positions her face at a slight angle to his own her eyes directly staring into his. "I want you to feel the pleasure that only I can provide." She says as the tiny blades extend from her fingers plunging directly into the man's nervous system triggering them to send pleasure signals though out the brain and the while her modified sweat glandes releasing a intoxicating smell that was sure to drive almost any man into lust.

[ArcturusV]

Writhing Slaaneshi Flesh Pits, his mind already going towards the best excesses that his mind could imagine. Things he had seen, even participated in before, but it wasn't the sum and all of his devotions to the Dark Gods. There was something of a familiarity and comfort in the old dance. A slaaneshi devotee promising something new and glorious experience with the height of debauchery. Something he hadn't partaken in anywhere near as much since the Gods blessed him, and reminded him of his true focus. He barely felt the slither of her tail around him, or her fingers caressing his skin. He recognized the attempt, and he smelled something deep and smokey that filled his nose and sent a tingling haze through his body. Taking him back in his mind to those moments in his younger years, a different life so far removed from traversing the stars on the urging of some Apostle and the visions of the Gods.

He smiled, and let out a soft little series of chuckles, his mind half wrapped up in the scent triggered memory. The night of the Void Chill, the battle, the victory celebrations afterwards, a nubile Slaaneshi devotee, the pounding music and the screams of victims and celebrants.

His eyes were half lidded as he let the memories flood over him. He didn't just attack her in rabid lust like some fresh faced cultist just reaching the first year of manhood. He was older and more seasoned than that. But he was clearly relaxed, trusting to an extent, and excited at the possibilities of experiencing something both new and forgotten over the years.

[scottsman1]

She had done this many times before, the subduction of men's hearts. Some had tried to attack her, some fell to the ground over come, some even begged for her to violate them on the spot, but this man just relaxed and waited for it to happen. She had admit this was amusing, but atlas now was not the time or place. She slowly and gently stood up whispering as she left "You passed." She walked up the ramp of the ship turning to face the group. "Gentlemen I Princess Que the mistress of lust welcome you aboard the Horizons Bliss. If you have any questions I or my first officer will be on the bridge."

She then heads into the ship. navigating its cordons as it is her own home. Heading to the bridge. Once she makes it to the Bridge she will take a seat in the command throne and begin making preparations for departure.

Siting back in her throne Que finally relaxes for a moment. She picks up her scroll and looks at it again. "The Pontifex" She reads aloud. She flips a few switches and opens up an internal vox feed to the Librarium Vault. "Miser Granter, Could you please prepare a record of know ships in this system and their latest whereabouts. Particularly one named the Pontifex."

[Malthan]

Returning to the hangar, Abdiel took in the sight of the group entering the ship, activating his helmet sights to discern if the raptors who he had intimidated were amongst them or if they had hastily left for another vessel in their eagerness for war. Strolling forwards Abdiel gave one final look over the Apostle’s hangar, smiling to himself in brief contemplation.

I wonder if this place will remember me when I return victorious…

Boarding the ship with renewed purpose he took to travelling the length of the ship, examining the various rooms and their passengers, taking special note of the exit routes, weapons and exact number of crew-members that he discovered over the preparing hours before take-off.

Finally, he felt an unusual presence in the warp, one that bore his own mark of dominance. Rising from his studies of the ship, Abdiel found the Sergeant, eager to hear of what had transpired and what the reaction of his precious Boson had been…

Awareness test to check for the presence of the raptors, the layout of the ship, an estimate as to how many loyal crew member Que has under her command. Assumed to take place over the hours before take off, with the upcoming exchange with the Sergeant
[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[thebothan]

When Que reaches the command deck she is greeted in decadence, the silver gilded silk curtains of her command suite have been drawn out and incense burns pleasantly through the whole room. Her command staff immediately barks commands bringing the voids men on the deck to attention. Her enforcer and bosun, Markivik, stands at ease against a console, the loose fitting arbite gear he always wore hung off his unimaginably thin frame, his face a mess of eyes, each a different color, his mouth upside down, filled with sharpened teeth. He salutes you, and Que can tell he is eager to once again take off, leaving the hated ground behind. In front of it all stands her number 2, Lorrin, she had been seated in the command chair, but immediately stood upon Que entering the ship. Her form glows and shifts as the daemon inside her fights to see her master entering the room. Standing awkwardly under a weight of logs and tomes, stands Granter, as requested, the old man perilously balances the books, barely able to see from behind them, you can still make out the innumerable feathers and mouths that cover his form however, as they shift and twist around the wretches body. Markivik is the first of them to speak, never one to tolerate a silence Any news madam?

Abdiel: You see no evidence of the Raptors, seems they didn't attempt to follow you. The Ship is strongly aligned to the captain, though devotion to the Gods is somewhat scattered, though overwhelmingly Slannessh you can detect a few fellow followers of the God of Change, even a few devotees of the Blood God. As for the sergeant, he has no indication of the bosun's opinion, though he does look worse for wear.

[ArcturusV]

You Passed. Such strange words passing through the haze of memories and sensations, reaching his mind and making him wonder just what and how much those words really meant. As she walked away he took a moment to get himself composed, trying to shake off the odd state he had found himself in, though the smile still remained on his face.

He had been quiet on the lighter ride over to the Horizon's Bliss. He seemed to busy himself with a Data-Slate he had on hand, as he worked cross referencing the images from his visions earlier along with the arcane lore within the slate. He didn't seem too concerned sharing a relatively small, cramped space with two SPESS MEHREENS, much less the crewmen who had threatened to beat him unto death just a few minutes ago. Maybe it was just the mood he was in, with that soft smile still on his face and his mind still drifting back and forth between the past and the potential future.

It made for a quiet ride to the Void ship, at least for Rasfakei/"Waldo".

Gonna throw a Forbidden Lore (Psykers) test to see if there's some pearls of wisdom about possible interpretations and such that might be clearer and not yet considered by me.

Forbidden Lore (Psykers): [roll0] vs 31 Int, Trained for +0. Conditional Bonus for the "data-slate full of arcane lore" from the Psyker Archetype? Target Mark: 31 + Possible Conditionals.

Once they were on the Horizon's Bliss "Waldo" took a deep breath of the Slaaneshi tainted air, letting out a satisfied sigh as he hopped down the loading ramp and seemed to revel, arms wide, spinning around in the Excess Dedication through the ship. The "Mistress" seemed busy, heading off quickly to somewhere to handle something. Probably a good thing he thought with a tinge of regret. He had things to do beyond the dalliances of Slaanesh, no matter how appealing they might be.

[Col.Straken]

Quint raised an eyebrow as the Captain carried out her "test" which was apparently passed. Shortly after than they were all bundled into the shuttle and sent on their way. Quint sat between Xerxes as he picked at his chain blades and occasionally revved them, and Tirioc who constantly chirped on about one fight or another that he had been in. The journey carried on like this until they arrived aboard and Quint quickly made his way to the troop barracks.

Once he arrived he discussed arrangements with the Boson, and found a bunk for him and his two companions. He then awaited for the call that was surely to come from the Captain, he had plans that needed to be set into motion.

[Hemnon]

Angrorn stomped on past crewmen, pleasure-slaves, etc. as he headed for his own private area (and personal shrine to the God of Bloodshed) also known as the Trophy Room. Upon Arrival, he took off his helmet, placed it on a skull which was on a spike already. Stomping on towards his bedding area for some restful hours before the carnage would begin... and woe onto whomever stands in his way once they reach his claimed battlefield. Woe onto them indeed.

[scottsman1]

Que had to admit it was good to be home. "News well. I hired 3 of the other unique people who this apostle asked to join his little crusade." Tilting her head slightly as if pondering. "Lets see, one is a Night Lord I believe and champion of the Changer, Another was a former commissar who claimed to have killed a blood angle. The last one was a Slaaneshi cultist of some kind that tried to sneak aboard. However he should be easy to persuade. What of you my loves, any thing of interest?" As she talks she pulls a small cord from the back of her neck and inserting it into the command throne. In an instant she and horizons bliss become as close to one as a human and machine can while remaining separate.

She patintly listens to whatever her command staff report. Then baring any thing that must be imidiatly dealt with begains to launch the ship. Setting a course away from the Aposle's ship so as to make a warp jump.

Activating a ship wide intercom "All hands, this is your Mistress speaking today we have taken the first step in our goal to ascend to a higher level. We in coordination with several other elements will strike our most hated foe the Imperium and the Corpse Emperor and their enslavement of the human race. With the blessings of our true gods to join us and see us victorious. I would like to thank each and every one of you for the experiences and service you have given, as well as remind you of the task ahead. We all know what is needed, and what our gods demand of us. So see to your duties with due diligence and know the rewards for your troubles are but over the horizon. I would also like to welcome our newcomers by asking them to seat with me at captains mess in an hours time. May our ship sail the void for the rest of days, and may the gods deliver us."


I decide to change text color so as to make it easier to read


Also

Charm Bridge Crew
Fel 50 Charm +10 Ship past +20 Smell gen +20 TN 100
[roll0]

Charm Ship
Fel 50 Charm +10 Ship past +20 TN 80
[roll1]

Command- Inspire Ship
Fel 50 Command +10 Past +20 TN 80
[roll2]

[thebothan]

Que: Nothing out of the ordinary, if that's all I will be taking my leave The bosun steps out without to much ceremony, all the pomp and circumstances your arrival brings always seemed to make him feel out of place. After giving you the books Granter scampers back to the vault, and his precious books, his excited gibbering bouncing off the walls. Your second in command simply languishes in your presence, as she is apt to do, without any direction she simply enjoyed the sensations of the deamonette attempting to become closer to the physical world.

The crew cheers at the words of their captain, as always.

Quint: You walk through the barracks, a surprising assortment of pirates, their quarters decorated with prizes and trophies taken from ships, alongside numerous slaves and weapons. The bosun is taken slightly aback by your outfit, recognizing the marks of the Commissariat with a unpleasant memory. He requests you stay in his bunkroom (he occupies a small armory in his own), otherwise you could stay in a newbies room.. Both are scantly furnished, with four bunks in the room and not much else.

Angrorn: Back inside your trophy room you are once again surrounded by the great victories and trophies of your employer, as well as a few of your own. When you return to your armor racks, your near constant companion Trine emerges from the collection of trophies. Her small form is dwarfed by your armored bulk, and she approaches you with the proper display of fear and reverence. her sculpting knives and dusting brush on her simple belt mark her position as chief curator of the contents of the room. Without making eye contact she asks you the question that begins the ritual of conversation you have learned to expect "You have no blood on you? What happened?" her voice is quite but you detect the hint of disappointment in her voice.

[Malthan]

Listening intently to Que, Abdiel grimaced at the prospect of another meeting. The last one had come so close to violence, over pride and idiocy respectively. Things might have settled now that they were all confined, but it was a cold assurance. He could only hope that the Captain’s speech against the Great Enemy would unite them in fell purpose.

He’d yet to hear the report from the Sergeant who he’d successfully Deluded, although he supposed it could wait. More interesting was the state of the ship. It seemed more divided than he had at first suspected. Studying the various tomes in Librarium, he flickered through their passages, occasionally looking upwards to see all manner of heretics shifting in the shadows. Perhaps there was information outside of these books.

Most followers of Tzeentch would inevitably be drawn to the Librarium Vault. Of course, the artistic elements of Slaanesh would also be drawn in by the pleasures of reading but so enraptured are such hedonists that the full picture is often blurred. Clamping his book shut, Abdiel wandered out of the library, thinking his options through in a brightly lit Slanneshi hallway.

Noticing only a few crew members in the immediate area, he set about vandalising the ship. Using the dark energies of his staff to channel his thoughts into precise, lacerating strikes, he set a message for his dark brothers to see.

With lightning bolts serving as ink, the Night Lord carved a message into the walls outside the Librarium, chuckling as he thought it could only add to the chaotic ambience. It was a simple message, a command wrapped in crude yet readable riddles and contradictions. Abdiel’s expectations of the crew were predictably low.

“I am his presence. There are 1001 ways to read this message. Your interpretation is already determined. My captain is the master of the ship. My lord is the master of the waves. You serve her. We all serve him. He is always with you. I will be with you too. Await his presence.”

Unsheathing his dark blade, Abdiel added a gash underneath it, a shattered arrow pointing inwards into the Librarium, his new home. Presumably, only the more observant members of the ship would make any sense of the writing and those who were able to do so were most likely to be potential pawns aligned to his dark master Tzeentch.

Smiling at his handiwork, the Night Lord turned and barged through the rapidly assembling crowd, pleased by the increasing number of witnesses. Let them spread their rumours. Let the word reach the enlightened. Let their long tongues pay lip service to Slaanesh. In the end, the master will have his cut.

Carve it and they will come.

Tuning into Que’s vox channel, the Night Lord sent her a quick hail as he walked towards the mess hall.

“Mistress, you have a potential cultist problem. We can talk more at dinner. Abdiel out.”

Not sure if a command roll is applicable here. Potentially just a reference point.

Abdiel is basically summoning all aforementioned, potential allies of Tzeentch to come hang out in the Librarium where he will be staying. There are various clues in the message that hint at a Tzeentchian author. In addition, it should be clearly done by a sorcerer. If this is too indirect, I’ll just have him write it with blood and screams or something.

Potential bonuses from his personality/motivations: Dominion since he’s already setting about carving a little personal kingdom for himself on Que’s ship. Hubris because he’s brazenly doing it, knowing it will be detected by ship admin + security.

[roll0] vs 40 Fellowship, Command +0, +10 Incursion

[thebothan]

Abdiel:As you walk back into the librarium vault, an aged figure appears from behind a bookshelf, clutching a pile of papers, and an ink pen.. his small beady eyes sit behind thick wire rimmed glasses, his body is covered in mouths and feathers.. He looks behind you, notices the graffiti.. And blinks a few times Quite a puzzle.. I noticed you moved some books around.. With that he turns back around and sits at a desk, and begins writing.

[ArcturusV]

"Waldo" had been skipping down the corridors, yes, skipping. That was his dedication to his 'disguise' as the care free cultist. No serious stalking. No attempting to stealth past everything just to see if he could. No random punching of ratings. Nope, he skipped down the corridors, humming a song and giving people a jaunty "Hello!" as he went past random armsmen, ratings, and other crew.

He seemed amused and just ram rodding around like one of the whelps of the crew, a child just puttering around because they could putter around. But he actually did have some business he was attending to. The very basic business of getting the lay of the ship's land. He hadn't really been on that many vessels in his days, spending most of his life on the same planet fighting under the same skies with the familiar rocks and vegetation he had known all his life.

It served a purpose. He liked to know the lay of the land of anywhere he was going to be, particularly if there was going to be conflict. And he never put that outside of the realm of possibility. So many battles in his day have been decided by superior familiarity with the battlefield. Knowing every little hill and vale, the familiarity with the normal sounds of life and what the minute changes in that environment meant.

He was in the middle of this Reconnaissance work when the announcement came over the Vox System, the voice of that Captain who had made him feel a stirring he hadn't felt in ages, asking for his presence (And he supposed those of the others) in an hour's time.

Hardly time to explore. Hardly time to get to know anything but the most basic layout and familiarity. So he at least focused on the immediate needs... in this case actually finding the place where this meal was to take place, the pits where the meal was to be prepared, and making sure that it was drugged in only the best of ways. Never could tell with those humorless Space Marine types and such on board.

[Hemnon]

Angrorn: Back inside your trophy room you are once again surrounded by the great victories and trophies of your employer, as well as a few of your own. When you return to your armor racks, your near constant companion Trine emerges from the collection of trophies. Her small form is dwarfed by your armored bulk, and she approaches you with the proper display of fear and reverence. her sculpting knives and dusting brush on her simple belt mark her position as chief curator of the contents of the room. Without making eye contact she asks you the question that begins the ritual of conversation you have learned to expect "You have no blood on you? What happened?" her voice is quite but you detect the hint of disappointment in her voice.

"If you have a problem, i can smear the armour in your blood." He replied back, as he always did when asked that question. sort of their routine now.
"As for the lack of blood, heh, why ruin it all by killing a few when you can wait a little and kill a lot? I'd prefer a lot of kills, rather than a few. Now leave me alone, i haven't slept for over a week." he said and closed his eyes, quickly forcing his body into a near suspended animation, images of death, carnage and destruction flashes before his mind as he sleeps.

[Col.Straken]

Quint declined the billet with the Bosun, even if he wouldn't mind dipping into that armoury. He knew that Commissars were never looked upon kindly, and paranoia was the key to a long life, even more so in a group that had no issue with betrayal. There would come a time that this might change, but today was not that time. "Tirioc, clean my weapons, make sure that our room isn't bugged, and clean this dump up. Xerxes, no-one is to enter this room without one of you being with them at all times, and none are to touch any of my things." leaving the two with their orders he quickly turned back and added, "Try not to kill anyone just yet, use reasonable force, understood?" He left without waiting for an answer, he knew Tirioc would keep Xerxes in check until the time was right.

Hearing the Captains announcement he smiled, perhaps this was the chance to put his objective to the group. He had to get them to see that his mission was urgent and would aid their own if for the simple fact that it would close a few prying eyes. He quickly made his way to the Captains Mess, leaving his cloak and sash behind with his sword. He had to ask for directions a few times as he had never been completely at home on a void ship, and each seemed to made slightly different to the last.


Not sure what to roll for really, but I guess the below makes sense...

Tirioc looking for any bugs or spying equipment Per:25 +10(Help from Xerxes, He is quite perceptive if not bright) TN:35 [roll0]
Tirioc to then disable anything including surveillance cameras Int:27 [roll1]

Quint Commanding for directions: Command+10:63 +10(Peer Guard, again, not sure if this would help) TN:73 [roll2]

[thebothan]

The presence of an Imperial Commisar walking through the halls of a pirate vessel indeed made an impression, all of your questions are answered quickly and those who answer make a point of moving very quickly out of your line of sight. You make your way to the bridge in good time.

[thebothan]

After initial preparations are completed, the ship finally finishes loading up new supplies, crew members and fuel onto itself. Engine checks are completed, and all crew members man their stations. With a roar, the ship feverishly plunges forward into the blackness of the void. From the Captains bridge, Lorrin enjoys the view from her station Where to mistress?

[ArcturusV]

"HE WHO CONTROLS THE SPICE RULES THE GALLEY!"

Came the call from said Galley, in the tone of the Cultist of Excess that Mistress Que had taken on board. The man was, jovial seeming. Skipping around, hoarding the spice containers in the Galley, running around and flicking a few shakes of various spices into the food as requested by the chefs. He had approached them quietly enough, humbly enough, and asked to help. He had proven at least mildly helpful, though very exuberant as the exclamation came out. Nothing done out of sorts that the cooks wouldn't demand, though 'Chief Chef First Class Waldo' as he had started calling himself had made some muttering about a special divine diet for himself that, for the upcoming meal was nothing but dehydrated food cubes. Something vaguely stated and waved off about how absence heightens excess and in preparation of some great shift in the senses.

All in all, not a bad way to spend an hour waiting. It let him see how the crew ate, looking out into the mess gave him an idea how the crew interacted and ran together, the various cultures and sects that were representative, how disciplined the crew was, and so on and so forth.

He spun and danced as he worked through the Galley with his Spices, some ancient hymn that seemed more plainsong than anything else. Waiting for the hour to be up or someone to rouse him for "Causing Trouble" or the like. Whatever came first.

[scottsman1]

"We shall know in a few minutes, please inform any scroll bearers to meet me in the mess hall there we shall discuss plans and have our destination." She stood and begin walking to exit the bridge, "Lorrin you have the bridge as always."

Que then makes her way to the mess hall finding a certain cultist causing trouble yet again. "Miser Waldo, could you please try letting the crew eat their well earned meals in peace. After all I can hardly insure your safety if they are angered. Besides we have more important things to discuss than your interest in food spicing. Please follow me." She then continues to a section of the mess hall set aside for officer meeting and meals.

She stands in the door way blocking Waldo for a second. "May, I see your scroll Miser, only to confirm you have one."


As people show up she will ask to see their scroll as proof that they mean something to this crusade. The meeting will start after most of the guest are present.


Charm +10 Fel 50 TN 60 due to previous successes at seducing Waldo this should have a bonus as well
[roll0]

[thebothan]

Lorrin nods, and the comms are activated through the ship, she relays your orders calling for all scroll bearers to meet in the mess hall, to meet the captain. Her voice drips with jealousy and displeasure.

She settles herself into the captains chair, lounging as she enjoyed the commanding view of the ship.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn awake from his sleep instantly the moment the comms to his room chirps on (since he doesn't wear such frail equipment normally), sitting up fully awake and would have choked the life out of Bloodthirster, had one been nearby.

Slowly calming down and luckly not near anyone else, Agrorn left his Trophy-chambers and headed for the requested place... still fighting the urge to just go nuts and kill them all for waking him up early.

Arriving, helmetless right now, His grand size and imposing set of horns instantly setting his mood and how others feel near him: DANGEROUS. STAY AWAY.
He says nothing to anyone and looks as if he's on the nip of just powerfisting everyone to death around him.

[Malthan]

Striding confidently inwards, Abdiel presented his scroll with detached grace. He was careful to avoid revealing any of its contents however, keeping it gripped within his spiked talons.

"You think the Apostle would overlook one such as me?" He said to Que in jest, the long drawl edged with cynical disdain. Surveying the room, he considered sitting alone or perching up on some vantage point.

Soon perhaps; with a knornate and a slaaneshi fanatic in the same cramped space, the likelihood for violence was high. If it came to that, Abdiel had no intention of remaining within the crossfire. A high altitude would give him a comfortable spot to observe the carnage if it came to it and ample space to keep away from the marine's power fist.

Sighing to himself, Abdiel decided to at least make an effort to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed between the group. The infiltrator...chef seemed preoccupied at the door, undoubtedly giving some sound excuse as to why he lacked proper forms of identification.

What a strange and diverse menagerie the master chooses to amass...

Instead deciding to position himself at the far end of a table facing Agrorn, Abdiel hovered over a sear and brushed an armoured claw over the finely crafted furniture forged in the Pirate Prince's ship. Looking up at the helmet-less bodyguard, he stared into the marine's eyes searching for some indication of his mood. Not happy. Unsurprising; death worshipers never are. Let him wallow in his blood starved melancholy; so long as he does not interfere with the master's plan...

Choosing to remain silent, the Night Lord finished his sweep of the room, looking for a vantage point which he could reach with his raptor jump pack.

To find a place high up where he can sit, roost or perch in. Playing up his hubris and animal hybrid mutation here.

[roll0]vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[thebothan]

Abdiel: There are locations available for roosting, prime lurking real estate is on top of the hanging light fixtures, they should support your weight, but perhaps not for prolonged periods. Otherwise you could simply cling to a support pylon from the ceiling (you would be hanging down from the ceiling in this case, but could definitely support your weight).

Agrorn: When you wake up you find that your armor has been cleaned of any imperfections and polished while you were asleep, a fur cloak has been placed around your shoulders. Seems that the curator suspected you would have some important meetings upon your awakening.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' looks confused at Mistress Que for a moment, and with a bit of ludicrous disbelief in his tone said, "... you DIDN'T burn yours right after reading it, leaving it in tact for others to discover?" He had something of a point, or at least a glimmer of a point in that comment. Operational security, particularly for any acts of less than overt warfare, do depend on the sort of operational security that you wouldn't want to leave a paper trail with. Particularly a paper trail in the hands of someone as 'deranged' as he seemed to be.

He gave a large shrug, "We all indulge in the name of the Dark Gods and their agendas, and have our parts to play," his eyes flicked past Mistress Que, inside where the others clung to their scrolls, large beasts, supposedly the 'sons' of some distant God on a Throne of Gold, if he was to believe the stories those crazy men had claimed were true so many years ago. Brutish creatures, blind in their arrogance, "... and believe you me young lady..." he said leaning in a little closer to Que, a wide smile on his face, "... you do need me to play my part... I'm here to save you, as much as you are to save me," these words were so different from any others that he had spoken before Que before. The weight of his years and experience came through it, no longer the cracked out Thrill Addict Slaaneshi, but a crazed, wisened old man who had done his share of survival over the years.

[Col.Straken]

Quint saw that the Captain was stood in the doorway and stopping everyone getting in unless they had their scroll with them. He had left his behind having it all memorised now, and slightly regretted the decision. Striding up to the Captain he simply waited his turn before standing before her and declaring his intentions, "I have not brought my scroll, it is kept safe though I have it remembered to the letter." He looked down upon the woman before him and shrugged, "I also know that what my scroll contained could be useful to your own mission, what I plan needs your resources and what I will achieve will benefit you more than myself. So stand aside and we can discuss the real business at hand."

[Malthan]

Abdiel paced impatiently, his avian mutation leading him to hop from talon to talon, his head hunched and set at a downward angle. Watching as each new member entered, he stared daggers at ‘Waldo’, his befuddling and blatantly disrespectful tone leaving Abdiel with contempt, if admittedly some respect, for the meager looking man. Noting with some intrigue as the man leaned in, his voice barely registering even with Abdiel’s enhanced senses. The Night Lord briefly reflected on the implications of the exchange.

Most obvious, given the nature of Slaanesh worshipers, was some petty attempt at seduction, a lewd comment of some meandering filth, a misguided attempt at flattery or an outright proposition perhaps. Such impulses, crude but human. Predictable and yet…

There was something in Waldo’s tone and the way that Que reacted. It had, beyond all belief, been meaningful. Reviewing the words in his beak, the Sorcerer mulled what he had heard over.

Bored of the consistently peaceful atmosphere in the meeting room, he squatted to the ground, back-jointed legs bracing as he ignited his pack, leaving a trail of ash and soot on the previously perfectly clean room.

Ascending on wings of fire, his movements deft yet exceedingly loud and attention seeking, he clambered onto a light fixture, making sure to test its strength, ready to move if it suddenly collapsed. Rotating his head 180 degrees, devilish eyes peering below at the ground-bound onlookers, the Marine sneered, croaking out the words he’d observed from Que and Waldo’s conversation in a parrot like imitation.

“Believe …me...you do need me… play my part... to save you…you are to save me..."


Watching their faces with angelic indifference, his raptor helmet cocked to one side as he attempted to gauge their reactions. How easy was it to provoke them? Would they laugh it off or had there been a chill in the air at Waldo’s words?

Before they could comment or reply, Quint entered the door in a businessmanlike manner, diverting their attention. Abdiel admired the assertive little traitor, full of authority and furore. Of course, those same qualities had nearly driven him to blows with Agrorn. A precarious group of pawns, this little band.

A creaking sound emitted from the ceiling drew Abdiel back to his own position. Wouldn't it be ironic if this overgrown lamp descended to crush one of them...

Perhaps that might be for the best, Abdiel mused darkly, a shiver of what might have been fear running up his curved spine.

Operate Skill Test in case of emergency, unable to support weight etc.

Possible Grace/Hubris/Dominion incursion as it's mostly arrogant/ neurotic, showing off his elegance and asserting dominance over new territory.

[roll0] vs Agility 40, Operate, Out of combat +30 = Final Mark 70+

[scottsman1]

"Well its good to see every one here." Que spoke as she seated herself a the head of a long table. "Please sit, I'm sure the food will be here shortly, while we wait lets talk plans and ideas as to how we can hurt the Imperium today." Pausing for a moment to cup her hands in a commanding position while crossing her legs to the same effect. "I know most of you are the non trusting types, and always look at peoples other motives. I know I do. So I will make this easy for you all. My only motive is to one day be with my dark prince, to live life to its fullest and to insure that the fulfillment of ambition is not denied to as many people as I can. I was truly given little to no mission by the Apostle, so I want to know how I can help each one of you. However, this is one ship and it can only go one place at a time. I believe the best way to insure mutual benefit is to work together on each mission until they are all complete. I will hear were each of you wishes to go and why. Then I will plot a course and we will work as a team to support each others goals. If you don't like it you may leave my ship at any time."

[Hemnon]

Agrorn sat on one of the reinforced chairs meant for space marines or very lard-assed Nurgle-followers~

He was clearly no longer angered over being woken up early, since there'd be food served.... He almost couldn't wait for his usual prime meat raw on the bone, just lightly smoked.... and hopefully drugfree and without any other sort of mindaddling components. Not that they'd end up having much of an effect on his Enhanced body and with his Power Armour's biomonitors keeping an eye on his physique and state of health.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' took his seat near the left middle of the table, pulling it out wide before plopping into it loudly, his boots up on the edge of the table, showing off his nice, black shiny ****kickers looted probably off the same source that he had gotten his flak long coat, and leaning back, very relaxed it seemed. Of course the more tactical mind would realize the position did allow him to have a good view of everything, the people involved, spots they had been in the room, and the door into the room, and that as casual as he seemed to be, his hand was never very far from the hand flamer holstered on his hip.

He turned his head over towards Abdiel, giving him a slow, wide smile, and waggling his eyebrows thrice at him, the lone reaction that the man seemed to have taken to the SPESS MEHREEN'S eavesdropping and mimicking of him.

"Well then... I suppose we do have something in common then miss," 'Waldo' started off, his tone very relaxed and speaking slowly, "The Apostle gave me little to no mission worth mentioning either, a simple task, fulfilled by any dreg who happens by a place. Hardly worthy of my own talents, or that of..." his off hand waved around the room, to encompass the ship, the SPESS MERHEENS, Heretics, and all of that. "Like hunting a blotkin with a Plasma Torch."

Oh, he had an inkling of what the mission was really about, and that the presence of McSubtle the SPESS MEHREENS over there would entirely botch it, much less the presence of this warship. A simple reconnaissance effort, perhaps leading up to a later operation. But you don't raise alarms on that mission and end up having the enemy fortify harder than your reports would indicate.

[thebothan]

As everyone takes their seat and listens to the words of your supposed colleagues, the many eyed form of the bosun entered the room and, moving uncomfortably with a great deal of shifting eyes, he makes his way to reach his captains side. Clutched in his hands is a large bore muzzle loader, built with care and maintained with pride. Reaching the captain, he bows down so that his face approaches her ear, and he half whispers a message. Spot of trouble that deserves your attention madam...it pertains to the company you currently entertain.

[scottsman1]

"Well gentlemen, if you'll excess me, please talk amongst yourselves as to were you wish to go I will be back momentarily." Que rises from her chair and gestures for the crewman to follow.

After she exits the room "What do you have for me?" She ask in a neutral tone.

[thebothan]

Once outside the room the bosun stows the gun on his hip, and grabs a data-slate with a cracked screen to show his captain. Shortly after you returned with these new crewmembers.. Sargent Davis approached me saying he had something important to tell me.. Said the entire ship was in danger.. That we had been infiltrated by the enemy.. Raving Madness I thought at first.. The bosun's many eyes shift around his body while he trembles not with fear, but bridled rage He had the stench of witchery on him, couldn't answer any of my questions with any sense..I sent his off to the Navigator, let that freak see what he could find. Then, I was making the rounds on the ship and I found this carved outside the library. He pulls up an image on the data slate, the grainy green image shows a deep marks which glow and spark spelling out the following message:

“I am his presence. There are 1001 ways to read this message. Your interpretation is already determined. My captain is the master of the ship. My lord is the master of the waves. You serve her. We all serve him. He is always with you. I will be with you too. Await his presence.”

You know that Granter shut down the security measures a few days ago to instead use some half baked magic crap he made from a box of junk.. So there is no record of who did it.. Granter had no idea, and wouldn't answer any questions.. Apparently no one in that **** library saw anything. Everyone's face stuck in a book.. Then on my way to report it I got called to the med station, and I got to see this. Another image is brought to the slate screen. The medical bay of your ship looks largely the same as usual, but one of the healing stations is covered in a thin blood layer, the still form of a crew member, head neatly removed, and blood spatter going from the wall to ceiling lies carved with runes and figures. The bosun quickly brings up another image, this time of a severed head, you recognize as Sargent Davis, the man who you put in charge of watching the ship while you were away. The head looks to be in incredible pain, and the tongue has been ripped out, and apparently used to write a message on the tile floor of the medbay. it reads:

"All things are the result of the whims of greater beings; whatever the odds, only the proper outcome can ever be reached. Such is fate, such is life. This is Death."

This stinks of something much darker than simply letting those witches and that blood-hungry giant walk alongside our path.. I say we throw all those who don't follow the true path out, if you want my opinion. The bosun's words are bitter and harsh, he always took great pride in his own abilities to protect his men, his eyes gave him a unparallelled view of the world, and he often rode the very fine line between monster and guardian.. Harsh Discipline and fights with no quarter were the only thing he knew to enforce, or to enact.

[Malthan]

Watching the two Slaaneshi officials walk out, Abdiel sighed in exasperation. An unproductive meeting so far. The eternal hourglass was wasting, and they were just killing time until time killed them. Hanging idly on his perch, the raptor took to swinging slightly, clutching his airborne seat in an oddly childlike manner. He even began to make odd, guttural rasps like the Vulture’s mangled song. Slowing down slightly, his head rotated to survey the somewhat subdued company.

“You there. Eyebrow man. Who are you exactly, to the Apostle and the Ruinous Powers? The rest of you as well, in fact. I should be honoured to hear tales of your many exploits, I’m sure.”

Had Abdiel the proper vocal chords, this would have been spoken in a drawl of some sort, preferably the sinister variety. As it were, his tone was limited to a mechanical hiss, amplified through his grill to an appropriate volume. His avian mutation gave the effect of an incurable sore throat, though it was of more discomfort to his listeners than the Executioner himself.

A proper acquaintance would be illuminating, had they the courage to at least lie, since Abdiel did not expect them to tell the whole truth. Worse still, he did not expect Agrorn to do much other than grunt or hurl insults, but champions of chaos were anything but humble. Provoking any response was better than suffering the interminable silence of wasted hours.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn turned his head towards the Avian-Freakmarine, grumbling and very likely already having thought up 40 ways to attack everyone by now, although that might just be something in the air making it seem like that.

"I'm Agrorn, I follow Khorne and keeps the blood flowing and the heads tumbling through the air. I owe no one else but Khorne my allegiance, Not even the little Princess. We merely have an agreement of mutual beneficiency. As for the Apostle.... well, i want to kill him." Was all he said and then turned quiet once more.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' still was leaning back, boots kicked up on the table. He even folded his hands behind his head, using them to help cushion him. "Well now, sounds just like that chap I spent a few months tinkering with, a few years ago. Looked just like ya too. All in the redness, and talking about Blood and killing and how hard he was and how he wanted to go and kill things. Silly bloke, was really fun to see just how far things could go. You'd be surprised how even a big man like that would cry like a babe when submitted to a Flaming Blood Eagle." Waldo smiled.

"Maybe you knew him? Liked to repeat his name a lot. Something like..."

He cleared his throat loudly, and while he wasn't fluent it was clear he was making an attempt to speak with some High Gothic Accent and impersonate the creature, right down to even his gasps and wheezing between words as the Warp only knows what torment he was going through, "... I am... Battle-Brother... Sepharen, Sergeant of the 1st Company, 7th Squad, of his Blood Angels!" even down to trying to put in the little tone of false defiance into his voice near the end.

'Waldo' chuckled a bit at the memory of his guest at the time, and once more waggled his eyebrows, "I hear their kind likes to eat those they kill... it only seemed fitting he met that end."

He was leaning back on his chair, rocking back and forth a little, "Oh I do love their kind, well... your kind..." he smiled wide and his eyes seemed to shine, "The Dark Prince does so enjoy seeing the proud and mighty brought to heel under the countless sensations of His Embrace. So much more satisfying, the farther they have to fall. Little soldiers wrapped up in their bulky plates, and loud guns, totally missing on the true power and the simple truth... All victory comes from the Dark Gods and those with the ability to divine their will."

He chuckled a little bit himself, "Watching them all burn, watching the cowardly 'Space Marines' incapacitated and dragged out in chains, watching the 'Guard' broken and scattered, eating themselves alive in their fear, their silly machines ripped apart to build the shrines to the Dark Prince..."

"... good times."

[Malthan]

"Ah, yes you are quite right my friend. But what would you know of divining the will of the Dark Gods, little cultist? Tell me, what manner of man are you to have enslaved a child of Sanguinius and scattered the armies of the Imperium? Who are you to walk the path of demons and slander the kingdom of angels?"

Abdiel asked. He was curious, but more than that he was hungry, a craving for information stirring inside him like the gnawing famine of old Nostramon carrion birds. He leaned forwards off his perch with ghoulish intensity, his serrated talons clutching and scratching painfully on the light fixture as he stared down at this strange man who spoke with such confidence in the face of ravenous demi-gods.

[ArcturusV]

"You ask like it is hard," 'Waldo' smiled at the Raptor. "The Gods speak constantly. They make their urges known in no uncertain terms. The only tumult comes from trying to apply your own logic to their demands, when they are demand the concerns of our lives." He tipped back his chair a little more, and looked up to the ceiling as if he was musing, "Of course, the secret is not to listen to two of them in particular of course. And to recognize their agents by the clear methods they use. Those of the Deceiver and those of Decay. They are closer in spirit than neither would admit. Cloaked in falsehood and determined to consume all who would foolishly seek to walk down their path. The God of Anger and Violence is simple enough, a beast that can see your end... but he doesn't WANT your end. He just doesn't care to stop it. It is the Dark Prince who is the one a cunning man seeks to appease and seek the council of. His desires are ultimately the desires of life. Oh, not just of the flesh, though many think it so... but all that makes up life, is his, along with the endless possibilities."

He leaned in a little, lowering back down, his gaze looking back at the Night Lord. "You speak of such tasks as if they are difficult. Perhaps you have believed the lies of the Deceiver or the Decay? Or the False God? To listen to them, immortality is the right of all their warriors, inscrutable and insurmountable." He smiled and his head started to bobble a bit on his neck, swaying slowly with his words, "You're still a man, the same as me. I've had the time to see that kind up close, know just where things are and what buttons can be pushed. The 'guard' mentioned them as 'Angels of Death'. They seem to think War is their Birthright, like any follower of the God of Anger and Violence."

"Of course they entirely miss the point with their narrow view..." 'Waldo' shrugged a little. "Such is always the case with people of limited vision."

[Malthan]

Chuckling slightly, Abdiel nodded at Rasfakei’s speech, the theological debate reminding him of times in between battle with brothers who had long since defected or died.

“Difficult is a relative term, my dear cultist. To hear the call of the dark gods, why that is a thing any worm might do. The call to fight, to fear, to flourish, to … do whatever it is that your Dark Prince desires of you…”

Adjusting himself slightly into a more relaxed position, emitting a high pitched squawk as he collapsed onto his rear, talons swinging ominously off the lamp as he continued.

“But to divine their will, that is another matter altogether. And it might be difficult to some while it might be near effortless to others, “

His body language and condescending tone made it clear who was who in this particular instance.

“You said it yourself: the Gods of Decay, Deceit, Decadence and Destruction are fickle masters, hallowed as they are. The Dark Prince might claim to be 'all that makes up life', but so does the Allfather and to an extent the Changer. Trusting any is folly but to reject them is madness. The key is to determine not just what the gods represent, but what they will and intend. Especially if survival is a personal priority."

Semantics had always fascinated the Sorcerer inside of Abdiel. Spending hours in conversation is what had sustained his passion for life in the nihilistic hours of his father's death. Acerbus, brutal as he was, enjoyed debate as a warrior enjoys conflict.

"For instance, your personal pleasure might be the goal of your Master… or pain? Or perhaps, it is the pleasure of the Princess who he holds in highest regards? What if her pleasure is to be found in your pain? Or are you so addled by his clouding miasma that the two are indistinguishable? Divining their will, their intentions, especially when they concern your fate, that is a thing that few men without the psychic mutation possess.”

Abdiel tapped his staff to signify his gift, although he was wary of calling it as such in front of Agrorn

“Indeed, how do you propose to divine the will of the gods if you ignore the two temporal Lords and their teachings? Foresight and prophecy: fatalism and inevitability. These are things my legion knows well. Should you truly wish to hear beyond the ecstatic wailing for blood and excess, you would do well to listen to their heralds. Only a loyalist spurns the utility of any single aspect of chaos. Why even my poor, puritanical brothers of Nostramo recognise the necessity of the Dark Gods, and the unbridled power that might be brought to purpose.”

Sighing slightly, the Night Lord pondered the thought in mock deliberation.

“And I am afraid you may have been misled in some regard, no doubt by fools and hacks, scum that so often populates the ranks of men such as yourself. Consumption is naturally the realm of all gods but Khorne, the Soul Eater, truly he does desire an end to things. Yours, mine, his…”

Abdiel flicked a pointed claw in the direction of Agrorn.

“It matters not. And he does care, I assure you. His followers are quite motivated when it comes to ending things. Perhaps it is the Allfather you are thinking of? I understand how one as young as yourself might be confused by the distinction. Their followers look very different on the battlefield, I assure you. But war is the birthright of all beings, angel or otherwise. Khorne might be the lord of battle, but war is the domain of all entities.”

I should know. I’ve been fighting for such a long time.

An eternity of bloodshed and horror flashed in the Night Lords eyes. How much of it was inflicted upon him and much he had inflicted on others, that was entirely a matter of opinion.

“As for the nature of the astartes, that is a question scholars have been wrestling with since our conception. You say we are mere men while others revile us as demigods and claim that we have lost our humanity. But I would not be so quick to label me, comrade.”

Scoffing with eagleborn arrogance, the raptor scratched the base of his helmet, accentuating the mutated curve that surrounded his gaunt, bony beak, although the outline only barely visible covered as it was by his executioner’s death mask. The rest of his form was coated in shadow but it was still distinctly monstrous, with his back-jointed legs and imposing talons hanging precariously above Waldo.

“Again, it matters not. What we have gained, that is the key. That is why the Warmaster sits atop a mountain of challengers and poor, unaugmented wretches fear to even match his gaze. Make no mistake, you are not wrong in regards to the mortality of my kind. It is simply not easily tested. So I will ask you again, Waldo. Who are you, to consider yourself equal to the ranks of royalty and renegade astartes?”

[ArcturusV]

"There is a saying... Fire and Water make excellent servants, but poor masters... Such is the case with the one who weaves the cage of fate, or the inevitablility of decay. Or even the blind destruction flailing in the darkness." He seemed pretty relaxed, still with his hands behind his head, not too concerned with the tone of the discussion going on or the fact that a Khornate was being insanely quiet during this whole verbal encounter and not just smashing something with their short attention spans.

"You may claim that of the Dark Prince as well, though he best reflects us. Men are creatures of passion. Oh most just chalk it up to the lusts for food, drink, and sexuality. But everything follows in that. The thrill our friend there gets when he rips someone in half and savors the spray of blood. He may dedicate it to his god of destruction, but that bit inside him that takes pride, pleasure, comfort, and satisfaction from the act will always belong to the Dark Prince. You cannot avoid it. No matter how hard you try. You may think you belong with the ones who weave fate. Cold, logical, and calculating. Completely in control of every moment and slowly manipulating events to some ultimate goal that none but you and your Masters can see..."

'Waldo' gave a crooked smile at that and looked over at the Night Lord again, "... but he plays the game much better than you ever can imagine. No matter how many times you cross the board, you are still but a piece in the game, and not a player. You will be used in gambits and sacrifices, with nothing but the empty rage and regret in your heart in the end."

"... the same goes for the others. They consume you, demand you not be who, and what, you truly are. To become nothing but an empty shell, an automaton of their own desires reflected in reality. But how does one get emptied out, when the desire of an entity is desire itself? It cannot make you less, because what it needs is more. Every discordant chord strummed out, every howl, every caress, every dream, every desire..." His smile seemed less sly, and more wistful.

"Have you ever seen the Grapplers of Telsia? Amazing warriors. As opposite of you as any could possible be. There seems to be no muscle on them at all. No bulky plates. Their bodies are small and thin, and would struggle to lift up so much as this table," he said, knocking his heel into the wood of the conference table for emphasis. Hardy as it was, no doubt that either of the SPESS MEHREENS here could chuck it across the room if they wanted to. "They move in such a strange fashion, flowing like reeds in the wind. They fight in utter silence, wrapping soft and tight around a target, applying small, sudden bursts of pressure. Not through sheer power, but finesse and technique. I've seen them snap one of those... what do you all call it... 'Termina Armors' in half like it was nothing more than a dried twig."

"Course, what does that have to do with anyway?" he shrugged a bit, "As the shamans say, you don't ask, you only know."

"You've had a few chance to observe me now. Very careful and overly analytical, right?" 'Waldo' let out a short little laugh. "You've seen a man without fear stare down a mob magnitudes larger than himself. Seen one who has somehow worked his way aboard the vessel of a Pirate Princess with free reign, and someone at least cultured enough to discuss the nature of existence, while indulging in every moment I can," He flashed his teeth at Abdiel. "You know I was trusted enough to be given a mission by this Warmaster of yours. And you know I was smart enough to at least treat secret information like secret information should be treated."

"And of course, that I'm old. Oh, not by the standards of your ilk, if I was to believe the likes of that Sepharen with his generations upon generations of age. But you remember my kind, don't you?" He was old. Or at least, older. Hard to tell in a galaxy where people who were 600 looked 30ish with the technology and sorcerery available, but he at least looked like his late 40s. Which meant he either way 40 or so, or he could have been 800. "We don't live that long unless we have something," he waggled his eyebrows again. Those watery blue eyes were still there of course. A very unusual color, not the most unusual in the terms of humanity in the galaxy, but still very, very uncommon.

[Malthan]

“If the other gods are fire and water and dirt, what then is your master? Air – meek and yielding, impotent to the lightning that carves through it, insubstantial next to solid rock? Necessary to life certainly, but weak and subservient. I suppose without it, no fire could bloom and no planet could burn. Facilitating the flames, yet choking on smoke. Forever trapped by the eternal emptiness of the void.”

The words tasted like filth in his mouth. Slander and logical absurdism were hallmarks of debate, tools which he had used on more than one occasion in past arguments.

“The analogy is poor. The immaterium is beyond mortal metaphor. The pathetic elements of reality are no masters at all. Sentience, ambition and power – all necessary components for divinity. To compare any god to the primordial slime of old Terra is an insult to the Eye of Terror.”

Respect for the gods was something that Abdiel had learnt in his service to his legion's largest warband, uniquely comprised of chaos worshippers and Nostramans alike. Blasphemy was common amongst the servants of the dark gods, yet petty insults grated against his reverent disposition.

“Know this: the warp is its own element. Chaos its own philosophy. Destruction its own reward. Serve whomever you please, but do not mistake the gods for the reaper. They will consume the weak, and sometimes the strong as well. But the worthy? An eternity of war awaits them. Even one such as you may hope for it.”

Conquest of reality, victory over madness. These were the driving forces for a Legionnaire who had seen so many devolve into spawndom and some that he despised elevated to daemonhood.

“We all serve the dark gods in the end. A pawn, a plaything, is the distinction really so important to you? And if so, is it not better to be a pawn in the army of a grandmaster than a puppet in the possession of a perverted prince? Better to be a warrior in the World Eaters than a corpse in their wake?”

Abdiel could not help but laugh at his own pun, the croaking chuckle like his claws raking a chalkboard.

“All gods claim equally to be the master of humanity. I can recall a hundred quotes by madmen to the same effect. Fate is entropy. Entropy is change. Change is desired. Desire is destruction. And so on, so on. You claim that man is ruled by his desires? That might be true of you, but not of all. All gods and their power are reflections of the mortal souls of the Materium. To some Slaanesh has always seemed more of a god of the Eldar than of man, though he does reward them with such enigmatic pleasures. Was she not the result of their decadence? Many great men are defined not by their desire alone but the ability to impose control over them, to have some measure of discipline. I suppose that is something your kind has always lacked,”

The patronising tone was palpable.

“Regardless, words are but air. Virtue and divinity is decided in the great game, where bravado may be put to the test. You see, the common factor of those that fall into ruin, is that they fail to see what the gods truly hunger for. Power. The Great Game demands it. Pleasure, fear, discord, change, death all means to an end. Power is the great divider. The only thing that separates arrogance from awareness is power. Power is what binds them, what drives them unto eternity. And when they have acquired it totally, anything will be possible. Annihilation, rebirth…”

Either would be better than the rotting corpse of the Imperium. Musing, the Night Lords sighed softly, the sound rumbling in his vox grill.

“No matter who you claim to serve, your life will be spent for the slightest advantage, exchanged in return for a thrill or for treason or terror. That is the way of chaos. Unless you are as worthy as you claim to be. Many claim that by dedicating their lives to any single god, they might escape the bonds of another. It is only partially true. Victim or victor, the distinction is power and the will to use it. Any of us, irrespective of master, might prosper in the immaterium provided we are set to purpose and succeed in our pursuit.”

Ending on a more motivational point, Abdiel leaned back, cracking his back slightly in an exaggerated gesture.

“But we are getting side tracked after all. I am still curious as to your nature.”

The raptor examined the blue eyed man, preysight flashing on and off as he diagnosed his anatomy.

“You say you are a devotee to the Dark Prince, so full of vigour and fervour. But by your own words you are careful and analytical. Not typical of the usual Slaaneshi grunt. Who were you before you fell dear Waldo? It is only fair after all, as you can quite clearly see who I was before my dark rebirth.”

Flourishing with his talons at his clear iconography, winged skulls and lightning generators sparking as he spoke.

“Tell me, old child as you are, when did you fall to the whispers of Slaanesh? What vices and cravings sent you into her arms? What is it that you long for, right now?”

Pausing, barely allowing the words to settle before continuing excitedly.

“And your loyalist friend was correct. Millennia have passed and with it my ignorance. Perhaps if you live for a little while longer, yours might be banished as well. But what is it exactly that you possess which makes you worthy of the attentions of the Apostle, the gods and the captain? What are your skills that make you any better than the countless mortals that my kind have killed?”

[Hemnon]

Agrorn had totally lost interest in the current conversation, rather his attention was turned towards the Officer's Mess-door, a twitch at the corner of his mouth clearly visible and his hands looking like they would need to choke the life out of something really soon.... or he was getting ready for a possible fight, or perhaps it was both, one couldn't really know with him.

"Shut it, both of you! LISTEN!" He hiss-snarled at the *******-Squishyhuman and the avian-freakmarine, clearly hinting at the commotion outside a certain door.

[Malthan]

Abdiel scowled slightly underneath his helmet, annoyed that his discussion had been disturbed.

Realising the seriousness of Agrorn’s tone, he tilted his helmet slightly. Superhuman senses were set to purpose, the stench of decay and the rancour of disorder dimming until there was but one discernible taste in the air.

“I smell fear.”

Rotating his face until his abyssal, avian earhole was directed at the door he listened intently as sensors fed distorted information through his helmet.

“Clear out… bring…” The raptor spoke in parroting monotone, the voice so inert that it seemed devoid of any passion or interest altogether. It was not entirely clear if he had intended relay that information to the others in the room, the words that he had mimicked being either the orders of Que or whatever scum she was addressing.

“Hm. What are the chances that it’s just the long-awaited dinner?” He said in jest, smiling underneath his helmet at Waldo. The invigorating debate had lightened his melancholic mood and strengthened his resolve, although there was certainly a tension that lingered at the corner of his mind.

A traitor’s trust is worth less than dust.

Noticing the shaking bloodlust brimming within Khorne's chosen, he briefly considered the implications. It was unlikely that Que would be so bold as to betray them outright, although she had only recently held one of the group hostage and had been awfully keen to provide Abdiel with transport…

An amusing yet unsettling thought ran through the raptor's mind.

“Brother Agrorn, how much faith do you have in your Captain’s loyalty? In but a moment, that room could be filled with Slaaneshi scum, servants of your god's most hated enemy. Perhaps if we took the initiative, and you of course took the vanguard, then we might confront whatever awaits us before it has time to prepare.”

At the very least we might confront Que over proper dining etiquette.

[thebothan]

The sound of boots has largely disappeared into the distance, and with it the clatter of voidsmen eating their fare, a few select whispers replace it... but otherwise silence is the only thing in the air.

[ArcturusV]

"Oh?" 'Waldo' chimed in. "Not much experience with large scale military operations I take it?" he chided the Space Marine. He leaned forward, the chair back on all four legs with a heavy THUMP!, and he sat back up straight, "Mess Hall clearing out, that means only one thing. General Quarters being called and a military emergency of some ilk." He took a moment to flex his fingers and loosen them up as he stretched his arms up over his head.

"Grandfather Nurgle runs rampant," he said cryptically, remembering his vision from before. He took a moment to check over his gear, Dying Light was in good shape as he took it up in his hand, pilot light ready, tank full. He kept it in his hand, just in case. No telling if something happened during Warp Transit where it would show up after all, and he wasn't putting past the idea that some Daemon might just pop up in the middle of their table.

[Malthan]

“Enough experience to fill a hundred of your pathetic mortal lives.”

Abdiel said icily. The mention of the Allfather’s name and Waldo’s disruptive nature had only heightened the sense of unease. Lords of decay were the antithesis of everything the sorcerer stood for, abominations consisting of the same self-destructive nihilism that had laid the Night Haunter low.

“If there were a true military emergency, why would she not call upon her greatest warrior?”

Pandering could go far when dealing with heretics of any variety, and a proud champion of Khorne was unlikely to be any different. Upsetting the Dark Templar’s relationship with Que could only benefit the raptor, the current situation highlighting the precarious amount of power that the Captain held aboard her own ship.

“Unless we are ourselves somehow involved, or at the least suspected…although some of us have given more than enough reason to be at the very least suspected…”

Abdiel hoped that the snide jab at Waldo’s own dubious allegiances would keep him from fully integrating with the ship. So far the cultist had set himself up as a potential rival in willpower and skill.

Straining to hear the sounds of crewmembers exiting, Abdiel felt nothing but chilling whispers and silence.

“Do you hear the whispers too? There is a conspiracy afoot. For now, it is unimportant if it being orchestrated by our host or someone else. Plots demand investigation.”

Rearing up to his height, the raptor noticed Waldo checking over his equipment. Clutching at his own staff, Abdiel made another call to arms.

“Being kept in the dark by a ship’s captain is an ill omen, symptomatic of paranoia and mistrust. We should demand a proper explanation.”

[ArcturusV]

"She probably did," 'Waldo' interjected following the 'greatest warrior' line, "Or at least, the best to solve the problem. Not all problems on a void ship can be solved by smashing." He drew out his sword next, getting it balanced in his hand, ready to bring to bear. A slender, straight blade that looked more suited to an agile fighting style as opposed to heavy chopping, the sort meant to find a weak spot in the enemy and apply just the right amount of pressure at just the right angle to bring death, rather than pure dismemberment through brute force. It was a well looking blade too for its part, not the pinnacle of craftsmanship, but someone had obviously put some care into it and even a few embellishments with a serpentine pattern to the crossguard and grip.

"Besides, of course we're suspected. New bodies who seem to have a closer relationship to the Captain than mere grunts and press ganged slaves? Now I know the only thing I've managed to do while on board is make everyone's meals magically delicious... but the rest?" he eyed the others who had been MIA for an hour. He was in the galley that time, watched carefully by galley slaves and under their instructions, not acting under his own authority. Even if they suspected him, there was nothing they could pin on him. Not that ship crews often considered things like 'evidence' when brutality was on the table... but the Lady Captain might.

[thebothan]

A clatter of footsteps outside the mess hall announces the arrival of a badly winded crew member, who practically falls down presenting his burden to his captain. Everything..*pant*.. as ordered..

[Hemnon]

Agrorn chuckled at the mentioning of 'Faith'. "Faith you say? Faith is for the weakminded and foolish. I do not trust the little princess one bit, neither do i trust any of you. Call me paranoid, but i prefer to let action speak, instead of trusting WORDS." He said with a grim smile.

[scottsman1]

Que smiles softly at the the winded crewman as he delivers his package. She hands him a small container of Good Quality Alcohol as a reward for his efforts. "Go now and drink, but away from here, things may get a little loud." She whispers to him before departing to the door about half way she stops. "Men of Horizons Bliss There has been a crime commented against one of our most loved. Sargent Davis one of my personal trusted was bewitch and slayed without provocation. I have reason to believe that the man or men responsible are in that very room. One of the very guest I so graciously accepted to our home has shown us with betrayal in exchange for our hospitality. I will find who did this and I will have revenge. SO THAT LEAVES ON QUESTION WHICH OF YOU IS RESPONSIBLE. ANGRON I KNOW YOU TO HATE THE WARP SO ONLY YOU MAY LEAVE. THE REST OF YOU EITHER CONFESS ALL SECRETS TO ME OR DIE WHERE YOU STAND" She says holding the head of Davis above her own for emphasis of the crime. After her speech she places the head down with respect and ceremonially draws her bolt pistol and blade weapon aimed at the door.


Inspire Special Command
Command +10 TN 60
[roll0]
Inf Point Reroll in OOC



Que Takes up over watch along with crew
Over watch conditions are if anyone not Angron tries to leave with out Que's permission shoot it.

[thebothan]

Your crew respond loyally to your words.. They have long adapted to your dramaticism, and respond accordingly, hanging on your every word all the while. When your speech demands it, they gasp, even though most of them hated Sargent Davis, envying his position compared to his lack of worth.. They are appalled at the claim of witchery, on par or perhaps even better than the narrow minded Imperial Courts, though many of their number practice or aspire to understand the warp itself, and are greatly assisted by its boons. And when you declare the innocence of Angrorn, they cheer the praises of the blood God's chosen as if he was a trusted member of their own staff. They ready their weapons with malice and hatred, a frenzy of mob justice seems poised to break out, awaiting your word.

All the while however, a small undercurrent pulls and pushes at each man.. With Davis gone, a new Sargent will be selected soon and perhaps their efforts here will earn them such a place.

[Malthan]

The truth will set you free.

So the fool got himself killed? Even in death, a disappointment.

Chuckling to himself, the Night Lord switched to Vox, his voice heavy with delight as he broadcasted it to all who were nearby.

“Ah yes, the Sergeant. I did that.”

He paused, allowing the words to sink in, indulging in the misdirection.

“The ‘bewitching’ that is. I did not kill him, of course. Nor would I lie to you if I had. You might recall that I openly offered to kill him earlier, an opportunity which you denied me. If I had truly wanted him dead, I wouldn’t have bothered to ask for your permission and would instead have simply killed him on the spot. Although for what imagined reason I cannot say.”

The Night Lord drew his force blade in case the good captain proved incapable of rational thought.

“You may also have noticed that he was particularly afraid of me during our brief encounter. It was a simple incantation, used to better intimidate him … to serve you, of course. An old Nostraman habit I’m afraid, fear is our appetiser. Although you, my dear, hold the main course.”

Smiling the Raptor delighted in what was to come.

“Have you heard of a remarkable organ, known as the Omophagea? It allows Astartes such as myself to access the thoughts and memories of those we quite literally consume. Hand over the Sergeant’s body and I will divine whatever information regarding his death that I can.”

Under his helmet, Abdiel was literally drooling in anticipation. It was so ironically perfect. The horror of what he was offering, the desecration of all bonds of fellowship but most of all, the salivating, sickening, sinister siren: information.

Oh master how I hunger for it: information, bloody and raw…

Not just meat but his very mind, mine for the taking, how delicious he would be, more useful in death than he ever was in life...

Every investigation needs a corpse.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' scoffed at the confrontation, and turned to laugh when Abdiel made his confession, just turning his back away and taking a few steps away as he worked out all his mirth, chuckling at the moment. His arms were hanging on his side, still having his weapons out, the man shaking his head as he worked through the whole thing. His steps took him in a wide circle, about 10 steps in total before he finally came back to the table and where he had been standing. He let out a long sigh as Abdiel asked for the head of the man to chew on, and shaking his head too a few steps back away from the table and the Space Marine. If Que's men wanted to rush the guy and rip him apart, well they had a clear path, he wasn't interjecting himself into it. Though he was close by enough to sway the battle perhaps in a key way. Nor did it look like he was going to put away his weapon. Then again, who did put away their weapons when next to a Space Marine who admitted to mindjacking and was exactly that daring to demand to eat the flesh of someone that their accuser clearly had some connection to?

[scottsman1]

"So you bewitched him, and now wish to consume whatever evidence is left. I think not, however if what you say is true then Angron should be capable of the same feat." Que need to know who killed the good Sargent if not one of the men in the room then one of the men on her ship. Could this be the start of a coup d'état. Or evidence of some outside forces infiltrators either way she needed to know.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn nodded in agreement to what the little Princess had said. "Yes, i can." was all he replied, standing, arms crossed and a creepy smile on his lips.

[Malthan]

“You act as if I could care less about covering up my trail of destruction. Perhaps you mistook these pelts for the same self-indulgent silks that your warriors seem to enjoy so very much?”

Abdiel said, gesturing at the array of scalps and trophies that adorned his armour: faces contorted in warped horror, their eyes glassed over with numb expressions of terror. Their carved flesh was cured and distilled to preserve the look of overwhelming fear that they had experienced in their final moments, although the nature of Abdiel’s powers meant that they had since been distorted and demonised, occasionally bursting into life and mouthing some curse at their killer. Upon his command, they simultaneously began to wail and writhe in discordant tones, their sombre chorus reacting to the sudden activation of his lightning arc-generators.

“I wear my kills as badges of honour. Your little sergeant would not be worthy of a place on my plate armour, little princess. He was a weakling who you should have executed when you had the chance. However, he was not such a little man as to have insufficient meat for both brother Agrorn and myself.”

He rasped in a condescending tone, his patience wearing thin for the pointless bargaining and idle threats. He did however avoid directly insulting Que's personal vanity or that of the other scroll bearers, although his disdain at the indignity of his situation was difficult to mask. The proud Night Lord was not used to being directed or threatened by one such as the princess, and her attempts to subvert his authority grated with his own superiority complex.

“Petty guns and petty bargaining will do little to aid your desire for ascension. Have your men stand down and let us cooperate properly. I grow bored of both your tone and this dining room.”

Opposed Willpower Test

By bringing up his military record as a veteran, his gruesome trophy rack and the use of standard Night Lord "shock tactics", Abdiel hopes to defuse the situation by making Que and her crew respect or fear him so they can work on the investigation together as equals. Targets include just about everyone who can hear him broadcasting the screams through the vox, but mainly focused on the crew outside the room and Que herself.

[roll0] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0, Trophy Rack +10 TN=64, other modifiers about strength and social stature at the GM's discretion

[ArcturusV]

He was in a good position here, Rasfakei had to admit that to himself. No one really gave a crap about him. He wasn't the white elephant in the room, heck he wasn't even the white mouse in the room for that matter. The confrontation between Que and Abdiel didn't look likely to resolve on its own momentum anytime soon. Or at least not without massive amounts of bloodshed. It really made him wonder just how much of the Red Armored Rabid Dog had rubbed off on his 'master', rather than the other way around. Perhaps despite all appearances her heart truly was not in service to the Dark Prince. It was worth pondering later and filing away.

His eyes bounced between the figures as they discussed, picking up the little details of their postures and gestures on top of their words. He was in a good position to be a Kingmaker here. He didn't think either of them really held a winning position at this point. Confident, yes. But they lacked the means to back it up. Que's crew definitely was not geared up for hunting Space Marines, and Rasfakei knew a thing or two about how to properly hunt down their ilk. But in the end Abdiel was a singular man. As was Angoron. It gave him the ability to choose to throw in on either side to give them the trump card.

... interesting. If he could see the twisted path clearly enough, there was great potential in infamy, position, rewards, and loyalty to be gained here. And all he had to do was wait for that final moment when one of them needed him, and there was no question about it.

He remained silent, still standing clear, content to let things progress between the two warring spirits.

[thebothan]

As news of the confrontation in the mess hall spread amongst the crew, those off duty flocked to places where they could watch the fabled newly arrived Angels of Death face off against their captain and her pet marine.. Extravagant Bets were placed on the bridge as crew members crowded around view screens desperately trying to enhance the image, zoom in or get a better view. Other crew members crowded the hallways and passages around the mess hall, either joining the mob behind Que or standing off to the side, eagerly watching the two sides exchange banter.

The body of the dead sergeant is brought before the captain, eager as the crew is to see a fight, to watch the Khornate eat a body would be just as enticing.

At the same time, those unfortunate enough to be on-duty while the event transpired took any chance they could to leave their stations, even the supervisors laxed on their duties to tune in through the ships comms system to get a blow by blow of the events from other stations that could see the action. Bets continued to be made across the ship, loyalties were questioned and fist-fights were aplenty below decks. Even the tech-priests in the engine rooms began to run models in order to determine who the most likely winner of the struggle would be, and how the ship's stewards might benefit from the many possible outcomes.

All the while the ship continued to pass through the warp.. heading in no particular direction, but doing so with gusto.

It was in these moments of bedlam that a lone figure abandoned his post in the weapons bays and stormed his way towards the mess hall. Fuming rage, the figure began to push through the throngs of workers and soldiers all heading in the same direction, shouting all the way for everyone to get back to their posts, enough was enough.

[scottsman1]

Que felt her knees shake a little as the night lord spoke a chill running down her spine. What had she been thinking to challenge an astarties directly she glanced out the corner of her eye at the men who had brought the heavy stubbers up. If she was filling fear then it was only a matter of time before they ran. She knew a crowd was gathering. All the men and women under her command were watching her. Some looking for weakness, some looking for strength. In this hour a quote from the an ancient Terran prophet said to be a great king sounded in her head. A genuine leader is not a searcher for consensus but a molder of consensus.

Fine if that is what they want I shall give them both. She lowered her bolt pistol. "Shows over, everyone back to work, all security detail stand down. We will uncover the truth of this matter peacefully for now. Angron I need you to tell me what Davis's last memories where. As for Miser Night lord, and Miser Waldo you will both stay with me until we get to the bottom of this. For your help in these matters I will pardon the use of unauthorized sorcery on my staff and the multiple public disturbances. Do we have a deal?"

[Hemnon]

Agrorn smiled as Little Miss Princess told him to tell what the dead Fella's head's last thoughts were.
"It doesn't work that way, Ma'am. I might learn something of his Person, skills, Capabilities.... possibly even hints of emotional ties. It's not Mind Reading on the dead. But rather, it's a fickle capability of temporarily gaining some sort of ability or capability... i MIGHT gain something more than just basic abilitites... But it'd love to eat the head anyways~ the sound of sucking the eyeballs out of a person's Cranial cavities is always lovely~" He replied, BRUTALLY HONEST.... with a batch of scary on top.

[ArcturusV]

With the fight seemingly passing, without blood drawn either, 'Waldo' put his blade back, and hooked up Dying Light to its holster once more. Letting out a big, wide armed stretch and a yawn he smacked his lips loudly, "Mind if we get a bite to eat first?" 'Waldo' offered, they had come for a meal after all and it still hadn't been served. He had no problem admitting to the 'weakness' of his flesh demanding sustenance. Heck it was even part of his guise to want to indulge in food and drink of a Slaaneshi Galley after all.

He went back to his chair, pulling it out wide, plopping back down and putting his boots back up on the table, seemingly very relaxed now that the moment was over.

"Well... we can tell you one thing right off the bat," 'Waldo' said while waiting for his food, "No one faithful to the Prince of Excess did the deed."

He thought it was obvious, but worth mentioning as he rocked back in the chair again, "A good member of the faithful wouldn't go for something as mundane as a simple beheading. Would have found him coked out of his mind choking on his own severed tongue or burning from the inside out where six plasma flares had been jammed into his eyes, nose, mouth, and both nipples or something. You should know that's true."

"So you're lookin' for someone who doesn't keep the faith. Figure a savvy woman like you has someone who keeps tabs on who shows up to the shrines and what not, right? Good place to start."

"... now where's my dinner?"

[Malthan]

"We have a deal."

Abdiel said, watching as the crew dispersed. Studying the ensemble carefully, especially the dead corpse of Sergeant Davis, the Night Lord had already begun the investigation. Is it possible that the killer is present even now, returning to watch the foul fruits of his assassination? Or hers, in fact. His devil-red eyes flickered into preysight, searching through the unholy masses and the corpse that they had brought with them, hoping for some clue that could be divined by analysis alone.

Awareness Test to examine the crowd and the corpse that they brought with them.

[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

Noticng the crews armaments, the raptor chuckled to himself. Heavy stubbers, a nice touch. At least she did not think to threaten me with her ill-temper alone. He knew that she could not stand to lose face in front of so many of her men and that ultimately it was best for the group to cooperate.

Still, he had been unnerved by the experience. Another pawn fallen, another threat on his life, another case where intimidation had been his last bastion. So far in his journey his attempts as illusions had left each of his targets horrifically mutilated at the least and his own life in danger. Could the universe be trying to tell him something?

That only through infamy can one hope for safety? That all life is cyclical? That we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past? No - this universe is meaningless. Only the gods can grant the galaxy significance. Only the game is real. Power, survival, control - these are the only things worth pursuing. If in his pursuit he had to wet his talons in the blood of a few million broken bodies, those of allies and those of pawns, so be it. In fact, he rather enjoyed the prospect. The dispute had reminded him that he was truly alive, the change of pace from peace to paranoia a testament to the flexible nature of things. Everything is mutating all at once, cells dying and splitting, diplomacy failing and fading, disputes raging and dying.

Breaking from his musings, he turned his attention back to the conversation.

"Agrorn is right. The process is unreliable. The memories gained might be utterly useless or they might be as clear as the abyss. Either way, it is best to hurry. Some Dark Apostles believe that the knowledge gained by such a process is determined by the will of the dark gods. I am not so sure if that comforts me or puts me at edge. It would be best if we began the hunt before our quarry goes to ground. Agrorn, if you are so hungry for red meat then go ahead and feast."

Abdiel felt like enough time had been spent in tense inactivity. Now was the time to communicate and act with precision.

"Waldo similarly raises a good point. The method of murder is crucial here.If there are any other details to the case, it would be best to tell us now Princess. We will need all the facts at our disposal if we are to, as you say, 'get to the bottom of this'."

His parroting voice shifted tone delicately yet with unnervng fluidity. Avain chords plucked at the Princess' own singsong voice, a mocking attempt at mimicry. Again, whether the marine had intended to impersonate her voice was not entirely clear.

"Potential suspects with sufficient motives should also be interrogated. Someone hoping to gain the good Sergeant's position perhaps? Or maybe something far less rational yet equally instrumental? I sincerely doubt that Davis was important enough to-"

Abdiel could barely restrain himself from insulting the fallen. Pausing and flexing his claws distastefully, he searched for an alternate way to phrase his concern.

"What I mean to say is, is there any evidence that suggests the killing was done for political rather than personal reasons? It is hard to imagine the good sergeant had any enemies of his own, he was such an amiable manthing..."

His voice trailed off unconvincingly for one who had only earlier almost perfectly parroted the feminine elegance of the Captain.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn smiled back at Abdiel. "Ahh yes, i do enjoy red meat, but i prefer mine fresh and still alive. There's no fun in just chomping on the dead. It's the Fight, the struggle that makes the flesh and blood all the more delicate and sweet. And i agree with you on the Memories-point. It's a flawed approach that might deal possible miss-information, half-understood truths or just pure utter useless nonsense." He said to Abdiel.

"As for Davis there. What kind of wounds does the body have, besides decapitation? I would Suspect either Imperial or Renegade Assassin of the cut is clean, efficient and devoid or needless suffering. To those psychotic fanatics, the kill itself is more important than enjoyment of said kill. It's all about succeeding the first time without discovery. Otherwise i would suspect it being a message of sorts, targeted at YOU, little Princess." He continued, sounding only vaguely interested in the conversation by now, grating an armoured finger over one of his Iconic Horns jutting from his forehead.
"That said, hand over the head and I'll tell you what i can get out of it. Btw, was it tested for poisons? if the true object here is to sent a message, Davis there might just only be a tool. As in possible poison developed to function against Astartes Bodies. I've heard of a few such substances do exist. Like the stuff those Fenrisian Astartes put in their ale so they can actually get drunk and be affected by the brew, insane morons.... Or for that matter some of the Black-Ops Research done by the Officio Assassinorum in the Imperium. It's not that difficult to imagine that the Imperium have secretly been trying to develop ways to neutralize their own Astartes should they go Rogue or Unwilling to follow Imperial Decree." Agrorn added, eyeing the severed head with bored half-interest. He had only sounded speculative, not afraid or cautioned at all. He looked like he'd happily 'take one for the team' on this, by taking a bite out of the dead head in the room.

[thebothan]

With a murmur of discontent, the crew returns to their stations. Across the ship coins, weapons, bullets and favors change hands as the betters settle up, most with some degree of annoyance.. Typical, the fun always is stopped right at the good part. With the crew leaving the mess hall to go back to duty, the figure who had tried to rush their way to the mess hall found himself facing a tide of crew-members going back to work.. With a growl, he too returned to his post, no sense giving that captain a lecture on proper discipline.. not without an audience anyways.

The crew leaves the body behind, but they do bring the heavy stubbers back to the armory. The bosun takes his leave, leaving you all to your own devices.

Investigating the body shows nothing more dangerous than what looks like red grooved abrasive marks on each of his limbs. Discounting the blood that spilled across the upper torso and back, the body looks fine.


Looking through the crew shows nothing out of the ordinary, at least for a band of eccentrically dressed somewhat mutated pirates.

[ArcturusV]

"Sure seem to know a lot about these Imperial Assassins..." 'Waldo' said offhandedly to Angoron. He added nothing else to it, the implication that the Space Marine who was 'trusted' and given free reign, and had some proscribed knowledge that was beyond what he should, left to fester in the air in true Nurglish fashion.

He waved over one of the serving boys in the Mess, taking his drink and his food, eating with his fingers and washing it down in a fairly barbaric seeming style. Far from the polish of Spire Nobles and High Lords, though it did have a certain refinement that suggested while his manners were savage based... they still were manners.

Having had his fill for the moment he pushed his plate away and leaned back once more. His eyes casually flicked over to the corpse. He had no medicae training to really make a guess at what might have happened to the corpse beyond the blatantly obvious. He shrugged it off, as if he had no idea about it. Even as his other senses reached out to scan the corpse.

Usin' my Psyniscience to check out the corpse.

Psyniscience: [roll0] vs 45 Perception, +10 Psyniscience Training, baseline mark of 55 before conditional modifiers.

Interestingly enough I know that I SHOULD sense something from him... Abdiel admitted to using Psychic Powers on him. Which means he should have a trace of those powers on him if nothing else.

... which means Rasfakei is figuring if he doesn't sense anything that the man Abdiel Deluded is not our corpse. Which could be an interesting thing. Maybe Angoron was right in thinking Imperial Assassins and we got ourselves a Callidus on board?

[Hemnon]

"Yes i do. i've been hunted by them for a long time... Renegade Space Marines aren't treated that well by former brothers or the rest of the Imperium. Enduring 10 years of imprisonment, Torture and interrogation sort of breed a bit of enmity... and then trying to be assassinated more times than i can count while fleeing Imperial space DOES grant a bit of knowledge of one's enemy." Agrorn replied with a low growl, filled with anger and hate, suddenly smashing his powerfist-hand right into and THROUGH part of the wall behind him. All due to lack of anger-control.

[thebothan]

Looking over the body, nothing truly interesting stands out, no sign of injury or traces of magic linger on the body.. nothing less than a shell.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn goes the chomp-town on the head, snatching it from the hands holding onto hit, while dragging the body along as well... and then begins to enjoy his feast.

Mmm~
Much better than what the Galaxy's greatest cooks can make: Fresh (relatively) Meat right from the human corpse. First went the nose, then the cheeks and finally came the revolting sound of Agrorn literally sucking out the eyeballs from their sockets, followed by the sickening squish as they were crushed into mush by his teeth and acidic Saliva.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' seemed fairly relaxed, he put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair again, staring up at the ceiling. He seemed to be pondering something. Or maybe just observing the various cracks, stains, and discolorations in the ceiling. He was like that for a few moments, quietly humming some tune to himself before he finally spoke up.

"Are you sure you enchanted that man Sorcerer?" he asked Abdiel. By his own admission he did after all, and nothing that should have lead to his death. 'Waldo' didn't feel any warp sorcerery clinging to the corpse, and he did trust his senses in that regard. But he played it off just as quiet musing, not trying to tip his hand towards his own strange gifts to the strange strangers he was with. "Nothing about what you claim to have woven over him would have lead him to this end, correct? If anything he should have scurried over and kept close to you instead of meeting his fate. So... was it really that man?"

"He's decapitated. I'd guess that he was restrained from the marks on the arms, though I'm no healer to confirm such things. He could have died days or weeks ago. Could have been someone's prisoner tied up in some hole in the ship. Could be the man you enchanted was someone else entirely."

"... makes as much sense to me as anything else. Particularly with that one's talk of Assassins and the like. Some little spy sneaks on, captures someone and interrogates him, gets all the information needed to impersonate him and takes his place? Keeps him alive until you do your thing, messing with the imposter's mind makes them go and off this person in a fit of warp spawned madness?"

He fell silent, and started humming again for a few moments. "Just a theory."

[Malthan]

“You tell me. I cast the curse in front of all of you.”

His voice was arrogant and full of bravado, as if he took pride in the fact that he had pulled off the trickery under their noses.

“Is…was this corpse not once the pleasant sergeant who offered to beat you for attempting to board this ship? That is the man I targeted, after he had told our dear Que all about your exploits. I will admit, I do not have an eye for the faces of cultists, they so often appear the same to my eyes. Perhaps if he had earned a distinctive mutation or two, he might be worthy of recognition.”

Abdiel said, staring at the grisly scene of Agrorn showing how into blood he really was. It was certainly gory but it wasn’t why the raptor had become uncomfortable. The talk of assassins was unnerving, bringing to mind his own legion’s bloody history with that cabal of murderers. Rival killers, unrivalled hatred.

But more poignantly, the Night Lord had mentioned a hostile infiltrator to the sergeant in secret, a deceit designed to spread disorder…or so he had thought. Could the fates have conspired somehow to prove his lies true? And could the Khorne marine be about to discover this?

“But you raise an interesting point. I had heard rumour of some... hostile elements on-board the Apostle’s station. Old Legion contacts, cult connections and the like.”


[roll0] vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive +0

“In fact, I had thought to investigate such a possibility on-board this station before our dearly departed over there was found, well, departed. Might even have mentioned the possible threat to the sergeant. There is always the possibility that a rival cult, Imperial or Infernal, might slip on-board the ship. It is not so hard after all…”

Abdiel said, looking at Rasfakei with a telling stare. Whether he was referring to the cultists own arrival or his own or a suggestion of some kind, it was entirely left to the interpretation of those listening.

“Still, there is more evidence to be gathered before we come to any conclusions.”

The Night Lord launched himself off his perch with a raven’s cry, the strange sound resonating with the space’s marines deep voice but containing all of the natural enthusiasm of a bird of prey. It was loud enough to be heard even over the sound of his activating jump pack.

[roll1] vs Agility 40, Operate, Out of combat +30 = Final Mark 70

Swooping over the butcher’s workshop and using his ceramite armoured talons, Abdiel tore off the corpse’s leg. Continuing his descent, he slowed to a stop near a shadowy corner of the mess hall, taking a swig of whatever exorbitant drink they had stocked as he glided into the darkness. Dropping his morsel and the drink, he kept his back turned to the group as he removed his helmet. With one hand, he first swallowed down the flask’s contents, discarding the container with equal disdain. No final toast for the slaughtered.

Then at last, he brought the necessary genetic material to his mutated jaw, curved like a beak and filled with distorted, lacerating teeth. Gulping in anticipation, nervousness or simple hunger, he strangely hesitated, as if some shred of deceny was holding him back.

Then he sank his teeth into the carrion, ripping out a long strand of sinew before swallowing it whole. There was no indication that he at all enjoyed the process unlike Agrorn, or that he had made any attempt to savour it.

It’s the information I want, he told himself as he ingested the flesh, hoping to feel the reassuring wave of someone else's memories flood over him. That’s all I ever wanted from the sergeant. I never wanted his blood on my hands. But I’ll take it regardless.

[thebothan]

Agrorn: The inky blackness of death clouds your vision, you feel the cradle of the grave holding you deep, deep in its grasp. As you slowly digest the flesh, the black clouds part. You can see a dozen eyes, shining in the reflection of a bright light.. Their faces are obscured by the bright light behind them. Chanting and smoke obscures the image as it shifts to another scene. Cloudy and hazy like a morning back home, you can see a younger version of Que, standing in front of a line of quivering and whimpering slaves, wearing the uniforms of the imperial navy, you can't make any details out other than the captains face, and a strong feeling of euphoria waves over you. Then with a sharp pain in your throat, the images from the body goes away. As the image departs, you feel more at ease on board the ship, the mess hall feels endowed with memories of comraderi with ghostly figures you never met. Gain common lore (History of Princess Que and her Vessel)+10 (int).

Malthan: The body slowly departs its truths unto you, your mind is brought back into a smoky room, and you can see your legs lying out in front of you, though they are the sergeants legs, not your own... You are lying in a large bed, with incense slowly burning on each side. Though you have never felt it before you feel a light burning sensation in your stomach as a heavy fluid pumps through your veins. At the edges of your sight the world blurs and distorts in a horrible collage of reality. The feeling of alcohol in your veins is not a pleasant one. You can also see the blurry faces of two women, whether they are attractive or not is difficult to tell, their features seem to distort and writhe as you try to focus on them. After a blurry night of confusing events, powerful liquids which further distort your feelings and sight, you finally pass out to return to the darkness of sleep. You now know where the room of the dead man is.. and you now have some familiarity with drugs, and their effects.. But as a space marine you already were sort of immune to them.

[Hemnon]

How long does my Gainages Last? are they Permanent?

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' gave a slow, almost sarcastic sounding clap as he watched both Astartes chow down on Sergeant Shwarma. "Well now oh masters of mastication, render unto us the wisdom found in your teeth, eh?" he asked. His voice was practically dripping with disrespect towards the marines for the act, though behind that facade he was actually interested in what they 'saw' in scalp and tendons that they were smacking down on.

He reached out onto the table, taking up a salt shaker and tossing it over towards Angron, "Least have a little spice with your Sergeant. Flavor isn't a crime..." he said with a sly smile.

[Malthan]

For what seemed like hours but was far more likely to be minutes, Abdiel's pitch black eyes saw only memories, broken and distorted but genuine. They sparked and faded into one another, until there was only an endless black that consumed the Night Lord's mind in a trance as he processed the information.

The sound of clapping and clattering spice brought him back to reality, rudely contrasting with what he had just seen. Rasfakei's irreverent tone greeted him, guiding the marine back into consciousness. Remaining silent for a moment, Abdiel dropped what remained of the limb, wiping away any stains from his mutable jaw. Feeling the cold touch of his talons on his face, he felt strangely vulnerable bare faced as he was.

Taking hold of his helmet, the raptor stared into the inert visor as if to remind himself of who he truly was. The draconian skull stared back, its gaze despotic and hateful even to its master. He could barely make out his twisted reflection in its gleaming sockets, although he chose not to reflect on his form any longer than he had to. Crowning himself once more, Abdiel sealed himself back into the reassuring void of his ceramite skin, making sure to avoid showing the exact details of his mutated form to the others.

"At least you finally recognise us as masters, dear cultist."

He said in jest, speaking only once his vox grills were properly connected. Turning back to face the others, he strode back with renewed confidence.

"It is good to bow now, while you still have both of your legs."

Waving a hand to the mangled remains of the one legged corpse, the Night Lord spoke with snide disdain, a cold remark that was less of a threat and more of a recommendation. It might have even been intended as a joke.

"As for your question Waldo, I saw ... decadence ... drugs ... damsels."

The sorcerer paused and struggled to express the exact details of what he saw. Finally, in that strange parrot tone which he appeared to have little control over, he began to regurgitate thoughts at a non-stop accelerated pace.

"Legs, beds, incense, fluids, veins, alcohol, veins, women, faces, features, liquids, darkness."

Gulping and rasping, the raptor seemed to be clearing his throats of nouns, the garbled words escaping in a single inhuman breath. Swallowing and shaking his head slightly, he began to explain the vision.

"Most of these things were contained in the sergeant's room, I believe. A reasonable place to investigate as any, regardless. We should make sure to search it thoroughly."

The marine advised in a serious tone.

"Of special note were the man's intake of narcotics and alcohol into his veins, although strangely for the servant of Slaanesh the man did not seem to take much pleasure from such an intake. I am not sure if that was only due to my own disposition however. But there was more. The women..."

Trying to recall any distinguishing features, Abdiel realised that the absence of any was the only one worth mentioning.

"The two women were strange, their faces twisting and writhing. No matter how hard I tried to focus on their features, they remained blurred. We should check if he had any such notable acquaintances, two women linked as sisters, lovers, comrades... Their connection to each other or the man was not clear but there was much confusion in the poor fool's memories. He spent a great deal of time intoxicated, his sight and feelings a mess of jumbled half-baked emotions. I'm surprised he made it this far."

If he had not treated him so callously in life, one might have even dared to detect a tinge of melancholy in the Night Lord's voice.

"I have renewed faith that this man was indeed the one I enchanted however, with no evidence of him being a proxy or an assassin coming through on my end. Still, I cannot rule out the possibility of some strange trickery."

Concluding, the sorcerer flexed his arms emphatically as if to exaggerate the need for action.

"I believe we would work best if we work this case from multiple angles. The captain and Agrorn carry the most authority among the crew, as well as the best knowledge of the personnel. Perhaps it would be best if they used their considerable influence to find out who exactly he was connected to, any friends or enemies that might have more motive than the usual, or perhaps probable cause. Waldo, you and I might be better used as covert agents. I hear you have some influence in the... kitchens or something. If you would prefer, you could accompany me on my own exploration. Once Agrorn has elaborated on his interpretation, I intend to make my way to the sergeant's room. Perhaps I'll make some detours along the way, to see if I can garner some information from the crew in my own way."

[Hemnon]

"Interpretation? you mean memory-glanding? well i saw plenty of stuff... like little miss Princess here-" Points at Que without much respect to her position or Person, " is on par with the Dark Eldar on levels of Sadism, even back some years. Whipping Imperial Navy Folk to make them obedient pleasure slaves for her own personal enjoyment... or at least that was what i could get from the drugged haze of euphoria i sensed from the memories. But it all seems incredibly dull and half-assed to me. Keeping such useless slabs of meat alive just to inflict pain or pleasure on them." Agrorn replied and yawned, even his enhanced body felt all dull and numbed out just thinking about how boring it would be to follow the Dark Prince's path, rather than Khorne's.

[ArcturusV]

Well so much for the super duper useful perceptions of the Space Marines. His slow, sarcastic clapping seemed to have been on track, as nothing really worthwhile was discovered and they couldn't even tell if their own perceptions or those of their targets was what they were feeling. He learned little, he had no doubt that Princess Pretty over there was into that particular scene to start with. She was a woman who oozed a desperate need to control along with a heavy dose of sexuality after all. He could have told the others without even speaking to the man in question that he enjoyed his drink and drugs. That was just part and parcel of dealing with the Slaaneshi after all.

... useless ass eating powers...

'Waldo' took his feet off the table and stood up once more. Rolling his shoulders and getting nice and loose he said, "Nah, I don't need you," to Abdiel. If someone was so dense to be unable to tell if a vision was his own whims, or true visions? Well... he didn't rate too high in 'Waldo's' world at the moment. "I'm sure I'll have things figured out soon enough. That is if the Lady Captain there wants me effortlessly solving all her problems..." he looked over towards Mistress Que, arching up an eyebrow. It was a good spot to alter some destinies. Make the captain reliant upon him rather than the Space Marines, and find himself in a position to subtly alter the course of events.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn gave Waldo a death-stare, the fires of hate burning in his eyes, and his hands visibly twitch. He Literally looked like he was in the nip of just loosing it right there and then. The half-gnawed face in his gauntlet'd hand suddenly imploded inwards by the pressure of his hand tightening into a fist, causing a spray of gore, brainmatter and other various parts to fly in all directions.

"Do that one more time, Little Man, And I will rip your head out of your ass, spine and all! DO NOT TEST MY PATEINCE WITH MOCKINGLY CLAPPING!.... i told you all already that it was an unreliable method, used more for the gain of abilitites or STARK memories.... so keep your Mock-clapping to yourself, you useless little maggot!" He exploded Vocally, just one wrong word away from going PSYCHO on everything.

Intimidation Test against Mister Waldo-man :P
This will be a Strength test, because it's a show of strength and a threat of pure violence. not mind games or pseudo-interrogation :3
(if GM rules otherwise, it's cool, just wanted to take use of the Alternate Characteristics for this skill test, cuz threats of violence with a show of doing such things is more Strength, rather than Willpower)

Strength: 74 (total)
Skill: No Bonus
GM-Set +/-: Dunno? X3 GM, do i get any circumstantial bonuses here?

TN: 74 (or possibly more)

[roll0]

[Malthan]

Abdiel narrowed his eyes at 'Waldo', though his helmet showed no such signs of human emotion.

"Suit yourself. Give the chefs my regards."

He scoffed before turning to leave the mess hall. He had other appointments to keep after all and the familiarity of this room threatened to suffocate him.

"I'll leave you all to play detective. Que, feel free to send me a vox containing the details of the murder when you get the chance. You'll probably want to do so before this clown or one of your crew gets themselves killed trying to think too hard. I'll head to his room, see what fate has in store for us."

On this, the Night Lord departed the room. As he walked, he considered what Agrorn had said. A brutal sadist, with a giant maniac under her employ. And an upstart cultist, whose ego matched the sorcerer's own. Truly strange bedfellows...

But what of his own companions? Instead of heading straight to the Sergeant's room, Abdiel made a detour, returning to the scene of the library where he had quite literally left his mark. Gazing upon his own cryptic message, the Raptor wondered if he had been too obvious in his strategy. The riddle was clear enough to those with some basic arcane knowledge and there had been enough hints to draw in other potential Tzeentchians. There should have been at least some mention of it, some recording or otherwise incriminating evidence. Why had the princess and her armed thugs seemed so oblivious to this not so hidden threat?

Entering the library with a slight sense of reverence, his posture hunched like a grounded bird of prey, Abdiel searched the room for any indications that his message had drawn in some new players to the game. Perhaps that old man who had drawn his eye earlier or some amongst the crowd who had heard the call of the Changer of Ways. This ship needed some new direction, a helping hand to set the crew to proper purpose.

[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' sucked in air through this teeth, his lips splitting slowly into a smile as Angoron tried to put the fear of the Astartes into him. The smile stretched out, and he let out a soft, deep chuckle at the display of impotent seeming rage. Trying too hard to put the fear of his bloodlust into the mere human Slaaneshi Cultist.

He instead reached down for his Hand Flamer, the pistol "Dying Light". He held it up, pointed towards the ceiling, in front of his face so that only 'Waldo's' left eye was remaining clearly on Angoron. Half a smile visible and an unflinching stare at the Khornate Marine, "Dying Light... a handcrafted Tyra Pattern H-36 Romil-Saban forged pistol," he turned it slowly so that the grip of the pistol was pointed out towards Agoron, and the smile softened, no longer showing his teeth, "A work of hand crafted beauty, and technology your small mind could hardly imagine, unparalleled by the dullards who make your clunky, primitive weapons." He straightened out his arm, pointing towards Angoron slowly, and his left hand went across his body towards the hilt of his blade, holding it there ready to draw forth, "It's a work of art, not just to the capricious gods of War, advancing the brutal means with which we kill one another, but to the senses and artistry of battle," it was quite blinged out, as only suited a hand crafted, high quality product like that, with delicate scroll work and striped 'bands' in the metal that gave an almost animalistic pattern to the weapon's barrel, canister, and grip like some ancient Terran zebra. "I may follow a different path than you, but surely you can appreciate such a thing," he spoke softly to Angoron, "Its violence, the legacy of blood that it has shed, the countless hordes of Guardsmen, Space Marines, Mutants, Xenos, and others that have faced their last moments bathed in its flames..."

His face was a stone, cold mask, devoid of its smile now as he looked down at Angoron, "I am, if not greater, your equal before the Dark Gods. I am every step the avatar of destruction to those who follow the False Gods as you. I am not intimidated by your ilk or such simple displays, and you will find my spirit as strong as any of those among your mutant brethren in your Powered Armor and simplistic weapons. You can follow your brutal, bloody path. You can revel in your limitations and your simplistic views. You will however, recognize my place and my capabilities. I am not your bootlick."

He smiled once more, "Have we come to an accord?" His tone was so much lighter now than the seriousness of the moment before. It seemed to suggest he had no particular desire to lord over the Space Marine Angoron. But he just wanted the recognition that he was not some trifling mook to be threatened by him and cowed at will, as well... basically everyone has been treating him for the last two hours. Sometimes a man just has had enough and has to make himself heard.

Well, since your intimidation failed, how about a Counter Intimidation with my Willpower to stand firm in the face of an Angry Marine? :smallbiggrin: And to be clear? I'm just looking to establish this "... huh... he has some fire in him... maybe I can at least respect him as a Heretic..." ground. Not looking to make you piss yourself in terror of him or anything like that.

'timidate: [roll0] vs 48 WP, and a +10 for Pity the Weak.

Either way I see this an end to things. At the very least Rasfakei will respect his potential for violence if nothing else. And he's got the "Goddamnit I'm a powerful heretic RESPECT ME DAMMIT!" off his chest. Seriously, no matter what happens I'm done with the mocking or challenging really... UNLESS someone drags me back into it naturally. But even then probably not. Just intending it as a one and done "Get our Alpha Dog BS out and at least respect one another" thing kind of like what happened between Jarlis and the Fatboy Marine at the start of The Slow Rot, as you might remember.

[thebothan]

Abdiel: Your eyes search around the library, and you find it almost entirely empty, except for the elderly, wizened man sitting at a desk, observing a blue-green wisp of psychic force inside a bottle. It pushes itself against the sides, trying to escape. The figure doesn't turn around, but instead raises a hand in some form of greeting at your presence.

Others: Nothing of any NPC controlled interest occurs... except that a few crew members were attempting to make their way back into the room when Agrorn bursts into shouting, causing them to all scurry back out of the room.

[Malthan]

"An interesting hobby you have there."

Abdiel stared at the jar, uncertain as to the precise nature of the creature. He could have sworn that he'd seen such a creature before but cannot recall the exact name or use of such an entity. Perhaps it would come to him a moment or two.

"You seem to have a gift for control. I respect that..."

The sorcerer said, keeping his tone civil but aloof. He was still testing the waters, so to speak.

"Tell me, friend. Who are you to imprison the warp in such a manner?"

The Night Lord said, walking as softly as he could for a heavy armoured abomination. Making sure to emphasise his birdlike mutation to the man, in comparison to his more reclusive natures to the others, Abdiel's body language heavily suggested an attempt to showcase his gifted curse from the Changer.

[thebothan]

As with all things.. it is a manner of looking in the right place. The warps essence can be moved, and shaped by the Gods, why shouldn't we do the same? Those who are touched by the gods have the ability, it is simply a matter of the Gods showing the way to each of the methods.

[Malthan]

"Choice words."

Abdiel paused, as if he was pondering the meaning of the man's speech. Then his eyes flashed red and the faces that adorned his armour grimaced in a morbid smile.

"I agree completely."

Leaning in, the sorcerer stared at the wisp and its manipulator, his mask leaning over the elder's shoulder in a sinister yet respectful manner. Plans and plots began to run through his mind, althoug he suspected the same of this man.

Once more, Abdiel found it hard to resist the urge to impose his will on another. So far it had ended badly for those he had targeted. But this time would be different, he told himself. It was a reassuring lie that he could almost believe. The mistakes of the past will be burnt away in the fires of change.

"Those who truly see the thousand fold path have a moral obligation to exert control over those weaker than themselves. To do otherwise would be to squander the gifts of our master. I pity those who shackle themselves with unhelpful lies and blind themselves with delusions, such as pain or paranoia ... or love...

The power the gods grant us is not to be despised or restrained. It must be unleashed."

Leaning on his staff, the familiar sensation of psychic power flowed through him. This time will be different. Times change

Casting Delude on the old man.

Focus Power Test: Challenging (+0) Opposed Willpower Test:

[roll0]vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 15 Unfettered (5 times 3 Psy Rating) TN= 84


"I wonder, standing in this sanctuary of knowledge and control, if one might cultivate a similar cult of reason amongst the pale mass of excess that awaits outside these doors."

Rising to his full height, looming over the elder and his pet, the sorcerer spoke with a low whisper that was a mix of contradictions and paradoxes. Feral, yet cultured, kind, yet cruel, monstrous, yet angelic. Each syllable was echoed by one of his shimmering marks, their words forming a demonic chorus that filled the room and yet would still not be out of place in the most silent of libraries.

Opposed Willpower Test

[roll1] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0, Trophy Rack +10, (Delude +15) TN=64(79), other modifiers, including incursions, strength and social stature are at the GM's discretion

"I am Abdiel, Lord of the Night. Architect of Insanity. Voice in the Darkness. Tell me, what is your name that you might match my wisdom? Which god has gifted you with such insight?"

[thebothan]

The elderly man simply smiles at you.. I see you feel the webs of fate are yours to command... No offense, but I prefer to serve my God directly, not the innumerable puppets that believe themselves to be his favored. you can see his face contort slightly and a trickle of sweat passes down his brow, Though I can see you possess the insight to notice that the fabric of fate is not your servant nor is it your friend... so you resort to other methods.... Intriguing.. I had assumed from your message that you were a more patient hunter, a true shame... though that puzzle also proved to be a disappointment. My name is Granter, I serve the Gods, what business is it of mine who happens to benefit from my services? As he speaks the mouths and feathers that were hidden again show themselves, they shift hue and tone vibrantly, as his body seems to be unsure exactly what color to be.

[roll0] vs 60 WP,

[Malthan]

"We all serve him directly, in the end."

Abdiel mused, flicking his claws in exasperation. This one must be favoured indeed to resist my magics, he concluded erroneously. The possibility of him miscasting a spell was an anathema to him mind.

"Well Granter, your disappointment is shared. I would have preferred to bide my time but I am afraid that is not a commodity I have much of these days. For millennia I have been content to wage war on the Imperium but I feel that time is slowly coming to an end. The airs of the warp seem to bristle in anticipation, as if destiny herself flexes in preparation for the coming oblivion."

The Night Lord whispered, staring at the shelves of books and tomes. He walked forwards and inspected some of the names, seeing if any books stood out or appealed to his dark interests.

vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

"But I have more immediate concerns. Namely the threat of death. A murder took place recently, as you might have heard. A sergeant Davis. I managed to dominate his will completely, to better influence the ship. After leaving that message outside these walls, he was found promptly murdered. Your captain thought to threaten me but has since learnt her place."

Abdiel lied, the bitter memory stinging still. He also exaggerated his powers in a compulsive bid to impress the man.

[roll]1d100 vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive +0

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the man or why or how he was killed? I fear the mention of our master has brought forwards a cult of the opposite. You know of what I speak? Shadow and despair. Of course I have no conclusive proof. The others believe a servant of the other Corpse God might be to blame."

Just suspicion and intrigue. Rasfakei's mention of the Allfather still troubled the Night Lord

"If you truly serve your gods you might find it in your best interests to help me in my investigation."

[thebothan]

As you speak Granter begins to giggle and laugh, perhaps a nervous tick, but perhaps something more controlled.. The flesh puppet you used? Fate is indeed not kind to you, and I regret having no part to play in such acts. All I know is the secrets of the universe, I care not for the simple minds that inhabit the boundless wonders of space.. Save for the captain they all dwindle in grandeur compared to the contents of this library. I left the library upon the captains request to deliver unto her tomes she needed. Then I returned to the library.. I also had to visit the navigator, to discuss some important business, but otherwise I have been here.

[roll0] vs Awareness (25), I am also going back to the original color or Granter's speech.. As for book titles of interest, you spot books on geometries of space, a few basic sorcerous tomes (more of a primer than any keys to the dark hidden arts), and at least three books on the subject of Rouge Traders.

[Malthan]

"Yes, a weak willed fool who seemed to be in charge of protecting the ship while we were guests of the Apostle."

The Night Lord carefully examined the spine of a book on rogue traders, pulling it out with a single claw and flicking through its contents. Many pirate captains and princes were once rogue traders, although Que seemed more esoteric and estranged from such individuals.

"He seemed close with the Captain. Enough that she denied his execution and was distraught over his death. She seems willing to go to great if not foolish lengths to avenge him."

Abdiel's senses prick up as the old man giggles, the noise presenting a conundrum for the sorcerer. It could be a nervous reflex, although the man did not seem especially worried over the veiled threats he had given earlier. There was something of the insane hemegony to this man, so perhaps it was a conceited laugh of the apathetic intellectual.

It is best to strike on the presumption that all men are cowards, even if they appear brave. Men know fear by nature but so often forget bravery. Konrad's teachings bled into the raptor's brain. He closed the book and ran his hand over his staff. Persistence was the key to such an investigation.

Attempting to cast Delude on Granter again.

Focus Power Test: Challenging (+0) Opposed Willpower Test: [roll0] vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 15 Unfettered (5 times 3 Psy Rating) TN= 84


"You sound a little nervous, Granter. Are you sure that is all you know? All you did? Answer truthfully. After all, what do you have to be afraid of?"

[thebothan]

Granter shrugs, I can think of a thousand horrors of the warp I have discussed the universe with who were far more terrifying than you.. Do you honestly expect me to list them all.. As the waves of your sorcery wash over Granters mind, the jarred object begins to vibrate violently.
[roll0] vs 60

[Malthan]

Abdiel waited for the man to finish, scanning a passage on how rogue traders prioritize diplomacy and charm over firepower in order to better protect their cargo. Then he laughed, an inhuman croak like a raven's cry.

"Well aren't you a brave one? Perhaps I misjudged you after all. The master debater Granter, discussing the intricacies of the universe with demons far and wide."

Spreading out his arms in mock incredulity, he stopped and looked down at the old man. Old but not as old as him ... surely...

Lowering his limbs, the raptor took a step forward.

"I am no horror of the warp, I admit but my kind have long since butchered and ravaged the frail forms of men. Or perhaps there is something more precious to you that I can cut. You know of what I speak."

The Night Lord ran a ceramite claw over the spine of the book he held, a tense threat. With his other arm he used his staff to gesture at the grenades hanging from human leather harnesses.

"Tell me, who do you think has a greater understanding of torture? The mad, engorged Horrors of Tzeentch, his bestial screamers or his chosen orchestrators of terror? I hold the will of the warp in my hands and more knowledge and power than you can possibly theorise. While you have stayed safe in crusted libraries and weakening walls, I have spread the word of our master on hundreds of worlds, manipulated his enemies into the annihilation of insanity and instigated revolutions that saw countless academics..."

He paused and whispered into the man's ear.

"Rise, to their rightfully respected roles."

Leaning back, the Night Lord stared down the priest before rotating his head around in an owl like fashion to stare at the wisp. It seemed agitated by the use of power. I wonder what would happen if I were to use additional powers... or simply freed it?

"I would take no pleasure in ravaging you or your library. Nor would I enjoy dragging your scorched body for further torture by your captain. It is not our way, for the true believers, to break those who can be of use. Cooperate now, inform me with the knowledge that our master so desires and we may find glory and stories to spread to the ends of the Imperium. You are right, that there are entities more terrible than me out here in the depths of the warp. One such being, a possible acolyte of the Allfather might very well be on this ship. Tzeentch himself knows that an enemy is best faced by a united board. Work with me, and the cause of out master may advance. Cross me and be sacrificed for greater advantage."

Opposed Willpower Test:

[roll0] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0, +15 from Delude TN= 69

[thebothan]

Granter blinks a few times as he looks at the books in your hand.. With a sigh he removes the glasses from his face, and the feathers and mouths across his form again sink below the skin. I cannot believe that you would destroy this library, for all your bravado you couldn't bring yourself to destroy such works at least not before you had read every ounce of knowledge from its contents. To do otherwise would be much more than a sacrifice for power, it would be an affront to the If you can, go ahead, destroy this library, kill me and every other aid. I will go on to meet whatever destiny the Lord of Fate wishes me to.. You on the other hand will face the repercussions of your actions, I am but a caretaker of this grand space. Like everything else on this vessel, it belongs to our Captain and Lord. You saw how distraught she was over the death of an incompetent member of her crew, imagine how upset she would be if a trusted aid and adviser were to be killed?
[roll0] vs 60.

He puts his glasses back in their place, and seems to age five years in the space of a few seconds, When you wrote that message, I thought a great figure to rival the hulking mass the captain keeps shackled in the trophy room had arrived in our midst. But the solution was disappointing, and I can now see why the captain keeps Agrorn on a short leash..

[Malthan]

“You keep using that word. Disappointed…”

Abdiel stared, muttering to himself as Granter refuted him. Sighing, the Night Lord shook his head as if he knew that he was going to regret what’s to come but was content to do it anyway.

“Before we get started, I just want to say that you are one impressive bastard. For all their ego, those men and women outside these walls don’t have half your courage. It’s magnificent. That’s why I’m going to enjoy breaking you,”

He snarled the last part, using the butt of his staff to knock the chair from underneath Granter to send the man sprawling on the floor. Placing the book down on the desk, Abdiel stared briefly at the wisp struggling to free itself. A wicked thought entered his mind.

“And you’re right, I’m not going to burn this library down. At least not intentionally. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I suppose Que’s might miss her pet librarian. But you’d be surprised by how much damage can be disguised. Contained. Repressed. Take for instance, this poor creature. Doesn’t it look oppressed Granter? Aggravated? What were you doing with it anyway? Using it, I assume. Like I'm going to use you.”



Opposed Willpower Test:
[roll1] vs 54 Willpower, Interrogate - 20, +15 from Delude TN= 49

If it's a failure, the willpower damage is done to Granter right? Does that mean he's hurt or Abdiel uses excessive force or something?


The Night Lord reached down with gauntlets and pressed the man’s face against the glass where the creature began to slam against its container in desperation. In the process, Granter’s spectacles were shattered under the Raptor’s talons.

“And yet, surprisingly no one comes to its aid. Doesn’t that seem wrong to you, dear librarian? Trapped, contained, spurned. How do you justify that? Imprisoning chaos, restricting change, stifling freedom, surely it’s disgusting to you? How would you explain that to our dear master?”

Dropping Granter roughly, Abdiel walked away, his ornate jump pack turned to the man.

“I’ll tell you how. In chaos, we all have rights. That is what matters. You have the right to deny me. I have the right to interrogate you. And of course, you have the will to resist me but how much strength do you really have? Does your pathetic princess have? Enough to stop me?”

He laughed at the possibility, so drunk on his own power that he could not see beyond his ceramite bound strength. Blind to the possibilities of the subject he was interrogating.

“The right to rule. This is the nature of things. Control, power, will … that is what separates you from that scrap of empyreal hate. See how it seethes Granter, how it longs to be free? I noticed it, when I tapped into my own power it shivered in frustration. Just as I long to take command, it longs to be free. But sovereignty belongs to those who earn it.”

He lectured lazily, the dark whispers of the void permeating into his mind and distracting him. He felt an overflow of random, mutable influence in his veins, Nostraman restraint dulling and shifting into a malicious urge to change… anything. To do something truly insane. He turned on his heels, gripping his staff with two hands.

“Let’s have an experiment my dear academic. Let’s see what happens when I add some variables. Let’s cause a little chaos…”

Calling on the power of the warp, Abdiel drew in the miasma of insanity that he felt emanate from within his twisted soul.



Okay, I'm going for a slightly different approach. Going to try provoking him and the wisp thing, possibly threaten to release it. Targeting the area near his feet and close to the desk but not actually the man or monster themselves, if that makes sense.

Focus Power Test: Challenging (+0) Opposed Willpower Test: [roll0] vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 15 Unfettered (5 times 3 Psy Rating) TN= 84


With a wave of his hand, Abdiel sent a bolt of jagged red malice into the ground next to Granter. It burst into the floor, searing the rug and seeping through into the metal underneath it.

“Look at that! Doesn’t it seem to vibrate in a violent struggle? What happens if we continue in such a manner? Move to your left!”

Abdiel screeched with glee, his hawkish warning giving Granter barely enough time to move aside in time. Another jagged shard of chemical crimson, fuming and shifting in its appearance, embedded itself next to the desk.

“Oh, it feels good to let loose Granter. Doesn’t it inspire you, to be in the presence of one so uninhibited by restraint? Those petty khornates, how can they be so content with the mundane pleasures of mortal power when the whole of hell is at their finger tips!”

Abdiel seemed to be descending into a manic episode, his words losing coherency and his avian form bristling with bursts of electricity that coursed over him as he continued to rant.

“What was I saying? Oh, yes. Power. You see, that little pet of yours… that is how you seem to me. Only less shiny. Oh you have your will and your statute and your knowledge but you think in ten thousand years I haven’t seen libraries more impressive than this? Tomes more interesting, more warped and forbidden than the voidmarket trash that you hold? Men more wise and impressive, demons more grand? Truly, you deceive yourself. I respect your sense of self-importance, warp knows it’s necessary to live in these times. But don’t underestimate how far I will go to assert my superiority.”

With a flick of his claw, another rapturous blast, this time morphing into a midnight blue blot of darkness, was flung next to the man. While none of them made their mark, the force sent tremors and made the desk shudder tentatively. And the twisted heat, and smell drifted onto the man, sending gasping fumes into his mutated mouths. All the while, the wisp seemed ecstatic and desperate to escape...

“And don’t try to speak like some simple Imperial fanatic,”

It was clear now that here Abdiel had no control of his reflexive, parroting tone. Instead he practically vomited the phrases out.

“Repercussions… meet whatever destiny the Lord of Fate wishes…”

Choking on them, exaggerated raven quotes filled with meaningless disdain.

“It’s a lie, Granter. It’s all a lie. Know this… death is coming for all of us. It wants to tear us down, to drag us by our nape, to send us from one womb to the next. To allow it to happen? To tempt it? That is to court the Unclean. It is an abomination. Look instead to your phantom pet. See how it struggles? That is what we must be. We must writhe and change and continue to live! We must never surrender our ambitions, our dreams, our nightmare... ”

His voice tailed off, clearly the frustration and pent up emotions of the past catching up to him. He remained silent for a while, watching the rising smoke and staring at the craters he’d left in the ground.

“And I want to help you. Because I admire you. I really do. It’s just that… I can sense that you’re holding something back. Now of course, everybody loves a mystery. The problem is, that I love solving them even more. So that presents us with a problem. And I just hate that you’ve given me another problem.”

He screamed the last part, the noise echoed by his armour skins and that echo spiralling through the room in randomly altering tones in an endless loop of deafening insanity. Then he started laughing manically, with that too filling the room in unhampered humour. Then he threw his arms up in exasperation.

“Silence!”

He roared ironically, before breaking down into laughter again. By now it was hard to hear anything over the menagerie of maniacal laughs. Looking downwards at the brave man, he sighed and whispered with barely audible sadness.

“Like I said. Suppressing things can lead to dark waste building up. I imagine that’s what’s happened on this cess pit of a ship. So it’s good to let go. Let it all out, Grant. Just let go. Where were you really? What do you really know?”

The interrogation continues in a similar vein for an hour, Abdiel acting in an insane and unrestrained manner, firing off however many doombolts he built up previously, barely giving Granter time to talk or even answer his questions. It seems as if the unhinged sorcerer has suffered a bout of hysteria, occasionally breaking down into melancholic whisperings of no relevance to the topic at hand. Even if it weren’t for his mad rantings, the impressively loud screeching practically deafens the subject regardless. Finally stopping, Abdiel falls into a subdued and meditative silence, perched up on top of a book case reading through his rogue trader book, almost oblivious to the man he'd spent over fifty minutes interrogating.

[thebothan]

As Abdiel rages over the blinded figure of the head librarian. As the bolts and psychic energy rage from his hands Granter is thrown from side to side, eventually simply lying between the smoldering craters in the carpet, wheezing heavily. The entry ways of the library are soon crowded by the other members of the library, watching in some horror at the unfolding events.
[roll0] vs Doombolt
[roll1] vs Interrogation

As the attack occurs, the wisp within the jar continues to shake and quiver with some untapped energy, but it never manages to move the jar or enact any interesting change.

[Malthan]

"Good talk."

Abdiel breathed heavily, the cathartic nature of his rampage the only useful outcome. He had limited time to get moving to the sergeant's room so he leapt down from his perch only to be faced by a hushed crowd of terrified infidels. For a second he simply stared analysing them before the throbbing wisp caught his attention again.

"Preysight."

Reaching forwards and grabbing the limp form of Granter, the Night Lord spoke with tired grace.

"There is a new lord on board this ship. You may have rumour of me. I have been appointed 'inquisitor' by your captain. Davis, your snivelling sergeant, has been murdered. I am going to find the culprit and I am going to murder the scum who oppose me. Come forward to me now on the way to his room if you have any useful information regarding the deceased. But be warned. If you stand in the way of your lord's justice then this is your fate."

He brandished Granter's body, but felt the gesture dull and uninspired. It was voiceless and inert like the man himself. The only sound emanated from the glass cage. Then it hit him. Granter could help solve one mystery at least.

With silent disdain, Abdiel slammed the body down next to him. Straight into the glass jar, where Granter had laboured over the wisp earlier. The force ruptured the desk and the weak constraint easily with some shards worming into the man's robes and possibly his flesh.

But the sorcerer was more interested in what was unleashed than what was embedded. For the little light was now free with its jailer on top of it and its liberator beside it.


Awareness on crowd and released wisp.

[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

Command crowd to give information on sergeant.
[roll1] vs 40 Fellowship, Command + 0

Intimidate crowd into obeying/ staying out of his way.
[roll2] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0

Possible incursions as well I would say, invoking conquest and hubris especially with some CC action.

[thebothan]

As the cloud of warp energies is released from the jar, it begins to hover in the air.. it continues to convulse and pulse, as it slowly hovers around the broken frame of Grafter, and then slowly settles onto your armor. It seeps into your armor, and for some reason, your body feels a feeling of deja-vu, you remember this feeling.. but from where you have no idea where. Thoughts begin to dance around your head, Don't be alarmed... Newcomers are a danger... Tell the Captain... No one else... Terrible things if you fail.. it all makes so much sense, the others and the mysterious death must be connected... You must tell the captain, your love, your life, the one person you have loved since you were first recruited.. the one you pined for through your training.. And the one who honored you with the commendation you have now.

You should take an Opposed WP test against 3 Degrees of Success..

You shake the thoughts from your mind, none of it makes sense, you never did any of those things. But it all seems so familiar..

[scottsman1]

The day's events had made Que tired and irritable. "Lorrin" Speaking into a ship internal vox array. "Set a course for the nearest Imperial trading hub, its time we meet the Imperials of this sector and lay claim to our riches."

She traveled the ship for a bit often stopping and talking to crew as she walked allowing many the honor of smelling her fragrance, and touching her skin, and a few of the officer class to lay a kiss on her hand. Until she make it to her destination, the Temple of The Dark Prince. She had questions and this was the best place for answers.

[Malthan]

What is this...

No...

Love...

I do not understand...

You must tell your love...

Opposed Willpower Test]Copied from OOC thread.
(1d100)[33] vs 54 Willpower

His thoughts were carved lightning, searing through the fetid air of longing doubt and dead beliefs.

No. I do not submit. I do not love. I am the master here. All those I love are dead.

Terrible things if you fail

I could not save them. Him. Them.

No one else

It was not my place. It was not my ... destiny.

"I am the master here."

Abdiel stated, not in the crazed tone of a rambling demon that he had engaged in earlier but the lucid malice of a fallen angel. Lifting an armoured gauntlet, Abdiel observed the escaped warp essence that permeated his form like planetary ash. Then he closed his hand for effect, seeing the substance cling to him as he clenched his claws shut. Did it stain him still?

Is the cloud of warp energies still attached to his armour?[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

"Out of my way."

He ordered as he barged through the crowd, knocking a few aside that did not move fast enough. Head towards the Sergeant's room as quickly as he could, his mind struggled with the intrusion as he stalked the dark halls of the ship.

Focus on the destination. Never forget your purpose: the mission, the meaning, the madness. Chaos is a means, a means, a means. Not an end, an end, an end. You give yourself purpose and chaos gives you the means. This is the truth of the black, the truth that Abdiel had sworn to prove to himself in eternal war.

The voices spoke to him still, though they were less invasive and more advisory than before. As they whispered, his own mind began to reply with images of its own, cerebral patterns dancing against abyssal clouds.

Don't be alarmed.

Do not show any reaction to what I am about to tell you.

Newcomers are a danger.

This group may be compromised

Had Abdiel heard these words before? They were familiar but somehow discordant and wrong, like hearing a recording of your own voice. It was different and yet so utterly familiar. He had spoken something to a similar effect yet they were to a dead man, not buried and gone but eaten and raw. The message was similar yet the tone and the voice were different. It had been a lie, at least he had believed...

And there was more to it, a feeling or an undercurrent that subverted all of the Night Lord's prior beliefs. The entity or voice or wisp or soul had a sense of love, an unnerving attachment to ... her? Later. It would have to come later, even if it still rode his ceramite carapace like dust on cosmic winds. What was it, he wondered still, unsure if his recent encounter had illuminated him at all.


Done to examine the nature of the wisp, having had a close encounter now.

[roll1] vs 38 Int, +0 Forbidden Lore Daemonology

Stumbling forwards, practically driven by sheer force of will, Abdiel set out for the Sergeant's room that he had seen upon consuming him. There was still so much work to be done and the mysteries and plots only grew thicker with each passing second.

[thebothan]

Que: The sound of Lorrin growling in pleasure at the opportunity to serve is the only thing that emerges from the vox. As you wander, the crew enjoys your attentions as always, many are quick to console you on the death of the Sergeant. Many more are quick to point out they would be a suitable and beneficial replacement for the position. Your journey finally reaches its conclusion, and you find yourself standing at the entrance to the immaculate shrine standing in your God's name. The silken drapery covering the doorway billows in a breeze, smelling of musk and autumn. Inside the dark space your own personal prayer space remains tended by the many cultists and clerics who house themselves within the spaces. At your approach the shrine begins to glow as its high priestess approaches.

Abdiel: The thing within your body now is like nothing you have ever seen before, it is not from the warp, but a simply molded piece of the warp. You can distinguish no other qualities. Due to the 1 hour of interrogation, I want to give the other players a chance to catch up on time.. I will describe the room once the others get some IC actions in.

[ArcturusV]

(( Moving on from Angoron ))

He held that moment for several long seconds. He was keenly aware of the eyes watching him. He had the mind not just of the Khornate, but of the Slaaneshi as well, the appreciation for theatrics and the hearts of men. He knew they anticipated Angoron crushing him like an overripe musk melon. He also knew there was the part of them interested in 'Waldo' winning the day. It was the nature of man to love the upset, to follow the ones they see the most of themselves in, and 'Waldo' was that person. Slaaneshi to the core by all appearances and rumors of his mannerisms, with nothing more than flak, primitive blade and simple armaments that the crewmen had squirreled away in arms lockers, standing up to the would be demi-god.

He held that pose, staring down Angoron, in reality it was just a few, mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity of silence and tension. A smile cracked on 'Waldo's' face, and with a twirl of Dying Light around his fingers, he holstered the hand flamer, turned, and walked away. Someday, sometime there might be a reckoning between the Space Marine and the Cultist. He doubted Angoron would just arrange his death in some indirect manner, it wasn't his nature. He had been challenged directly, and he had to respond to it directly.

He walked out of the officer's mess. He gave the gathered crewmen confident, cocky smiles, patted some shoulders, traded some handshakes and platitudes. As far as 'Waldo' was concerned he had 'won' that encounter. At the very least, he hadn't lost, and he played it up among the crew on his way out, willing to double down on his moment of quasi-triumph before the crowd dispersed. It was a familiar feeling, taking him back to the Home World, when he was a figure of respect, with legions at his beck and call. Something he hadn't had since he joined this Apostle of the Gods on his mission. Surrounded by people with such narrow visions and thick minds.

As the crowd parted, and 'Waldo' was left alone, his thoughts turned back to the Murder. He wasn't as concerned about it as the others. Not really. In any warband these things were bound to happen. Rivalries, power struggles leading to assassinations, and even people dabbling with things beyond their capabilities leading to accidents. It wouldn't have been the first time he saw some novice sorcerer lose his head as he tempted the Blood God's wrath. Nor the first time some jealous rival had taken matters into his own hand. The Ship Captain responded badly to it however. Either this Sergeant Davis was insanely close to her, some favored lover or long time companion... or perhaps she was nowhere near as experienced as she claimed. The latter seemed more likely, she didn't seem the type to cleave too tightly to any singular person. Her explosive temper, the rashness of her challenging of the Space Marines, there were plenty of other little signs in mannerisms and responses that suggested that the "Mistress" might be newer to the ship than she would have people know, and not as locked into her beliefs and style as a veteran champion of the Dark Gods would normally be.

There were things to be gained here. As he went back to his 'post' in the galley he was whistling an old, ancient folk tune, seemed to have a jaunty, lighthearted pace as fitting for the irreverent Slaaneshi Cultist everyone figured him to be. As much as Abdiel had mocked the posting, it had advantages that he understood very well. Even if most of the ship didn't come to the galley for their meals, it was still a place of socialization. Guards dropped somewhat, as was just the nature of shared meals. Conversation about the going ons of the ship, the recent events, relationships, bitching about supervisors or incompetent underlings. It happened.

In the Galley he was just the strange, loud, boisterous man. He helped out, he followed directions. He had no talent for cooking, but he did have a talent for languages, picking out bits of ship lingo and trade cant. He kept his ears open, and subtly would nudge conversations to try to pick up details about this Murder that happened as crewmen came in for their meals, as well as more details about the "Mistress" Que.

Well, should be an Inquiry Test, picking up Random Rumors and such. Very old school DnD style investigating. :smallcool:

Deceive Test to guide conversations towards more useful topics: [roll0] vs 45 Fellowship, +10 Deceive Training, +10 Pity the Weak (I imagine random crewmen all have worse Willpower than I), baseline mark of 65 before Conditional Modifiers.

Inquiry: [roll1] vs 45 Fellowship, -20 Untrained Inquiry, baseline mark of 25 before Conditional Modifiers.

[Hemnon]

Agrorn headed off to his bunk (and Trophy-room) once more, already feeling bored once more.

[thebothan]

Waldo: The crew are all to willing to discuss the current predicament.. unfortunately, the stories they tell are closer to the blustery bravado spoken by sailors across the world. Some speak of how they themselves would have liked to put a bullet in the sergeant themselves, others insinuate that he wasn't as close to the captain as he claimed.. Most conversations lead back to the question of who is going to console the many women the sergeant was rumored to sleep among, and who is going to empty the sergeants liqueur cabinet.

Angrorn: Your walk back to the trophy room is not long, since the normal flood of bodies heading to their duties disappear. It seems the crew knows you are in a murderous mood, and simply the sound of your boots walking the halls is enough to send even the bravest crew-member scattering for cover. The trophy room is quite, and the various animals and Imperial standards stand a quite vigil.

[ArcturusV]

Hookers and drink. As expected for a Slaaneshi, though the rumors of disloyalty towards the Lady-Captain stood out in his mind. Clearly the Lady Captain herself didn't hold the same view of the Sergeant, willing to go to the mattresses with a self proclaimed sorcerer Space Marine over. As he busied himself cleaning and working his mind ticked through the various implications of the mystery of the Sergeant's death.

His senses told him the hookers were the way to go. Men of minor means like that always had a weakness for flesh, and would tell their bedmates things that they wouldn't even admit to themselves in their darkest hours. It was something to work with at least. He was sure that there was no shortage of pleasure seekers aboard the vessel, it wasn't much to go on. But as the meal shift ended he excused himself from the Galley... he wasn't actually assigned there after all, no one, after the display against the ship's Space Marine Trophy would have enough spine to directly challenge him, at least that was his view of it.

He found one of the ratings coming out of the meal, one who had mentioned raiding the Sergeant's quarters, and gesturing for his attention merely said, "Well how about it? Figure two of us got a better chance of gettin' the good stuff out of his holds together than alone. 70/30 split, my way?" He needed a guide to the man's quarters, and having someone familiar with the ship to watch his back and point out obvious traps didn't seem like a terrible idea in general. "Quick and easy, stick anyone who gets in our way," he gestured down to the blade on his hip, "Follow my lead, and we'll make an easy score."

Probably a Command Test to round up a rating for the guide/raid.

Command: [roll0] vs 45 Fellowship, +0 Command Training, +10 Pity the Weak, baseline mark before conditional modifiers of 55.

[thebothan]

Waldo: The rating doesn't even question the unfair split in his direction, he pulls a boot knife and grins, Course, 'guv. We'll take the scenic route through the officers quarters. Follow me. The human brings you through the ship with the swaggering bravado of a seasoned pirate.

[roll0] vs 30 for stealthy walking, and general luck in avoiding the other crew members...

As you pass through the quarters of the various deck hands, gunnery sergeants and overseers. The figure seems to be looking for trouble, not that he finds too much. However, turning a corner, you find three men standing guard outside an open doorway, seems you were not the only one who decided to act upon the rumors. They apparently heard you coming and stand outside the doorway, a motley assortment of weapons in hand. Upon seeing you their weapons are brought to the ready. One of the number addresses you You and your friend move along Rags.. This here's our room now.

You can see there are six crew members standing outside and just inside the doorway.. Looks like 3 autoguns, a chainsword, four daggers, one bayonet, 2 hand cannons and a revolver are the armaments of the group.. As for armor, nothing fancier than standard flak. But one of the men clutching an autogun seems to have scrounged at least a helmet of black armor from the sergeants room.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' drew out his long blade, very comfortable with it in his grip, confident stride. The 'guide' didn't seem to be too concerned about stealth, so neither was 'Waldo'. Trust in the bravado and the bluster, that was the name of the game at this point. He blatantly stared down and gave people withering glares as he passed, letting them know the depravity that lurked in his soul and that he wouldn't hesitate to stick any of them with his blade if they crossed him.

Who needs sneakin'? 'timidate!

Intimidate Check against random ratings/security/low level officers on the way...

'timidate: [roll0] vs 48 WP, +0 Intimidate Training, +10 Pity the Weak. Baseline of 58 before conditional modifiers.

[thebothan]

As Que sat languidly inside her personal shrine, a familiar shudder was felt through the ship. Like a great sea monster of old, the craft's prow sliced through reality and sank into the depths of the warp. The heavy vapors of chaos energy began to materialize through the ship, clouds of will and menace.. As always, some crew-members, those alone and isolated were driven mad and insane by deamons, their souls dragged into oblivion to join the Gods. Most however, simply cheered at the successful transition, one step closer to fighting against the hated Imperials.

Que: Within the familiar inky blackness of your shrine, the warp takes a more familiar form. A shadowy figure, made more blurry and confusing by the blurry shapes dancing around the edges of your vision. Despite all the confusing signals form your senses, your would recognize the figure anywhere... Ever since you had proved your allegiance to the Prince of Pleasure and Ecstasy you had been gifted by a minor aberration of His will each time you entered the shrine. It gazes at you, the shadowy face completely devoid of any features, but even the outline of the most perfect form was all but overpowering. It says nothing, simply content to watch you struggle to experience the full array of senses you experience in the presence of your deities will. It seems in this sector the aberration has grown more powerful. When it speaks, it does so in a voice with all the qualities of lace in a spring breeze. Tell me child, what brings you here? Do you not have new horizons to seek, and Imperials to show the ecstasy of death?

I have decided to go with a more... fantastically hands on... approach to deities. Expect some fun interactions.. especially if anyone drastically changes alignment.

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' let out a slow, dramatic sigh, as he pulled up Dying Light into his hand and pointed it at the gathered crewmen, "... I don't know how stupid, or how fanatical you might be..." he started off, talking softly enough that the voice barely carried across the gathered ratings with their crude armaments. "... maybe you haven't heard of me. That truly is a shame, I'm such a wonderful person to know after all..." he let out a big, wide, toothy grin at that. "... you can call me Waldo. I'm your new Sergeant." He used his commanding tone, used to having his words followed, steel in every syllable.

"And this, if you missed the show earlier," 'Waldo' referenced the stand off in the officer's mess, "Is Dying Light," he indicated his hand flamer with a little gesture. "It will give you the sweetest agony as you roast from the inside out. Your eyeballs popping from the unnatural heat, your lungs screaming and unable to take in air. It's an exquisite sensation you only get to experience once."

"... now I can kill you all right now," he said softly again. They were all clustered around the doorway, an obvious target for his weapon's area of effect. "Or you can act like the sniveling little worms that you actually are, begging for my mercy and offering your services to your superior. It would show tremendous foresight on your part... but maybe that's expecting too much of you."

"So what is it? Do I send you to the Dark Prince's Realm... or do you live to experience all that life has yet to offer you? Either way, it'll put a smile on my face."

Well, walking the line between Command and Intimidation. I think Intimidation fits better there. So I'll use that.

'timidate!: [roll0] vs 48 WP, +0 Intimidate Training, +10 Pity the Weak. Baseline mark of 58 before conditionals. Probably got a Plus conditional considering I'm sitting there literally able to kill them all, slowly perhaps, but nigh guaranteed kills, with a single twitch of my finger... Maybe an extra +10 if "Rags" helps out.

[scottsman1]

Que gazes upon the figure, out the corner of her eyes, as the drugs take full effect. Her hands move to increase her pleasure at its sear presence.

She opens her lips force the words out as if talking to a distant lover which has complete dominion over her mind, body and most importantly soul."My perfect master, I have but two questions I wish to ask."

"The first is about the outsiders I have gathered, a holy man who lies, a warrior who knows no fear, and terror who can change fate. What is your will with them, and how may I have them please you."

"The second is for your blessing for the raid to come. May you grant me further riches and means to expand my existence though sensation."


I decide that since Que has talked to this before that her recent actions would have been motivated by its counsel so down the path of corruption she goes.

[thebothan]

Waldo: The crewmembers simply continue looking at you.. Yeah, we've heard of you.. Aren't you one of those crazies though? I doubt there's enough sanity in your head to point that the right way.. Plus way I hear it, you were spending more time putting spice into the meals than ordering the men about.. Do I look like a dish scrubber to you. You do notice however that a few of closer to the doorway take a few awkward half steps away from their fellow crew members. 'Rags' has backed himself against the side wall, his knife hanging loosely from his hand. You can just begin to make out the sounds of an armored figure walking your way.
Opposing roll: [roll0]vs 25 WP +10 for outnumbering you and for already being in the room, so total mark is 40. BTW, intimidate is measured against your strength characteristic in BC.. so you have a total number of 55 for your intimidate (not a huge difference, but figured you should know), you do get a +10 for 'My gun is better than yours'

Que: The darkness inside the figure turns an impossibly deeper shade of black. I know little of those you have brought aboard. None of them know the pleasures of serving me, for they have other masters.. That is all I have to say on the matter. Besides, the aberration's hand caresses your cheek. You know I much prefer to let my followers mastermind their own experiences, rather than direct them to bliss... Delight in what you choose, and I will delight in your delights. As to your second question, rest assured you shall continue to have my blessings, so long as you serve me.

[ArcturusV]

"Crazy like a bacon wrapped taco," 'Waldo replied to the man who seemed to be the designated 'Leader', or at least the one who was brave enough to talk smack to him. That was the only warning the man was going to get, as he pulled the trigger stud on the Hand Flamer, sending out a gout of fire towards the doorway and the smack talker.

"Bacon for the Bacon Throne, Pie for the Pie God," he said with a cackle as the flames went to work frying the area.

Well I'm throwin' down. Flamer Burst and throwing some Initiative. They don't seem ready to fight. I mean yeah, they're not unaware, but they seem to think we're mid talking so not sure how Surprise will work out.

Initiative: [roll0] +2 Quick and the Dead, +4 Perception (Combat Sense replacing Per for Ag).

Flamer Shot: [roll1] +6 Energy Damage, Pen 4, Ignores Daemonic Trait.

Legacy of Plague: Targets hit by it must make a +0 Toughness Test or take [roll2] divide by two, round up, -2 Temporary Damage to Strength, Toughness, and Agility.

Spirit-Bound: I make a Focus Power Test as a Free Action: [roll3] vs 48 WP, +10 Psy Focus, +20 for Psy 4, Final Mark of 78. If successful adds +4 to the Flamer damage.

[scottsman1]

As the hand caresses her cheek Que moves her mouth over one of the fingers messaging it with her tongue. "Thank you, master. I plan an excess which will be recorded for the centuries, in the mean time I will sacrifice every sixtieth slave I capture in the raid to come and teach the others the ways of excess. Is there anything else I can do to please you my lord?"

[thebothan]

Waldo: In response to the gouts of flame emerging from the weapon, the crewmembers fall back inside the doorway, swearing loudly. By the Prince, you are crazy..

Agility Tests for two of the group (one of the autogun wielding figures is outside the 10m range): [roll0] vs Agility of 30 (as per normal spray rules), Agility test for initiative [roll1] +3.

Que: The apparition simply sits, though you know it experiences your physical praise of the perfect form, you cannot even begin to comprehend what it has experienced in the past... Your own nerves have already begun to fray and tire with some stimulus, but what does your god truly fell?

Abdiel: As you turn a corner, you hear a retort of the a flamer. Walking towards the sergeants room you can see the familiar form of Waldo, firing a hand flamer towards a few scattering figures in the doorway of the sergeants home. You can feel the few remnants of your last meal welling up in your mind, voicing the anger at blatant disrespect to the dead.

Also, since you were checking it, the wisp thingy has disappeared... exactly where it went is not quite understood. Also, you may want to roll initiative..

[Malthan]

The shadow descended upon the flames. Abdiel's devil red eyes surveyed the scene with dull uncertainty, the flaring heat disrupting his preysense for a microsecond before they adjusted to the inferno. Making out the flickering form of his rival maniac Waldo, Abdiel felt a pang of uncertainty, the carnage of the scene provoking both confusion and a grudging respect in the Night Lord. An admirable sense of anarchy clearly flowed through that one's veins, the sorcerer mused to himself.

Waldo was clearly enjoying himself, the man's soul burning with the same ardent glow as the flames that he emitted. He was also on the offensive, with his targets fleeing although they too were armed. Abdiel ran a number of possibilities through his mind, the chance of Waldo simply murdering for the thrill of it ranking as a likely explanation. The practice was not uncommon or even abhorrent to the cynical warrior, although he usually preferred a reason to kill, even or especially if it was entirely self- serving.

Yet for some reason the sorcerer felt a great sense of outrage, like the battle was being waged over his memorial or grave, that somehow all of this was grossly disrespectful. Perhaps the warp entity was influencing him still or indeed the sergeant's flesh was still digesting. Regardless, in that instance there was an overwhelming urge to join the Heretic in his symphony of devastation, to destroy the scum lurking in his room. At the same time his own heritage of violence, his butcher's background and tainted past reached out to him, his very body thrumming with a single, predatory instinct that had defined humanity for millennia.

Kill.

But who? For an instant, Abdiel considered unleashing his full might on all present, to run through the irksome Waldo with his gladius and finish off the rest of the scum himself. But something held him back. Restraint, practiced and preached by the Veteran. He had wanted allies. He had wanted a ship. They were his. But above all, Abdiel needed enemies.

"We have come for you."

Abdiel whispered to himself, instinctively speaking in the dead language of his fallen planet. He told himself that the plural was only due to habbit, not any bonds of fellowship with Waldo or worse still the dead sergeant. Deceit comes easy to those who have spent their entire lives in the dark.

Lumbering forwards with hideous resolve, Abdiel grasped his staff in one claw and in the other the glowing, blood-gold orb of his demonic master. Abyssal night clung to the marine, failing to manifest into the same wretched shards that he had unleashed earlier to the warriors chagrin although his advance was still covered by Waldo's own blanket of fire.

[ArcturusV]

"Sanity is for the weak!" 'Waldo' quoted an ancient and often sung proverb of the Dark Gods. "Do you want to die, or go home?" he asked, as he pressed forward to take cover with the doorway. He had his blade raised, ready for if the whelps found their courage. He breathed in deep, feeling the warp around him overtaking him. He wondered what dark entity watched this moment in the warp, and how its fickle favor might impact the moment.

Maybe 'Rags' would find his courage, knowing that he was teamed up with someone who at the very least was 'crazy' enough to look at 6 men equally armed and go 'I can take them'.

Half Action move to cover with the doorway. Taking the Guarded Action half action, -10 to WS tests on my turn, but +10 to Evasion Tests until my next turn. Still have my blade and my Hand Flamer readied. This isn't so much of an intimidation attempt, just giving them an opening to try to throw down their arms now that they realized that he's crazy enough to go into the fray.

... and I may totally have something evil planned if they press the assault, just to warn. :smallcool:

[thebothan]

Perhaps it was the fiercely burning fuel that clogged the doorway, or the slight blare of fire alarms, but for some reason Rags seems intent on staying out of the way. Rags started to move to follow Waldo, when a flurry of bullets is shot from the doorway, Rags takes a few in the chest, and falls to the floor. The bullets keep on flying from the doorway. It almost drowns out the fire alarm.

[roll0] agility test from Rags vs 25.

[ArcturusV]

"Penetrator," 'Waldo' seemed to speak into his hand flamer as the bullets flew through the doorway. He popped it out, and from the hand flamer came a single, tightly contained ball of Fire, leaping from the barrel down towards the Autogunner.

:smallbiggrin: Told ya. Firebolt is a Free Action to manifest. Open Flame required and, guess what I'm holding in my hand? Something with a pilot light. So before my next turn the firebolt is activated, since I didn't take an Attack Subtype Action last turn.

Focus Power Test: [roll0] vs 48 Willpower, +20 Psy Rating at Unfettered, +10 Psy Focus, +20 Firebolt Difficulty Modifier, final mark of 98.
If I score 5 or more DoS on the test (And they don't dodge), the target is set on fire. Nope, no agility test, they're just On Fire. Pyromancy is love!

Damage: [roll1] +4 Energy Damage, Pen 0.

He spied the Sorcerer coming, drawn to the scent of blood and death, as his ilk so often seemed to be. Doing... something. He wasn't sure what. Looked strange though. He called out to Abdiel, "Draw your weapon, let it roar in the immaterium, cut them down and send them to His Court!"

Using a Full Action to Inspire.

Command Test: [roll2] vs 45 Fellowship, +0 Command Training. I doubt my Peer (Planetary Governors/Warlods) comes into play, so baseline mark of 45.

If successful Abdiel gets +10 on his next test.

Except that never happened, and instead he merely seemed to crumple, taking a short nap against the wall for a few moments. Excessive lifestyle catching up perhaps? Or something to do with the ripple of energy nearby in the warp?

[Malthan]

As the information bled into his visor, Abdiel was forced to make a few snap judgements. As the hostile crew opened fire on the raggedy man who seemed to have been following Waldo, the Night Lord calculated the most likely make and model of the chirruping firearms. Within an instant of analysis, he had determined their chance of injuring one such as him. Negligent, he concluded as he strode towards the room. His only real concern was how quickly he could carve his way through these scum.

But before he could begin, his mind was bombarded by a strange fiasco that shook the hellscape itself. Reveling in the exothermic chaos, Waldo had sent a strangely precise ball of flame that bended and bulged into the room. Abdiel thought to curse, to warn the man of destroying possible evidence. But before he had managed to, the maniac had babbled something incoherent, something about drawing the immaterium but mid sentence he was cut off by an explosion. Not an ordinary, searing combustion the likes of which Waldo had been provoking earlier but the seething, roaring crack of imagined thunder going off inside the sorcerer's head. Had he not spent so many years enduring the tortured horror of the warp, the marine might have collapsed as Waldo did. Instead he merely clenched his teeth and screamed into his helmet.

How had it happened? A million thoughts raced through his heads, a suspicion born of fact and terrible evidence. Could it be? Could he be?

The pyromaniac lay slumped before him, at the epicentre of the event. The event was warpbound and sorcerous by nature. There could be no doubt of that but the myriad of possibilities were forced aside by Abdiel now. He had more immediate concerns. If he was slow now, one of the scum might take the chance to put a bullet in the unconscious Waldo, to put an end to Abdiel's curiosity and send the suspect into the clutches of hated death. The marine could not allow that to happen. He would have to cut their strings instead.

Storming the extravagant room through the chaos of gunfire and pyschic aftershocks, Abdiel headed straight towards the most impressive warrior he could find. Slay the warlord and scatter the horde. Lessons learned against the marauding bands of heretics, orks and the slave armies of the Anathema. This one would be made an example of. Dull bursts of gunfire hailed over the marine's ceramite skin, barely provoking even a hint of worry in the killer's mind. Instead he smiled and spoke through his vox grill, in the rumbling tone of a nightmare.

"Surprise."

Pivoting on his talons, the Executioner charged into his mark with relentless malice. With a flourish, Abdiel drew his sword in a wicked curve that would see the man dismembered if he did not move. The blade bled through reality itself, it's crimson taint distorting the very air it carved through.

[thebothan]

Inside the room, a heavy darkwood drink cabinet has been overturned to provide a makeshift barricade for the huddling crew-members.

As 'Waldo' steps to unleash the warp energy from his hand, the solider pumps the trigger on his autogun. Luckily for Waldo however, he did not anticipate his target falling over as if dead before the bullets even connected. The bolt finds purchase in the left leg of the carefully positioned figure even as he looks in confusion at the felled man. The blackened scar across his leg seems painful, but not lethal. With a grin, the figure prepares to finish the fallen human, however, before he can pull the trigger, the blur of blue armor enters his vision. Firing in panic the man finds lucky purchase in the Veteran's armor, though the accursed plate easily prevents them from causing any real damage.

Abdiel's quarry lurks behind the cabinet, and as the marine drives his sword towards the man he cowers behind the cabinet. The blade passes through the cabinet and the crew member with the same effort. Blood bathes the cabinet, the marine and the crew-members cowering behind it as the helmed figure pours his lifeblood in a few seconds.

As the survivors stare in delectable horror at their dead ally, they seem completely unsure of what to do.. wavering on the line between absolute terror and blistering anger. Breaking the silence, one of the autogunners yells Surprise THIS! prompting the room to erupt in panicked gunfire. Some bullets find purchase in the cabinet, soundly finishing its destruction, and a few bullets further pass into the other crew members. One more falls to the floor.

So, one two dead... The survivors decide that quantity is better than quality.. I hope that I don't fail by +3 degrees, or else this gets really sad..
Three autoguns firing full auto: [roll0], [roll1] and [roll2] each sitting at total 45.
One hand cannon, single shot (the helmed man had the other one.. and his name was Jerry.. not that you monsters care:smallbiggrin:) [roll3] vs 55
One revolver... who really should just run for his life... but he has big dreams..
[roll4] vs 55

:smalleek::smallconfused:Remember that thing I said about this being really sad???


Que: You time getting closer to your god is cut short by a crackling vox, Madame? Your presence has been requested in the medical bay..

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' slid down the wall as his muscles relaxed more, his unconscious body no longer pumping the adrenaline of combat into him, more or less blissfully unaware of Autoguns rattling and slugs going "TING!" off powered armor. He probably would have berated them for their incompetence and complete and utter lack of knowledge on how to handle things like that.

If he knew.

Which he didn't.

Too bad for them Que didn't name him to a position to train these whelps. They might have survived that way.

[Malthan]

It was good to be a god. Cleaving through the makeshift cover and armour of its victim, Abdiel's sword left only ruin in its wake. The dismembered scum slobbered and screamed away his final breaths, a loud but empty symphony that was audible even over the pounding beat of gunfire. It was mindless savagery to the man that found himself so brutally dismembered but to those present it was beautiful in its depth. To his allies it was a warning, a high pitched alarm disguised in a coward's requiem. To his killer it was harmony. A miracle. A glorious testament to the hybrid abominations of hell and reality. A maddening love letter written in red across the wooden cabinet and cast iron floor.

One moment Jerry was a living, breathing being with thought and function. And the next he was a corpse. A brutal transformation that left his killer forever stained warm blood and even warmer joy. His whole life he sought perfection. Could he have found it any other way? Abdiel's mind flickered with morbid delight as the whole room slowed and deafened in a panic. With his preysense tinged with the splattered crimson, Abdiel whirled around to face the survivors.

Then corpse left in tatters, the Night Lord felt the collective gasps of the dead man's companions wash over him. Some still raged with their guns but he felt their will wane as surely as the setting of the billions suns across the cosmos. They seemed on the verge of giving up, of fleeing into the ship like the scum they were...

"Surprise THIS!"

Then one of the brave bastards ordered a full scale machine gun frenzy. And a one-liner as well. How very droll. Cute, really. Too consumed by the urge to feast on their fear, the Night Lord seemed to lack the capacity or even interest to try and dodge their panicked spraying. Yet still, their bullets fell around his shadowy silhouette rather than even scratch his carapace. Lazily gliding through the crossfire in a horrifically placid calm, Abdiel smiled as he heard the telltale sound of friendly fire. A muted thump and a few shouts of anger, before they too were silenced by another crack.

Many of his cynical brothers disdained the faithful. In truth, the Night Lord loved fanatics. So easy to manipulate. All that righteous fervour and none of the cunning to go with it. In times like these, you don't even need to kill them. They'll murder each other with their ignorance. Or their poor aim, in this particular instance.

"Yes. Very surprising."

The Sorcerer said, his icy tone full of repressed sadistic glee. His voice lingered in the air as he stalked his next prey, darting through the room at a predator's pace. Identifying both the potentially most dangerous gunman, armed with an impressive high-bore sidearm and the more obnoxious autogunning idiot, the marine decided to put tactics above petty vengeance. Priorities which he often felt his legion had disagreed with in the past. Advancing into the hand cannon wielding cultist, the Night Lord bared a final insult.

"An excellent strategy. Inspired, really. If you turn those guns on yourselves, you might actually have a hope of killing something."

If he could not kill the talkative wretch, he'd make him suffer. Make him watch as he killed the others around him. Abdiel had already presumed victory and was thus now calculating his ability to subdue or capture a survivor. Possible but currently not a priority. The target had already been decided.

Towering over the magnum equipped soldier, Abdiel went for a more restrained lunge pointed at the heretic's chest. As the blade descended, the sorcerer felt the warp surge with this blow. This day was full of miracles it seemed. Not a scratch on him and now the arced lighting of his master's elements danced along his sword, the dark edge plunging straight towards his next victim's black, beating heart.

[scottsman1]

"On my way" Que replies in the slightly less than hash tone. She looks sadly at the place her master had been sitting earlier her those of a woman watching her love leave. She then makes for the medical bay after re equipping her weapons.

[thebothan]

Que: stepping out of the controlled environment of the Dark Shrine, you are mildly annoyed at the sound of a fire warning blaring down the corridor. The Comm system seems to be announcing a class 0 fire in the barracks. And calling nearby soldiers to verify once it has been quenched, no one seems to have answered the call yet. By the time you reach the medical bay, the alarm has ceased. Inside the sterilized halls of the medical bay, you find the entire brotherhood of library curators standing around one of the beds. At your approach, they fall silent and step aside to allow you access to the patient. Granter certainly has seen better days, strapped to the bed, his chest has been opened by the flesh-healers of the ship, revealing deep wounds into alien tissues and organs that had once been human, the body cavity is filled with leaked fluid, surgical tools and drips and transfusions. Granter, under the tradition of the flesh-healers art, is still awake... though the pain medications have certainly kicked in. The rest of his body is blackened and soot covered, with a large majority of his ribs cracked or broken in the process of removing what look to be glass shards from his chest. He nods in greeting Hello Captain, my apologies on the nature of this meeting, but what I have to say cannot wait.

Abdiel: The crewmember is quick to duck your attack, rolling a short distance before turning his weapon again upon you.

After the dodge, handcannoner disengages. Everyone else is just going to keep the fingers on their triggers.
3 Autoguns: firing full auto, [roll0], [roll1], [roll2]

[Malthan]

Feeling the familiar prick of pain searing through his body, Abdiel cursed in Nostraman. Somehow a stray pellet had pierced his hide and slipped into his skin, the force of the shot causing him to lose focus on his prize. The magnum gunner was fast, slipping away in a hurried burst of energy.

Run far, little one.

Thundering after him, Abdiel swung his sword again in a wild downwards stroke that threatened only air. It landed to the side of the hostile, sparking with the iron cast floor and failing to harm his mark.

Frustration and anxiety beset the marine, making him unbalanced and imprecise with his movements. To be hurt by a mortal, to be insulted by such a lowly gnat corroded his confidence and made him uneven with his sword. He was going to make them suffer for this.

[scottsman1]

"Speak." Que's face one of calm but with a hint of anger beneath her cheeks, she wanted to ask who had done this, but experience as a ruler of people who's since of pain had been lost had taught her to hear the works a person in the med bay had to say before asking questions.

[thebothan]

Que: With a shooing motion, Granter sends a select part of the library staff out from his bed, to the other members of the crew that are milling about. Questions are raised, people led away and still others who cannot leave their beds are simply curtained off. Granter looks at you with a remorseful expression. After seeing the effect that the death of Davis had on you, and on those new comers who you brought aboard.. I must admit an act I now thoroughly regret Madam. As you may recall, Sergeant Davis spent time alone with the armored Sorcerer. During that time, we perceived the passage of warp energy into the man. Afterwords, the giant creature decided to carve a riddle into the walls outside the library. It engaged the staff and myself for twenty minutes, it was quite a good riddle. However, after checking the libraries contents, we determined the answer to the riddle was a daemon.. given that the Sergeant now possessed a piece of warp energy he seemed the best candidate for the riddles answer. For fear that the daemon posed a threat to you, as the sergeant was given explicit instructions by the sorcerer after the passage of energy. We therefore set out to remove the threat from the ship. Granter averts his eyes from your face, Regrettably, when we extracted the daemon from his body we realized the folly of our act. However, we decided to answer the riddle in the blood of the sergeant... I truly am sorry that it came to this, but other circumstances have altered the skein of fate, the strands have rearranged and we cannot hide the act and continue to serve you... With a deep breath, he turns to face you again. You may also be interested to know that there are two sorcerers who currently are engaging in some kind of battle in the rooms of the deceased.

[Malthan]

“Get back here.”

Abdiel growled as he pursued his victim. Maintaining his course, he glared through his gargoyle helmet into the handgunner's soul. He barely even flinched as the man stumbled and fired off a wild shot that careened away from the hunched, monstrous shadow. Descending with all of his malice, the sorcerer sliced at a wicked angle that left little room for for escape. As infuriated as he was, the marine defined himself by his ability to learn and evolve as much as his ability to carry out murder. Luckily, this was his opportunity to indulge in both.

The blow slid through the air with calculated precision, so that even as the man attempted to elude the blade he instead maneuvered into his own demise.
"So predictable."

Hamstringing the crewmember, Abdiel poured his loathing into the sword so that mutable static crawled into its victim. Overflowing with warp energy, the man cries were instead translated into gibberish ramblings as the immaterium itself flowed through his veins and overloaded his mind. Their would be no escape this time.

Wrenching his sword free, the Night Lord felt his armour's machine spirit, a hateful and spiteful thing, moan appreciatively for the crimson taint that lay splattered over its midnight sheen. It then quite suddenly displayed a series of flashing threat runes, followed immediately by the irritating thud of autoguns slapping into his armour. Turning his attention to the remaining crewmembers, Abdiel moved towards them with his talons and blade outstretched.

Okay, so I suppose I 1/2 move into melee range of the nearest autogunner, preferably not the one who gave the one-liner since Abdiel wants to take him alive.

[Malthan]

Another volley of fire greeted the Night Lord, some glancing off his abyssal plate and some being hungrily consumed by the shimmering skins which crawled along his form. Yet one offensive bullet found a weak spot in his protective machine spirit, slamming into a poorly protected joint. Wincing at the shot that noticeably upset his balance, the sorcerer engaged the attackers with a mind for retribution.

Enough of this, Abdiel thought with a tinge of venom. Letting out a high-pitched avian shriek, he slammed forwards with his force sword, hoping that the feral action would catch his opponent unprepared.

[thebothan]

Striking with the fury of his inner rage the Night Lord delivered another lethal blow to those fools who dared to stand in his way. As another spray of blood hit the armored figure, the vital signs of the remaining two figures began to show. With a desperate movement, the crew-members break away and make a run for the doorway.

[Malthan]

“Leaving so soon?”

The Night cooed at the pair of fleeing mortals. He mocked their cowardice with dark enthusiasm, although in truth he was glad that the short bout of combat was over; for now his hunt could begin. Starting after them, he glanced over their identity runes with detached interest. For a while there he had contemplated keeping the brave one alive, to crucify him as was traditional. But perhaps he could simply finish him now, by carving away an eye, a leg, a hand or two or however many bones he could…

No. That one has earned a special spot above simply bloodlust. The Night Lords had always had a mixed relationship with fury and wrath. Anger was not Abdiel’s way by discipline, not demeanour. Had he not seen better reward and purpose with the Lord of Change, another god might have very well claimed him as his own. But that would have been such a waste of the marine’s chilling talents for terror.

It was better to allow that one to escape than spoil his vision. Everything had to be right. That one had earned so much more than a quick death. The other must die first, the sorcerer though with a serial killer’s eccentricity.

Talons pounding on the iron grates in a loping, horrifically humorous run, the back jointed marine ran until he felt his back boosters burst in action, incendinary jets lighting up the room in a promethium shade of brightness. With a hawkish take-off, the raptor rushed into the fleeing autogunner, diving his blade along with the rest of his ceramite bulk into the coward that would see the man dead if he could not evade his pursuer.

[thebothan]

Hearing the roar of engines behind him the solider stabs backwards with his rifle, seemingly in the hopes that the frantic actions might prevent the creature from reaching him. The blade pierced his legs and caused his form to buckle and fall in another arc of vaporized flesh and viscera. With no regard for his companion, the other crewmember kept running.

[ArcturusV]

His eyes opened. He was slumped against the wall he had taken cover against. He heard the whine of engines, the mocking words of a Space Marine, and the gurgles of lung stabbing. War, in the smallest of scales, but still war nonetheless, more blood for the blood god, more twisted fates, more sweet moments of experience that so few would ever figure out.

He was aware of someone running, not caught by the Night Lord, though he had no idea why. He just knew that someone was running. Raising up his pistol he aimed down the corridor towards the fleeing Rating. His eyes narrowed and he breathed in deep, drawing once more on the Warp, adding the ultimate fires of the Immaterium's hatred to the essence of promethium as he unleashed his fury at the fleeing man. Killing blow? Crippling? Just vengeful angry wrath? Hard to say even for Rasfakei in that moment.

Well, it's been more than 5 rounds now. So I'm awake, and firin' off my Fire Laser at the guy.

So lets see how terrible my Luck actually is...

Focus Power Test: [roll0] vs 48 WP, +10 Psy Focus, +20 Unfettered Psy Rating, +10 Test Difficulty Modifier for Firebolt. Final Mark of 88.
If I score 5 DoS or more, guy is Auto Set on Fire.

Damage, if needed: [roll1] +4 Psy Rating, Pen 0 Energy Damage.

[thebothan]

The Flaming bolt flew down the corridor, and struck the figure as he made his way to the corner. As the bolt struck him, flames engulfed his body, and grew as he continued to run, screaming down the corridor. The screaming persisted until the figure finally collapsed into ash.

[Malthan]

"Damn it," Abdiel cursed in his native sibilant tongue, that despite the language barrier would be impossible for Waldo to misconstrue as anything but a dark expletive. He watched the man collapse and melt away into ash.

"Still a cook at heart. We could have used him."

The sorcerer said struggling to keep the bitterness out of his mournful voice, the flat joke sighed in an airy rasp. In truth, Waldo had saved the man from a less impressive and more prolonged fate. Turning to face the man, Abdiel looked at the outstretched hand and smoking flamer. Smoke and mirrors. How could I not see this? There was much to discuss and limited time. Already, new plots were hatching in the sorcerer's mind. It began with a statement.

"You have the gift."

His tone was calm and curious, not harsh or interrogative. Gone was the clinching, unremitting voice of an arrogant entity. Perhaps slaughtering those men had dulled Abdiel's edge. It was more likely that he was simply cautious.

"I know the perils when I see it. They can be ... traumatic. Are you injured? Possessed? Broken?"

Quickfiring a short list of symptoms, the marine inspected the slumped figure until he was content that it was indeed Rasfakei that he was talking to.

"Would you care to explain yourself? Who are you really and why have you come aboard this ship?"

He asked at last. As Waldo resonded and the two conversed, Abdiel surveyed the carnage that he had wrought. Fire and blood and bone. But the Night Lord's memory maintained an image of a wounded follower of Waldo who had been shot in the heated exchange. Checking over the various hunched bodies for such a man, the Night Lord also went about looking for valuables or anything of worth. Like a hideously overgrown carrion bird, Abdiel plucked through pockets and bits of equipment in his search.

To find rags and look for loot. [roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' stood back up slowly, and holstered Dying Light on his hip. He looked none the worse for wear despite his little trip into Warptime, still the propaganda poster image of one of the Dark Prince's Pirate Plunderers, in his defaced Flak Armor, technicolor brightness, and ramshackle gathering of equipment, between the simplistic looking Revolver, the brutality of the hand flamer, and the narrow, elegant blade in his hand.

"Secrecy is it own reward," he commented on the burning of the last crewman. No one would know what really happened here. Sure they could guess, what with all the stubber rounds in the walls, sword wounds, and fire damage... but no one could say that Abdiel and Rasfakei actually did it. No one could say that Rasfakei was a Witch, no one except them that is.

He put the tip of his blade into 'Rags', the man was useless, and not worth bringing back around as he saw it. The delight of seeing the death sealed, the stuttering breath of a would be asset finally passing from this world into the next... there was always a warmth with such things. He was done with his toy, he broke it, and no one else would ever have it.

He flicked the blood off his blade, watching it snap off and spray across the decking with its scattered droplets.

"I needed a ride," he explained with a shrug as he sheathed his blade. He entered the room, stepping over some of the carnage, picking his way through. He wasn't looking at the corpses or the obvious trophies in the room. Instead he was tossing places where paperwork might be. Where a cocky Slaaneshi Sergeant might keep records of anything from his day to day life, to the sexual conquests and experiences of pleasure he had obtained in this chamber. Data-slates with recordings, paper tomes, etc.

"And she had a ship," easy enough explanation of why he was here. Presumably the same reason that Abdiel was, though Rasfakei didn't ask. It was blatantly obvious that he wasn't here as a 'True Believer" and trying to cozy up to her pirate crew after all.

"That... apostle... did give me a simple, straight forward mission. For the time being his will and that of the Dark Gods seems aligned. The pathways are tumultuous, but the final destination lies that way. I can see the path. I will accomplish my goal, though not for the Apostle."

Once he finished looking, he went to the Hand Cannon user, frisking his body for some spare rounds, stowing them on his gunbelt with the rest of his reloads for the Stub Revolver.

"Must be confusing for you. To realize that your eyes had been closed. Rest assured, everyone else is just as blind," Rasfakei smiled up at Abdiel, his Bright Eyes seeming to shine as they caught the light off the scattered flames from the initial flamer shot. "And foolish as well, all things considered..." Rasfakei shook his head. Really, binding daemons to the very decking. He was sure the corpses would be devoured soon enough by the hungry daemons, seeking out blood. "You feel it too, right?"

Welp, Tossin' the room for my chosen loot.

Perception: [roll0] vs 45 Perception, +0 Trained in Awareness, Baseline Mark of 45.

The Daemon thing, well, since it's been revealed... I have Warp Sense. This means every 5 seconds whether I want to or not I'm detecting things like Daemons and Psychic Powers being used. And Daemons are detected at a conditional bonus to Psyniscience. It's statistically guaranteed after about 4 hours on the ship I'd have detected the Daemon binding being used as a "Security" system. I mean it's quite literally something like 1 in a Googleplex odds I haven't detected them by now.

[Malthan]

Seeing Waldo finish off the remaining witnesses, Abdiel puffed out his shadowy form and made sure to keep his eye on him in case of any mad desire to see him dead. After this display of his powers, the sorcerer was certain that only a truly insane being would try such an act, although Waldo had already shown himself both to be manically brave and capable of being a threat. To cleanse himself of evidence and as a general warning, his arc-generators burst into action, lightning searing off the blood and viscera that coated his midnight armour.

"Ah, so you are a seer? I have felt something in this ship ... allow me to tell you my encounter and then you may tell me what you sense, dear prophet." The Nostraman was envious and it was hard to keep it out of his vox. The lineage of the Night Haunter had often included future sight, prophecy and doom being the twin pillars of the primarch's descent into death and discord. Such a gift had skipped Abdiel by, his powers more brutish and visceral in nature. It was in part why he had aligned himself with the Changer, for the hope of gaining similar insight into his own future. Yet those days were gone and things had changed. Along with Krieg Acerbus and the rest of his warband, Abdiel had turned his back on his primarch's example. Still, it stung that this one had a power that he did not. Still, it was more useful to make an alliance with one than simply grow jealous of their potential.

"And I assume you want your nature to remain a secret?" He paused as if he was considering the benefits. In truth it was nothing but drama, since he had already considered this eventuality. "Very well. I might be able to aid you in that regard. Framing someone or something else for this mess might be our best bet." Discord, falsehood, insanity. All symptoms of fear and the Night Lord longed to spread them for his gene-sire and for his god. Walking into the room alongside Waldo, Abdiel began to search the sergeant's room as well, although he was more interested in telling his story than finding clues.

"I felt something earlier. In this ship's library I found a mutant mutt of my own god, a creature named Granter. He was slaving over some kind of warp entity, a wisp or phantom of some kind. Normally such things are of little concern but this being was unusual. It had either possessed or inhabited the sergeant at some stage. I suspect that this Granter man had something to do with the sergeant's death although he gave up no information to me. He suffered for that and during our interrogation the creature broke free. I felt it's presence wash over me - an attempt at possession I presume. Naturally I proved too powerful for such sorcerery. As for where it is now... I cannot say."

There was a fear that it still inhabited his armour now, although he was too proud to ask for the other psyker to scan his warp signature.

"Perhaps it went on a killing spree in these decks, hunting down say six...seven crew-members in revenge for the death of its host? Perhaps it inhabits the body of one of the crew even now, stalking the halls with the gift of sorcery and a fel taste for death and horror?"

Abdiel asked, a hint of malignant pride in his lie. Such a tale would surely earn the respect of both his god and cover this other psyker's secret.

[ArcturusV]

"There were Daemons here, earlier, when the battle first started. Their presence has drifted away now. If her crew does have any seers of their own, they would have detected the presence of the Daemon in this area as is, and several of them at that," Rasfakei confirmed, drawing on his memory of the surroundings not just in realspace but also in the mystical from the battle. "I have little doubt that someone detected everything going on here, as many seem to be on board this vessel someone is bound to have the Gift, perhaps even that whelp of the Fateweaver."

He moved around the room, and concentrating for a moment summoned up a fettered ball of fire in his hand. A blue flame, it didn't seem to burn him, but it did shed additional light in the room, and judging from how it interacted with its surroundings it would burn anything that was not the seer Rasfakei himself.

"We find ourselves in a situation that the foolish think puts us at a disadvantage. We are surrounded by enemies, and make no mistake, they are enemies. If not out of malice, then out of incompetence for allowing the Daemon to run rampant through this ship. Daemons have their place, in chains, serving at the whims of the Gods and the servants who call them forth. But a Daemon is a rabid beast. It will destroy everything, it is its nature. It will turn on those who call them forth, plot against their Gods and their Summoners."

He took the manifested flame, and touched it to the Sergeant's desk, starting a small fire until it seemed to catch. He moved through the room, taking the flame to the bodies, to some of the possessions of the Sergeant. Fire would cover a lot of tracks, and the mass destruction was very indicative of the excesses of the Daemon, unable to resist the total annihilation of everything around them.

"Foolish, blind people ignore this obvious danger. They think they can control it, appease the daemon, and bind it. Many are the tales of those who have been proven wrong. None are the tales of those who have been proven correct," he said as he worked.

"The Mistress of this vessel will have to be dealt with. The influence of the Red Marine is strong on her. She is closer to the Blood God than she imagines, and it makes her unstable. Her judgment may be flawed, or she may be ignorant of the actions of her underlings. In either case, she is unfit to command the armies of the dark gods. We may yet need her for her expertise with the vessel... but we cannot follow her lead, or trust her to control this rabble."

He extinguished the flame, now that several blazes were added to the original flamer mark, moving out of the room. Going to the body of "Rags" he picked up and chucked the corpse into the flames. Everything clean. Rasfakei was never really close to the bloodshed to be covered in the gore of battle, nor did anyone shoot or stab him to show obvious wounds from the scuffle.

"Blind, foolish, incompetent, cowardly," Rasfakei spat out the words as if they were the most vile of hexes that could be called forth, "No wonder this Apostle is going to lose his Crusade. They are ill suited to the realities of war. Six men, armed as they were, should have easily evaded you, killed me, and been away. The level of incompetence required to fail as massively as they have, when even the warp favored them with its fickle fate is astounding..."

He shook his head, "Secrecy is our ally. You played your hand too early. Surrounded by enemies, the less they know of your capabilities the better. If they know of my talents they can bring forth counters to those talents. I lack the raw power at this moment to merely enforce my will through brute strength, we must be cunning."

He sighed a bit, and started down the hallway, eager to be away from the Flaming Sergeant's Quarters, "If you wish to spread a tale like that... the secret is not to tell the Commander... but to find the lowest dreg you can, the whelp that no one even seems to notice. Let him know. Use your mental powers to make him believe what you will... a low dreg like that cannot resist the attention and importance of knowing something so monumental. He will tell anyone and everyone who he can. Rumors spread like wildfire. The fear and paranoia of the Warp that surrounds us will feed the rumor, and within a few hours, it will be all that anyone on this vessel discusses. Is this within your capabilities to accomplish?"

[Malthan]

Nodding in sly agreement, Abdiel watched as Waldo started the blaze and listened to his account. He was right, the fire would cover their tracks. But the sorcerer hoped for something slightly more provocative. It was not enough to merely get away with murder. The gods wished for more monstrous sights.

Reaching into the pyre of burning corpses, Abdiel set about creating an effigy of the damned outside of the blazing room, right where Waldo had fallen prey to the warp. Blackened legs and charred hips provided a solid foundation, while the distorted torsos and rib cages became the core of his new abomination. The broken, shoddy firearms that had so offended the marine were also used to build up his new piece of crude demonic art. They were the arms that stood out from his putrid flesh golem, an obvious attempt to invoke an image of the morbid Allfather.

Finally the sorcerer stacked the seven heads atop the dark mess, some little more than obsidian skulls and others disturbingly lifelike. Rags for instance for the most part wore the same confident little cockney smile and reassuring warmth, only he now had no eyes to accompany his eternal grin. Into each skull, Abdiel used his warp staff to carve a single word that formed a message.

"We. Are. Many. We. Are. Free. Beware."

Stepping back from his grim totem, Abdiel considered how effective a message it would send to the ship. It was absurdly grotesque, lacking the grim reality of a cruxifed flayed man. On Nostramo it might have compared to a festive figure made of snow. There was little chance that one would be truly horrified by this oddly lumpy corpse creation.

Still, the sorcerer had covered his tracks. There was a warp presence thanks to the use of his staff, and the pyschic feedback from the perils still stained this wretched place. It certainly resembled the esoteric work of a jolly death demon. Besides, from what Waldo had said this was not so much a lie as a dark hybrid spawn of deceit and honesty. Being that they were in the warp as well... why would any not believe the hand of a dark warp entity in all this? Additionally there was no evidence of Abdiel's own hand in all this.

"I have no love for the demonic."

He mused in ironic agreement with Waldo. It was true, most of his legion did indeed despise the creatures even if the largest warband, his own in fact, was under the thrall of a devil lord. Their hatred did not extend to those they feared as much as Lord Acerbus. His iron will and shadow claws were what had inspired much of the sorcerer's own corruption

"And I agree, the princess and her crew are an obvious risk to both our lives. If they are consorting with demons, presumably not under her control or orders, then that risk is magnified. Using your skills are you able to find any hives of such a taint? Perhaps we could visit Granter's library, where I first encountered a warp entity on board?"

He thought back to his time with the wisp, shuddering at how close it had come to influencing his mind, how human and small he felt under its strangely familiar touch.

"Perhaps we can spread this deceit along the way, from two different sources. I am perhaps too obvious and suspicious to redirect others to this spot without attracting attention but you..."

He looked the prophet pirate up and down, admiring the artistry of his disguise and cunningly exquisite yet quite excessive decorations that marked his flak armour out as a supposed slave to the Dark Prince.

"You have an impressive skill and stature for subterfuge and treachery. The connections as well, I believe. Where was it that you found work again?"

Smiling under his helmet, the Night Lord felt a grudging kinship to this strange man. Perhaps it was the way that he had been duped or the bond of sorcerery. The marine even considered if this one had enchanted him. Impossible, he reassured himself.

"But bear in mind - I gave you a chance Waldo. I saw you collapse, pinned down by enemy fire and hell itself. I had no real reason to kill all those men other than kinship and fellowhood."

And selfish benefit of course.

"Given the temperament of some of my kind, one could imagine that a lesser marine might have taken the opportunity to stab you as you slept."

His voice was hard, insistent but not an attempt at fearmongering. Not any more.

"But I did not. I took lives so that you might live. I do not ask for debt or oaths or even trust. I only ask for an accord. That we work together for our own best interests."

He paused and considered

"I know the persecutions our kind face. Do not doubt that I faced oppression and ignorance before I became the thing you see before you. And do not doubt that we are indeed in danger. A pact is our best hope. Do not make me regret choosing your life over theirs."

Gesturing at the shambolic monument, Abdiel turned and his voice lost its edge.

"Now lead on. Tell me where and what you think we should do next to best deal with our shared problems."

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' spared one last glance to the site. The deception was well done, the destruction was infernal in scope. The fear wasn't there... but the natural eddies of the warp leaking through the Gellar Fields should take care of that. He knew what horrors lurked in the immaterium, and what might have gotten through. Others? Not so much, but even the greenest void rat knew the dangers of Warp Travel and would connect the dots, playing on their own known fears to make them see what they don't want to see.

"This vessel operates far too much like the 'imperials'," Waldo said suddenly as they walked along. It had been a good minute since the conversation died down, letting the man mull as he walks, "Oh, there is a different cult here, but you see it don't you? Like an Imperial Officer the Mistress fears a lack of control, is blood hungry, full of herself, and quick to martial punishments to maintain a tenuous hold on order. The dregs are just that, dregs. Not fit to hold a blade, never called to stand on their own before the Dark Gods and answer. Their armaments, their organization, their equipment. It's all as I would expect, fighting the Imperial Enemy."

"There is the veneer of the true faith of course. The Daemon, the presence of the warp thick on this ship. If this were a true warband following the Dark Prince however, it would be far easier to deal with. Such things are very straight forward."

"We cannot challenge the Mistress yet, not directly. While you have the power to do so, the Red Marine seems loyal to her, and can keep you in check. Que retains control via faith and fear over the crew, and they can keep me in check. The war would not go well."

You could see the analytical gears turning. The man wasn't a genius, he wasn't schooled in all of Warfare ever as an art and Codex to thump on, but there was definitely the inkling of strategic thought and reasoning that suggested he was as he claimed before, a warlord in his own right.

"Your 'Granter' may be an asset, but I would suggest instead interrogation followed by execution. Clearly he is in position to know things we need, and someone who cannot be trusted. Keep him under lock and key until his secrets are all spilled and nothing remains... then send him off to the Dark Gods."

"We need to find one of the metal men. I doubt this ship lacks them, the Imperial Style so loves their half metal men, inserting them into every level where a machine exists. The metal men would likely know where the secret nests would be, so they can be purged. They would know the secret paths and accesses that would allow us to move unseen. We must have one. We must break one."

He smiled, "Have you ever broken one? Amazing process. So many things you can do with them that a man would never be susceptible too..." it was not a pleasant smile. "Sight, Lore, Tenacity." The words were spoken with a reverence that sounded like a holy mantra. "See the Path, Know the Path, Walk the Path," he clarified for the Marine. "It is how victory is stolen."

[Malthan]

"Very well. If a metal man is what we require, then let the hunt begin."

Abdiel continued the conversation as they searched. He had laughed at the comparison of the ship's captain and crew to their Imperial counterparts, perhaps interpreting the analogy as a mocking insult. The Long War had made sure that he had only disdain for the Empire he had helped create, laying the foundations with brick, blood and bone. If there was ever something that could unite the forces of Chaos, it was the stagnant corpse of the False Emperor. Yet there were no such enemies here, no greater threat to contend with than rival warlords and monstrous brothers. And so he plotted and schemed, as was his nature.

"This ship indeed lacks focus and discipline. I have seen this before. Freedom for its own sake can corrupt beyond chaos. Lethargy and excess can be a cancer to the weak of will. No offence to your Dark Prince... if he is indeed your patron?"

Abdiel waited for a response before continuing his musings.

"Perhaps it is because we are aimless, drifting through the warp in the Apostle's headless crusade."

The sorcerer, unlike many of his fellow-scroll bearers, had no true venom towards the Apostle. He hated him, of course, as was natural for all ambitious creatures who covet power. But it was not in his plan to destroy him or depose him. The Night Lords would use him, as they used Huron and Abaddon, and move on. Of course, if there was opportunity for such a betrayal and sufficient means, then Abdiel might be tempted to aid those who wished harm upon his masters.

"Judging by how long and insignificantly dangerous our last board meeting was, I cannot help but feel like this ship is truly lost as well as damned."

He had taken a more hunched posture, prowling like a flightless bird with his raking claws moving with lurid menace.

"You are right to advise caution here. Manipulation and deception will do for us what cults and cabals do on Imperial worlds. Granter is a risk, a wildcard that I cannot mull from my deck. However there is a solution to such a problem."

His voice was more hushed as he paused their advance, kept hidden away in the private tunnels away from prying eyes and ears. In a few more steps they would reach the populated masses of the captain's crew, where their work would begin.

"We frame him. Twist the truth of the situation, lay the blame for the demonic presence, the murders and more at the hands of him and his library cult. I have seen his books, and there are many which might aid him in summoning demons of rival gods, not aligned to these fanatics. Others will have seen him consorting with whatever entity I have. There is evidence if they look it. Dark messages, an obvious call to arms for his own patron god, rests outside his library. He cannot be much beloved by this Slaanesh fanatics, for he is not only a deviant in their eyes but one with more favor than them. Even the bosun, disciplined as he is, must be zealous enough resent that one so obviously not of his faith has the ear of his princess."

The hushed croak was not full of mirth or cunning wickedness. It was a thoughtful strategy, designed to deflect blame and bring him advantage and reward. After all, if Granter were to be overthrown the Library might be the Legionnaire's for the taking.

"If we rile up the mob, they might do our work for us. Lay siege to his hospital bed, lynch him upon release... who knows. But he is not simply some weak old man. If he reacts to our plotting as I suspect he might, turning the captain against me once again... he might by accident divert attention from his own defenses. Setting him up and setting them against one another will allow for a revolution that might see us rewarded. It will also provide us cover to work from the shadows to fix this ship, cure it of its demonic threat and mortal weakness."

The details of the plan laid out, Abdiel then went to assert their respective roles.

"So we agree then? Fool the crew into believing that Granter and his acolytes have called into being rival beasts from the warp that stalk and terrorize the halls as we speak, demons that doomed the sergeant and others to monstrous deaths. I believe your voice might be well suited to twisting this message amongst the mortals as rumour, while I will do so in a more indirect manner. But first as you say, we will try and find us this metal man."

The Night Lord then returned to prowling, his preysense scanning the area for the metal men that the prophet requested.

[thebothan]

Abdiel and Waldo: Wandering the ship, the few crew members you pass all seem interested in the various stories you feed them. However, you walk a long distance seeing not a single robed member of the Mechanicus. Finally however, you do spot someone who seems to at least understand technology, squatting in front of a grate, a pile of wires and cables in her lap, muttering to herself. She wears a simple set of coveralls, and a few rags roughly sewn together to form a jacket of sorts.

Agrorn: You find yourself slowly awoken, a familiar scraping sound registers almost immediately in your ears,the prostrated form of Trine works with seemingly boundless energy on the sculpted plates of your leg armor. The knife in her hand methodically cleaning and polishing the armor, occasionally cutting into her own hand while preserving the marks, scratches and bloodstains you earned in the fires of battle. The curator knows her craft, though your armor is already embossed and honored by the gods. At the slight movements of your form upon your awakening she continues to work, but speaks reverently: The Ship travels the warp with great speed, the entire crew is abuzz with the news. We will soon reach our destination... It seems even the realm of the Gods wishes you to reach your foe.

[Malthan]

Out of the corner of his eye, Abdiel noticed the stuttering heat signature of the small, filthy mechanic. He flicked his talons in a screeching noise to alert Waldo and moved towards with his usual sinister crawl. Extending his staff, the Night Lord's form turned to smoke, a smoldering darkness covering his body until only his glowing eyes could be seen.

[roll0] vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 15 Unfettered (5 times 3 Psy Rating) = 84

So far, every victim of his mind-bending sorcery had suffered significant trauma. The first fell from a bone shattering height, her screams falling impotently on the ears of apathetic warriors. The second had been murdered, his body ripped apart by callous blades. The third had been beaten, blasted and left bleeding on a pile serrated glass shards. If this one did not cooperate, her fate would be even more severe. She would be made to suffer, her shattered soul left envious of those that came before her. Abdiel reflected grimly. He took no real satisfaction in the thought, but he had his goals and he had his methods of achieving them.

"You there. Little girl. We have questions that need answering."

Looming over her, his death masked descended until they were almost eye level. His curved bird like spine contorted as he squatted, the mutated form slowly coming into focus out of the dark fog as their eyes met.

"I am the new lord investigator of this ship. This is my aide Sergeant Waldo. We are here to break the wretched usurpers who have seen fit to summon murderous demons of the Allfather and Soul Eater. The Captain has appointed me personally and she has given me full authority over every suspect and lead in the persecution of the demonic rebellion that has been instigated."

[roll1] vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive +0, (Delude +15) TN (55)

"So answer our questions quickly and to the point or you will suffer. You will suffer and scream and no one will save you. Do you understand?"

[roll2] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0, (+15 from Delude TN)= (69)

Not waiting for a reply, he went on and asked what questions he had before Waldo would presumably step in and inquire about whatever he had to ask.

"What do you know about Granter's library? Has he had any mechanics construct some kind of cage or possession chamber? Anything that might be used in a ritual to bind demons?"

[thebothan]

Abdiel and Waldo: The woman drops the wires she is working on, looking in an odd captivated fear on your helmeted form. Sorry Sir, I don't know who this Granter is.. But the library isn't used by the crew. And nobody but the Captain and those hooded rats ever walk in it. Besides, those books don't hold anything interesting unless you have a day to spend looking, not a common occurrence for us.

[Malthan]

Sniggering at her fear, Abdiel pressed on undeterred.

"Hooded rats you say. Yes, I noticed his attendants. Suspicious group aren't they?"

He implied with some cunning, his mind considering the worth of attempting to conquer that group or convict them of false crimes.

"Very well. As I said earlier, we are searching for dangerous demons that have been sighted on board. There presence may have something to do with the damaged gellar field or they might have been summoned more directly, perhaps by the cabal you mentioned. Have you seen anything that might support either of these theories, any empyreal readings or direct sightings? Any rumours concerning the hooded men, their capabilities or motives?"

[Hemnon]

Agrorn arose from his sleep and turned towards Trine, thinking for a second if He should snuff the life out of the little bug..... but no, not today. too little to gain from it.
"Uhuh. Very Well, guess it is time for me to find the little Princess and await our arrival... Aid me getting my armor back on." He told Trine with a Spiteful tone, clearly seeing Trine as a near-worthless insect... kinda like how he freely showed his hatred to just about everyone.. just a bit more intense~

[ArcturusV]

Hmm, the questioning didn't seem promising. This dreg might be too low on the ladder in order to properly know what they were looking for. Anything meant to handle the Daemon would be higher level clearance. The work of those types that the Imperials called "Magoos" or something. Or high level shamans, though he had seen no evidence so far that the "Mistress Que" had employed anyone of such a bearing. So it most likely would be a metal working man, such as this dreg's bosses. At least as near as he reasoned.

At the very least this dreg would be a vector to spread the half truth of the Daemon. Moving the question of the Sergeant's death away from murder and towards something darker.

He let out a little smile, he was after all the more "human" seeming of the two, not a powered armored behemoth but a normal looking slaaneshi cultist, with nothing more intimidating than the simple flak coat, blade, and pistols that any armsman on the crew might have.

"How would you rate your knowledge of this vessel?" 'Waldo' asked softly, and seemingly out of nowhere, "Would you claim to be expert in it? Or do you admit failure of duty and a lack of the skills necessary for your station as mechanical dreg?" That smile seemed to turn into a sneer at that point, more than a hint of disgust at the idea that Mistress Que's personnel might be so incompetent as to lack basic knowledge of their tasks, "When was the last time you were a part of a full diagnostic work up of this vessel?"

Putting pressure on her by suggesting their interest also lay in her, and possible punishments delivered from on high for failure. It also would let him know if she was capable of doing what he needed from one of these metal workers.

Puttin' some 'timidation in, flexing some authority and vague DOOM.

'timidate: [roll0] vs 48 WP, +0 Intimidate Training, +10 for Pity the Weak (Pretty much a given), baseline mark before conditional modifiers of 58.

[thebothan]

Waldo and Abdiel: With a thoughtful pause, the woman rocks back on her heels, and begins to postulate Well, the cloaks don't leave the library.. 'cept to see the captain, or I would imagine eat. She begins to frown But I never heard of anybody seeing anybody go in or out... it's out in the fringes of the ship, not a place many people go unless they are wandering. With a slight shake of her head Only thing I can think of would be the ecstasies.. they happen after every victory.. kills a bunch of the prisoners that each group collects.. I don't know what happens to them, we just parade them around the command deck, engines or barracks six times, then the officers take them somewhere. As Waldo speaks she turns her face to the speaking figure Depends on what you want to know about it.. I just repair things, keep the crazies away from the barracks, you know, stay safe. I don't go looking for trouble and it doesn't come looking for me.

Angrorn: Trine eagerly assists you in putting your armor on your form, once you are fully prepared, she again disappears into the halls of trophies and banners to maintain the other artistic works.

[Malthan]

"Times have changed. Trouble has found you. It knows your name."

He could have hissed the last part to exaggerate the terror but chose to keep his voice muted and clear of theatricality. Better that she be left suspicious than dumbstruck.

"If we are not successful in our investigation, this entire ship is in jeopardy."

Abdiel noted the relationship between the six times and the god of excess, a possible link to some kind of arcane ritual. The incestous nature of the hooded men also gave him something to chew on, making them unlikely to be willing to join him so long as Granter lived...

"Give us a basic layout of the ship. Locations of engines, life support, gellar fields, the command decks. I also need access to some kind of loud speaker, like the one our Captain was using earlier. Preferably not the same one."

He didn't want to have to step over the bodies of her elite crew after all.

"Somewhere I can broadcast a message."

[thebothan]

Waldo and Abdiel: The woman picks up the bundle of lighting cords, The captain's bridge is the only place that can transmit a message to the whole ship.. but any of the vox boxes on the ship can send a message to the bridge. I think there are something like 20 vox boxes across the ship.. scattered..

I am looking for something suitable.. consider yourselves to know how to get to the officers quarters, the bridge, the barracks and the edge of the engine space. In addition to the mess hall, and the airlock through which you entered.

[Malthan]

"Very well. We appreciate your cooperation."

The Night Lord finished, after waiting for Waldo to give any last questions or orders to the little girl. Abdiel could be polite when he had reason to. Slaves could be kept in check by fear but their loyalty might equally be purchased with a few kind words amongst the horror, the lies and the hatred. On old Terra they had first given a name to such a syndrome, and on Nostramo a love for one's captors was simply part of the black bedrock of a wretched gang culture. Abdiel's entire legion was built on it. Their love and their hate for their primarch was built on the blood stained grip that Konrad that had established at the start of his dark reign.

"Scurry along and warn those you meet of possible threat from the hooded cloaks and their leader Granter. Demons prowl this ship because of them."

With that, Abdiel left the girl, hoping that she would be the gossipy Slaaneshi stereotype that he had pictured. As they travelled to Engineering, Abdiel felt a strange pang of maudlin empathy for the downtrodden scum he encountered. Their battered and beaten appearance, the look of futility and senseless addiction, it was all something he had seen more times than he cared to admit.

Which is why it was so easy to manipulate them. With skill, finesse and admittedly some aide from Waldo, the sorcerer spun his web of lies across the hallways. Stopping periodically to engage a pack of guards, a throng of bustling crew slaves and some more esoteric individuals, the Night Lord and Rasfakei made a show of their deception.

A tapestry of paranoia, of confused and misdirected excess, was crafted under the pretense of investigation. They were believed to be true agents of the Captain and their suggestive lines carried a terrible weight that stirred the hearts and minds of the halls from the living quarters to Engineering. Spinning established facts and cunning lies, they danced around their own guilt and redirected the fanatical whims of their audience against Granter's library cult.

"I have been appointed lord investigator. This man is the new Sergeant, Waldo. Yes, by the captain herself."

"Butchered to a man. Their tainted corpses litter the living quarters even now."

"Definitely not Agrorn. Too horrific even for him. Their injuries carry the taint of demons."

"I fear that those like yourself are most vulnerable here."

"We suspect the involvement of possessed killers. Demons wearing human skin."

"Some sort of hooded cult. Rumours abound of their involvement in such witchraft."

"I encountered one of their summoned creatures myself."

"Granter. A hooded mutant, a twisted and ungainly creature."

"Ugly old thing. He is one of her top advisers you know?"

"Yes, despite being an infidel, denying any devotion to the Dark Prince."

"Indeed, perhaps I should have just finished him off then and there."

"He looks half-possessed himself..."

And so the lies were spread, the hollow truth filled with dire venom from the sorcerer's own black heart. Abdiel wanted that man dead. He wanted that library for himself. He wanted to rule as Tzeentch's representative here in hell. Because Granter had been right.

The sorcerer was not one to openly defy his new allies. Not one to burn books by their score for simple vengeance. Not one who gave his enemies the satisfaction of an honourable death. He was the kind of killer who worked from the shadows. Who schemed and sliced his way into power, who valued a backstab of both the literal and political variety. And he would see that bastard broken, his reputation in tatters and all his greatest works inherited by the last enemy he ever made.

Eventually arriving at engineering, Abdiel remained content to aid Waldo in carrying out his own part of the investigation, searching for what answers they could find in the gears and grit of the ship.


Copied roll from OOC.

This roll counts for any crewmembers we encounter along the way. Basic gist is that Granter is a suspect for the murders so far committed, that he summoned demons and is plotting an insurrection and that we're investigating him. An implication that he should be executed.

(1d100)[4]vs 40 Deceive, + 20 Partial Truth, + 10 Assist TN=70

Potentially up to 6 DoS

[thebothan]

Abdiel and Waldo: As you walk the hallways, crew members seem non surplussed by you statements. Most simply nodding, then moving about their business, saying they know nothing.. As you reach the edges of the Engine housing, the crew become sparser and sparser, and the hallways more and more cluttered with scars, bullet holes, and dead corpses. Eventually you no longer see any crew members, instead they are totally replaced with tattered and almost non-functioning servitors, who simply stare at you with dead eyes. You eventually come to a sealed bulkhead, scrawled with the words Warnink, Halls of Exaltation, Radiation Zone

Everyone: The ship begins to shudder and quake, as the energies of the warp are forcibly expelled from the ship. All Hands, the ship is now entering real-space, time to arrival 3 hours. All hands man your stations. All Boarders, arm up. All officers meet for indulgences on the bridge.

So ends Chapter 1: Initiation, we now come to Chapter 2: The Sharpening Stone.

Rewards are as such:
Abdiel: 600 xp and 2 Infamy, 1 corruption
"Waldo": 800 xp and 4 Infamy, 2 corruption
Que: 500 xp
Agrorn: 400 xp

[Malthan]

"Ah, it appears fate conspires against us."

Abdiel mused, his neck and grotesque mask twisting in the direction of the nearest loud speaker. His avian mutation seemed to have become more pronounced and disturbing, the owl like movement coming in a naturally unholy twist of bone and ceramite.

"A radiation zone and a call to arms. Perhaps it is best to pay a visit to our gracious host rather than stray any further. We can always return at a more opportune time."

Pacing slightly, he leaned over one of the dysfunctional servitors, idly taking whatever piece of scrap it held and caressing it with his claws. The machine looked at him in a confused way, apparently seeking to reclaim its prize. Abdiel smiled under his mask and continued to toy with the creatures as he talked, backing away from it while dangling the item in a tantalizing manner.

"What say you, Prophet? Ready to face the song and dance of war?"

[ArcturusV]

He didn't understand the sign, not really, but he understood the idea behind it. Some sort of warning. A warning that on another day he might have tested out. But today, alas, the echoing call of battle and the crushing sense of setbacks on the path. Failed to sow any discord, unable to intimidate even little whelp ratings, his own prior failure in battle as the Warp Overtook him... it was a hell of a day that was shaping up.

"Well... I don't know about you, but the Lady never gave me an officer's commission," he said with a shrug. He drew out his blade and looked at it, a blade that had killed countless men and women prior to this, but this was going to be it's first real test out in the strangeness of the other worlds, far from the fires that had forged it originally. He had confidence in Dying Light, the history of warfare had told him that between the power of Warp and Flame, nothing could stand for long. But there wasn't always time, nor was it always wise, to depend on them. In the end, the blood god did demand some kills were close, personal, and where you could feel the hot spray of blood splattering across you.

"So I suppose that makes us boarders... the must have an armory somewhere near the Entrance to this ship," not knowing the technical lingo for the Lighter Bay where they had disembarked, "I don't know about you, but I could use a few munitions from whatever stores our magnificent host has squirreled away. A few explosives, some extra rounds, the spirits of detection, that sort of thing you know?" He seemed at least fairly acquianted with what proper "war" seemed to need, despite the meager appearance of just two pistols, a sword, and flak armor.

[Malthan]

"I suppose it's a choice between watching pampered officers jerk each other around or watch their frightened soldiers pray desperately for protection."

Waldo could only assume that the Night Lord's odd expression was a mistranslation of usual Nostraman gutter speech. The implied vulgarity was presumably more elegant and explicit in that dead language than the more prosaic Gothic.

"One of those things would bring me some satisfaction."

There was a wet sound in his vox, the noise indicative of smiling underneath his helmet. The creeping nightmare seemed oblivious to the implied innuendo but again, it was safe to assume that he was referring to his perverse taste for fear rather than any other more mundane deviancy.

"I should like to sample the stock of our fellow soldiers. See just how brave these mortals are, how well they suppress their anxiety. It will be useful to see what kind of support we can look forward too as well."

Following Rasfakei away from the radioactive and foreboding door, Abdiel continued to lure the servitor along as he walked. The poor thing wilted without showing any emotion, it's ragged march strangely losing any semblance of coordinated thought.

"I will contact the bridge via vox and see what our target and orders are."

Switching from his grates to a personal link, the Sorcerer used his upgraded helmet to hail the bridge intercom. If there was no Que to answer, perhaps the Bosun or another slave to excess might deem him worthy of an answer. The Marine was as respectful and charming as ever.

"Horizon's Bliss, this is Lord Investigator Abdiel. What the hell is going on up there? Who, what and how are we engaging in a boarding action? I swear to the abyss, if I am forced to endure another absurd piece of theatric bureaucracy, I will personally execute your insipid navigator and force this ship into my master's warp space. He will be sure to teach your crew all there is to know about suffering."

As usual there was some ambiguity. The master in question could be Acerbus or it could be his patron. In truth, Abdiel no longer knew himself.

Used on bridge crew/ whoever can hear him on the intercom. [roll0] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0

[thebothan]

Abdiel: The response you get from the bridge is at first muffled, you ears pick up an exchange between a confused operator and some female form, the operator unsure who you are, or how you are contacting them. Then the female takes the comm, and the message arrives clearly into your helmet, a slow voice dripping with female charms. As per the mistresses orders, we set underway to the nearest Imperial depot, and are due for arrival.. Now, tell me more about what you have in mind...I know much of suffering, and I make a point never to suffer the same experience twice... Though I am sure a being with enough clout to call you plaything would have much to offer.

[roll0] vs 30 WP.. You said the magic words: Suffering..enjoy!

Also Que, if you are on the bridge.. You hear all of this, Lorrin instinctively took the vox, not seeing you arrive.. She is lounging on the command chair, looking pretty bored right now.. but with a facial expression that seems to indicate something of interest to her may happen soon.

[Malthan]

"Well now that you've confessed your weakness, I suppose an endless loop of some Magos' thesis on the flaws of flesh. Or perhaps any period of blank inactivity really. A nihilistic eternity of a passionless, solitary life, with no stimulus except the aching pit of nothingness that festers at the heart of your hedonism."

Abdiel cracked back, unperturbed by the strangely sibilant tone of the voice, clearly oblivious to the demonic slant. His insult was therefore aimed only at the inhabited host and what he could presume from experience. He'd heard of null chambers or bleak machines used by the Imperium and the more rigid legions in the Eye, devices used to ground an opponent into a state of zen-like emptiness, numbing emotion to the point of purity. A despicable practice to some, but a fascinating prospect for the domineering Night Lord who valued control and power above all else. As if to prove his point, he continued to toy with the mindless servitor that followed them.

"And do not think to call me a plaything, whore-scum. To demean my station lowers your own to little more than the flies who congregate Nurgle's ****. In fact I have no clue as to who you actually are? Que's annoying bitch sister?"

To describe his voice as vulgar was an understatement. He tended to match his language to his own situation. When insulted he tended to revert to low slang, translated excerpts and mangled phrases from ancient gangs that had long since perished.

As Lorrin shot back her inevitably witty response, Abdiel tuned his vocals out of her channel briefly to tell Waldo what their mission and target was.

"We're headed for an Imperial supply depot apparently. Captain's orders. What kind of resistance do you presume we'll face Prophet? Any visions or predictions that you can make before battle?"


Still heading to the barracks, Abdiel will maintain the vox as long as needed to carry out the conversation. He's basically sightseeing and waiting to engage in battle at this stage, so just presume he's tagging along with Waldo unless circumstances change.

[ArcturusV]

"The warp has said the primary issue to be faced is at the hands of those who follow the Gods of Decay and Blood." Rasfakei answered as he considered. He wondered if this outpost just happened to be the one related to his own mission. He had little reason to suspect it would be, and no way to tell if it wasn't really. In the chaos of a raid it should be easy enough to accomplish his mission, if that was indeed where his mission was meant to take him.

He seemed to be pondering things for a moment, and shrugged it off with a little frown, "We have time for a more in depth reading. If we can find a place secure enough to conduct it. I doubt such a place exists on this beast though. Not with the walls alive with the creatures of lies." He shook his head, wondering how badly the raid was going to go. Going into battle without actual information was always something he was loathe to do. His greatest advantage had always been his ability to discern the strands of fate, able to predict the maneuvers of the enemy, their reserves to be deployed and the tactics they would see. It had made him a legend where he came from, gaining victories beyond the scope of his meager forces in the beginning, knowing just when the strike, when to fade, what objectives to abandon and what ones to defend to the death.

He felt naked here. He was no longer in his familiar grounds. Facing unknown enemies beyond merely the fact that they followed the Imperial Eagle Banner. With unknown capabilities and unknown objectives. It was as much of a nightmare as he could have imagined for any sort of military operation.

He glanced over at the Servitor being teased along, and scowling a bit took out his blade, giving a careful, agile thrust to angle up beneath the jawbone, piercing the circuitry of the lobotomized servitor's cortex, giving it a twist as the Night Lord had tormented him along. He didn't do it just because the thing might have been eavesdropping on them and to cover up the tracks of his divine insight being referenced. Though that was certainly a good enough reason. He only knew that it was shiny, and important. And destroying it reminded him of a time when he had an entire world at his beck and call, king by his own hand, and not living at the mercy of some Space Marine in someone else's domain.

It made him feel good to destroy something. To remind himself he had the power to do so. To remind himself that there was plenty of spoils to despoil, and he needed not live as a beggar in the court of a Fool.

Drawing the blade out, and letting the servitor fall, he finally put a smile on his face. "I know how to handle the Imperials, it shouldn't be a problem. It's our own allies that need to be watched out for."

[Hemnon]

Agrorn had headed towards the bridge the right after having his armor re-equiped (and threatened Trine a bit more). Stomping on along through the narrow hallways and/or broad intersections, making no indication of wanting to move aside of others or care if he accidentally stepped on someone or something.

[thebothan]

Agrorn: Making your way to the bridge, you see Lorrin, and the assorted bridge worms. Lorrin is looking with some annoyance into the vox piece she holds. Upon your entrance, the peanut gallery shift uncomfortably in their seats, but the daemon woman simply notices you, and the crews response.

Waldo and Abdiel: Your tour of the ship brings you slowly back into the crew-manned sectors. After a few seconds of dead air, Lorrin simply stops speaking into the vox, bored with the conversation already. The grimy and eager forms of the pirate crew rush about, last second trades for equipment, smokes, drugs and companionship being made for the upcoming battle. Tattered banners marking out bands, squads and companies hang above doorways, trading different small baubles of allegiance among the crew. Once you reach the armory, a scene of bedlam faces you. Men and women sit atop hills of weapons and bullets, ruling over their spoils, conducting a court of mercantile eminence. Lesser crewmen prostrate themselves before the lords of gear, offering some of their own paltry wealth for some scrap of the pile. There are at least 15 such piles, and one massive mountain of gear, Upon which a small squad of scribes and soldiers stand around protecting the wealth from those around it. Ruling from the pile sits a fat toad-like man bedecked in the frocks and vestments of at least ten clerics of the Emperor.

[Malthan]

Abdiel hissed only slightly as his puppet was butchered. Glaring at its killer, he puckered up to his full height and stalked towards Rasfakei, each sinister step of his foot-claws raking and echoing throughout the holes. Staring at him for a few tense seconds, the raptor finally turned and discarded his trophy. Tossing the servitor's prize onto its body, he gave the disheveled corpse a meaning look as he considered Rasfakei's words carefully.

"What do you know of my legion's history?"

Devil-red eyes flickered back to the prophetic mortal as he spoke.

"Foresight is a double edged blade. A weapon that cuts time but bleeds the soul. Without premeditation, murder would be but savagery."

His reverent, yet parroting, rasp signified that these words were not his own but some distant brother of the VIIIth. Quoting legion heroes was an old marine habbit that was unlikely to fade as the Long War raged on into eternity.

"My brothers could be a poetic bunch of sinners when they weren't too busy stabbing each other in the back. You possess a remarkable weapon Waldo, but in our current state we lack the means of harnessing it. I propose a method to draw that blade and carve our enemies with it."

Commencing his walk to the barracks, he made sure to keep his voice away from prying ears.

"Since you do not wish to be discovered as one of the gifted, I can always act as your proxy. The others will have no real reason to believe that I do not possess foresight, considering my own past and ... present. If there was major strategic insight, I could be trusted to pass it on and off as my own vision."

By all rights, I should have such a gift and not you, Abdiel thought bitterly. He tried to keep the rampant envy out of his voice as he continued.

"I could guard you as you carry out the ritual or ceremony, having already proven that I can protect your incapacitated flesh once today. I only ask that you tell me the truth of your visions and warn me of any dangers."

It was obvious that there was some sense of anxious dread inside the marine, a gnawing feeling that his death was scripted by his father, his lord, his god or some other seer amongst the stars. Dark destiny or not, there was something to be said about the art of prediction that appealed to the scorned son of the Night Haunter.

"Consider it for now. We may not have much time until battle, however."

Upon arriving at the armoury, Abdiel glanced over the mass piles of arms and scurrying figures. Only further analysis could tell how impressed he was with the crew and their arms.

Checking out the goods and the guy selling/trading them. Don't expect to find much that can beat legion gear but also as a general check on how the crew are equipped for the upcoming battle.

[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

He had a more immediate reaction to the fat man however.

"Well now, here is a glutton whose tastes I can appreciate. I hope those clerical robes are worn in ironic jest and that their previous owners died in tortured screams. Who are you, morbid mortal, and what can you offer the finest warriors on this ship?"

[thebothan]

Waldo and Abdiel: The man shifts in his chair, causing a few bullets and charms to slide down the pile on which he rests. Marine, you wound me, former owners indeed! These are made personally for me from the finest artisans we have ever had the pleasure of capturing.. I am Father Colis, and my gifts in the world are more than likely nothing to such a figure... Though sheer quantity may be enough for you. If you like what you see and want a piece, I can perhaps offer you a most beneficial offer... a partnership of sorts. Around him you can see autoguns, massive quantities of bullets, shells and grenades.. as well as well crafted armor both modern and archaic.. And below the outer layer, larger objects sometimes surface, like massive beasts dwelling below heavy surf. Chairs, Tables, Cogitators, and bionic limbs are all suggested beneath the layers of silk, ammo and paper.
Around the other piles you see similar piles of looted gear, most of it is simply gear snatched from the conquered forces. If its got less than Rare availability, you can find it here..Father Colis has Rare gear or less, plus good quality stuff less than Common rarity.. That is of course the stuff they are willing to part with.

[Malthan]

Inspecting the merchant's collection warily, the Sorcerer flicked through some of the inventory. He paused briefly when he saw the martial explosives and grenades, testing the weight and feel of them approvingly. There was an uneasiness around Abdiel at the best of times but the killer handling such ordinance openly was watched with some concern by those present.

"I see you keep good stock, Father Colis."

He couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice, the man's title and appearance apparently sparking some humour in the marine. Although the man's items and extensive arms boded well for the boarding crew, the Night Lord was an arrogant creature, too used to Legion warfare to be content with dealing with 'lesser' mortals. And the idea of the ancient vetreran referring to a mortal as father bordered on absurdity.

"I might have use of your services. Sergeant Waldo as well. What kind of partnership are we discussing here?"

In his introspective assessment, Abdiel had realized that he might have need of a better tool for dealing with the rabble, whether they wear the colours of Chaos or the Imperium. Some sort of voice amplifier would suffice, the likes of which he had primarily used in the past to dishearten the enemy but could equally be used here to rally the boarders into action during the battle.

[thebothan]

Waldo and Abdiel: Father Colis cackled from atop the heap, cascading thrones, bullets and other trinkets down the pile. I couldn't help but notice you lack a clan-mark.. Since I presume such figures as you are here as soldiers you therefore get the opportunity to take the spoils of war.. But though you are strong, it takes many bodies to capture the more valuable fare. Take a clan-mark of the Brotherhood Manificent, gain the men you need to command.. But yield a portion of you spoils to the clan.

Clan-marks are a method of incorporation among the crew, to prevent the otherwise inevitable backstabbing.. You of course have your own Clan-Mark, used by almost all the officers.. and those you choose.

[scottsman1]

Que stares at the man thing Ganter. "It did not occurred to you, to inform me before you conducted this operation." She puts her hand to her temple as if trying to make since of this. "I want a full report on my desk after you are well, and everything you know about, this demon. As for the sorcerers that's probably our guest and....."

The room sakes as the ship re enters reality "We will talk more on this later. For now I have other priorities." she says as she exits the room.

Que makes her way the bridge upon entering "Well let's have it augery."

[Hemnon]

Agrorn stomped on past everyone and everything on his way towards the Bridge, a maniacal and ragged breathing could be heard from him, even over the stomping noise of his heavy ceramite boots hitting the floor with each step. He seemed to be on a hair-thin level of selfcontrol right now.

Forewarning just about everyone on the bridge, his heavy walking could be heard prior to his entrance, giving everyone who doesn't have insane levels of self-control a shiver down their spine.

As he entered he looked around for the little princess and then headed on towards her, not caring one bit if she was in the middle of giving orders, talking with someone or something completely third. "Who's gonna die today? tell me! I can't wait to rip someone's heart out of their chest and savor the taste of it. I wanna kill something, RIGHT NOW." He voiced out, he tone and speech was clearly indicating that his facial expression behind his helmet would be something akin to psychotic with a hint of exitement and eagerness... and a whole bunch of barely-controlled violence.

[Malthan]

So the fat man is some kind of merchant king and cult leader. Interesting.

"It is good to know that at least one crew member possess a brain to go with their pale eyes. Yes, I have no clan great and large master of the pile but I do have a legion, a warband and at least a dozen claimed 'superiors', including your own precious captain. Make no mistake that any deal made here will be corporeal and fiscal at heart. And if you cross me, I swear that I will inherit your greatest treasures while you will obtain nothing but my blades and a downward descent into the sea of souls."

In one hand he thumbed over a grenade's detonator in a strange display of incendiary malice, before casually dropping it and letting it roll slowly back the pile.
The exposed threat was perhaps a mere ruse, for the marine concealed a far more devious weapon. The runic staff, now drenched in the chaotic crackle of a crimson thunderstorm, seemed to glow with increased fervour since he'd last used it. Perhaps Abdiel's exposure to both the nostalgic phantom and Waldo's psychic scream had influenced him more than he knew...

But regardless of the warp's influence in Abdiel, the Night Lord felt his own dark influence swoop towards Colis' soul, the chances of the man resisting such a miasma close to zero. It whispers and draws in, the sorcerer thought wickedly, watching as the power seeped through the man's great sweaty poors, shadows drifting in through the leader's amphibian bulk. Hunched over in an avian slouch, the abomination took a possessive step forwards, closer onto the pile.

"Now, let us talk specifics. How large and powerful is your Brotherhood Magnificent, and how much debt will I have to pay in order to retain their services. Many of the greatest prizes are indivisible after all - say if I were to capture a powerful Imperial gunship, how would such a prize be split? Be aware now, that I am no aristocractic fool, and I do not lack experience in business and profit."

Indeed, the Marine had a fairly prolific history as a sellsword, a profession that for all extents and purposes he was playing now for the Apostle. On that distant demon world in a millennia past, Abdiel's old sorcerous tutor, the Alpha Legionnaire known by his alias 'The Private Speaker' had dubbed Abdiel with an alias of his own: 'The Mercenary Scholar'. Abdiel held a suppressed amusement for the juxtaposing professions, even though in his heart he knew he was a murderer first, last and always. The Eighth Legion's nostalgic titles were would forever serve as his shackles, the branding mark of 'Innocent' seared into his soul.

Targeting Colis, intention is to frighten him into being honest and to dissuade him from trying to betray/con Abdiel.

(1d100)[26] vs 54 Willpower +10 Psy Focus + 5 Psychic Hood + 20 Unfettered (5 times Psy Rating 4) = 89

(1d100)[48] vs 54 Willpower, Intimidation +0, (+20 from Delude TN)= (74)

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' meanwhile was inspecting the wares of the Fat Father of Finances and Finery, fostering fellow fighters for fundamental flaying. He knew he had Dying Light, and that it was a weapon without compare, perfectly attuned to his every needs. And while 'Waldo' wasn't decked out in the Power Armor of Ostentatious, he did clearly have quality gear on him that made it unlikely for him to go scrounging among the poor and destitute.

This at least felt somewhat familiar. The bazaar of bluster. Warriors claiming their due, promising the glory and plunder of future actions against their needs. He had been in places like this countless times, and his mind was going down the familiar routes of such a thing. They were facing the servants of this Imperium, unlikely to be the hardened soldiers of the Imperial Guard, or the Bloated Soldiers of the Space Marines. The disturbing lack of incendiaries was unlikely to be a problem at that rate. Good. He trusted Dying Light to handle his offensive needs to reach out and purge any defenders from their cowering positions of cover. There was none of the powered ceramite the Space Marines used there, but he doubted he would need it against the average weapons of the Imperium, his natural toughness and flak armor having served him well so far... though his eyes did look for an improvement to the armor fitting of someone of his stature.

He left the verbal bluster to his rather larger and more imposing armored companion. There was more than one way to impart your skills, and he did it by careful consideration of the goods. He would pick up a blade, test its weight and balance in his hand, scoff slightly and leave it to be discarded. Find a bit of of Flak Armor and look it over, seeming to carefully consider it, inspecting the repaired padding and alterations with an appraising eye before setting it back down.

He took up a Bolt Action Rifle, sliding the bolt back, loading in a shell, and taking aim at one of the Rival Dealers of Father Fatness, checking the iron sights as he slowed his breathing and his heartbeat, waiting for that simple moment for a clear, solid shot. A shot he held back, for now. No telling if said chump was actually an ally of Father Fatness, and might take it poorly.

"I would have thought that men devoted to the Dark Prince, such as I, would have more flamboyant, and fitting gear," he scoffed finally, seeming to be insulted at the low quality of the goods displayed. "These are the weapons of peasants and simple brutes! Not meant for artisans of the battlefield! How will I enjoy the symphony of destruction with such simple materials? How will I deliver such exquisite, unique sensations to the cacophany of chaos?!"

That, was how you haggle. By being insulted, "These are hardly worth my attentions. Perhaps fitting for your simplistic, ill trained slavering hordes in your clan, but for the refined tastes of a true battlefield artisan...? HA! Maybe if you gave them to me in bulk, I could find some poor saps who wouldn't know the difference between this and true quality..."

Opposed Commerce Test hoooooo! Since I'm Haggling and all.

Commerce: [roll0] vs 31 Int, -20 Untrained (Unless I can spend XP before this, then I will be trained for +0), +10 Pity the Weak.

Final DoS Difference gives me a +2 per DoS Difference on my Infamy Tests to Acquisition it up.

[thebothan]

Waldo and Abdiel: The Colis turns away from Abdiel to focus on Waldo, sitting atop the pile he simply looks down at you... apparently thinking as you aim an armed weapon at him.. I see you indeed have an eye for quality. True, such things are certainly below your status. However, as you mention, their charms lie in their numbers. Similarly, this deal holds the same charm.. not in quality but quantity. How does 30 as you call them poor saps sound? Turning back to the armored marine, he simply spreads his hands A single object may not be split, but a pile of wealth may indeed be split.. and you hardly seem the sort to only capture a single spoil of war... but appearances may be deceiving yes? The exact value of what is to be returned is up for negotiation, how does 52% sound? You need men, and I find myself in the best position to supply them, while allowing you the autonomy that you obviously would need. If you were going to be taking orders, you would have submitted to the captain for men, rather than bargaining for them down here..

Que: The augury station speaks without turning to look at you, Augurs read all clear in warp space ahead of us, approaching the position of what our map designates is a relay station called 'Batril's Cove', time to arrival is 2 hours.

Angrorn: The entire bridge staff and the crew you pass all make a point of staying away from you...especially out of arms reach.

[Malthan]

"Make it a clean 50/50 split and we have a deal. But be aware, I have no real interest in hoarding lacklustre firearms or roughshod ordinance, even if they might be traded or bartered with, as my ally seems interested in doing. That is not my purpose. The things I seek most are valuable tools that I can personally use, powerful devices, vehicles or more scholarly resources. That and slaves. But that is a condition of my Legion's service to the Apostle, as dictated and mandated by his own personal decree."

Abdiel stood forwards and unfurled his scroll slightly, showing Colis the mandate inscribed on the piece of parchment. He had doctored it earlier, as the rest of the party was trapped bickering over allegiances, identity and strength. Twisting the truth was always a part of the Sorcerer's plan. Even now, he did not barter too hard due to the simple fact that in combat he schemed to seize whatever caught his eye. In the chaos of void-war, power and its cunning application ruled over meagre deals made on the eve of battle.


Neither entirely sincere about this deal nor telling the truth about his scroll. Now the scroll is doctored but could be used as fraudulent proof of his claims. I am not sure exactly how to handle the use of it now and in the future, will leave it at GM discretion.

[roll0] vs 40 Fellowship, Deceive +0, Delude +20, +10 Lie is Partially True TN =70

"I will most likely only take treasures that are of personal use to me, as well as the exceptional men and women who might be kept as slaves for the Eighth. As quality is my aim, and quantity your nature, then our needs should not clash. See that you do not give them reason to."

In secret Abdiel considered it likely that he might have to kill this man for some sleight or treachery down the road. Deals made in the warp were fickle things and greed a constant danger. Then again, it might also come down to the Night Lord's own devious desire for conquest that could bring them to blows. Ruling over a clan might be a small accomplishment, but to allow another to do so instead was a thing of repressed shame to the Legionnaire.

"Now I must ask again as to the nature of your forces. How many men in your clan will be engaging the enemy? Do you possess voidcraft for landing and boarding actions? If so I have some skill in the operation of such vehicles."

[ArcturusV]

"Thirty sounds like a test, not a trust," 'Waldo' pointed out. It made some sense to him, he was 'fresh meat' on the boat after all. No idea what his skills were, only that his gear was of such quality that he probably was somewhat accomplished. Perhaps the rumors of his 'insanity' in the approach at the Docking Bay earlier had spread, or him facing off against Angrorn, the Mistress's pet Marine.

He was fine not jockeying for more authority in this situation. The Space Marine was posturing for his own position, establishing the order, and working to try to crack the best of the best from the Father. He naturally took up the position of a Sergeant to the Marine, someone junior in seniority but with a role of his own in the little dynamic warband that Abdiel might be building up to.

He gave a wide, split smile, flashing all his teeth at the Fat Father. A strained, high pitched laugh seemed to come from him, a hint of the insanity that lurked inside of the man perhaps. He took a small 'something' out of a pocket, in reality just a pinch of salt that he had skimmed from the Galley, but at a distance it would work for the purposes he wanted, as he seemed to sniff it up his nose and let out a little, "WHOOOO!" followed by a deep, rich belly laugh. The 'disguise' as an insane Slaaneshi Cultist still was in effect as far as... well everyone except Abdiel may be concerned.

"Hehehehe... hahahah... HAHAHAHAHAHA!" he bust out laughing, before letting out a sigh and looking up to the Father, "If you have men ta offaah, then show us these whelps that pretend to be the reavers of the Dark Prince. I want to see the quality of these men I lead. I want to see the wilds in their eyes. I want paragons of perverse pleasurable plundering, hehehehehe."

"I will have your whelps whipped into shape... I will have your plunder... I don't even want the share of loot, you can have it all... all that I want?" he grinned wide, and quickly stepped closer, invading the personal space of the man, "A 40 foot tall bacon statue of a Daemonette dripping with molten butterscotch and Rose, with several nubile young things to help me indulge..." He started an insane laugh again, and slowly backed off, "... but I will make due with some war materials, and some sheep to the slaughter. Perhaps a brace of grenades?" he pointed towards a few of them.

Well, Haggling Failed, but Infamy Tests, hoooooo!

Not sure how you want to rule Manpower Acquisitions since that's normally in "DM Discretionary" territory. I'd guess it'd be at "Hiring a Hive Gang to attack a Rival" sort of Example.

Gangers: [roll0] vs 40 Infamy, Plentiful Acquisition for +30, well it's a Single Gang/Squad so +10 Quantity, probably "Common" Quality for +0. Final Mark-ish of 80.

Brace of Photon Flash Grenades: [roll1] vs 40 Infamy, Rare Acquisition for -10, "Minor" Quantity (2-4), +0. Craftsmanship of Common for +0. Final Mark of 30.

Brace of Frag Grenades: [roll2] vs 40 Infamy, +20 for Common Rarity, "Minor" Quantity (2-4) +0, Common Craftsmanship for +0. Final Mark of 60.

[thebothan]

The man completely ignores the scroll held by the armored figure, his attention instantly captured by the words of the smaller human. It is an odd figure who denies his share of spoils yet unclaimed, then lays claims to the spoils earned before him. There is a saying here, he who throws away the riches of his future knows they are worth nothing when compared to the objects he may yet hold at the moment, regardless of their value, and once bargained those fabled riches are as worthless as the air he breathed. I can see you are a man of some cunning. If I accept your terms, what can I trust to keep you enforcing your end? A statue and slaves may be acquired by anyone. No, you shall have men, to command under the banner of the clan, but I will not leave your performance solely to your own devices. I therefore will grant you a 20% share of your loot, to cover such esoteric items you desire as grenades.. I am sure you will be able to acquire what your heart wants most from the enemy. With a final grin he turns to again face the Space Marine, The objects you seek are indeed valuable, perhaps worth more than any percent we might agree upon.. I therefore am apt to agree to your terms, but with a small change: For every object of such great worth, I request that a similar object shall be given unto the clan.. or barring that, if possible, that a copy of the object be created for the clans use.. If you are not prone to create or give up such an object, it must be paid for in three times its number of objects of a lesser value.. slaves for a slave, books for a book, crafts for craft. Quality and Quantity are two methods of gauging the same thing, and if one is lacking, it must be made up for with the other. You may cling to the sublimity of the perfect, but there is just as much sensation in possession of multitude.

[Malthan]

"So we have a deal."

Abdiel concluded flatly, his patience wearing thin for bargaining and bartering with humans. Of course he relished it as a fresh experience, but the aristocratic Night Lord, born in the upper spire of a sunless world, had little comfort or taste for trade and commerce. Many of his gutter trash brothers had resented this false nobility, his pretentious runic markings and thick Nostraman accent a mark of contention within and without the legion. Of the Father's terms Abdiel was bemused but not entirely offended. He had no intention of spending his time labouring over duplicates, but the possibility of simply dumping the cheap, excess spoils onto Father Colis was not quite so absurd. Provided his men were not abject failures, this merchant could be a useful asset.

"Are your men ready for war? Our visit to the Imperium is imminent, due within two hours or less."

This was a sloppy war, clumsy and barbaric as befitted a mortal queen of chaos who conspired to remove the first adjective. Legion operations were not always perfectly calculated of course, but there were Commanders such as the exalted Vandred who still understand the benefits of preparation. Abdiel was of course grateful for the chance to spill Imperial blood, but the impulsiveness of the act concerned his meditations. Though he hated the Imperium as a weak sorry fool, he knew that many heretics had died at the hands of more disciplined and prepared loyalists.

"Perhaps we should now inspect the troops. It seems that both my companion and I are eager to assess the power of your forces."

And their loyalty. When this battle inevitably ended, there would be opportunity for treachery and betrayal. With men under his and Waldo's command, he could wield proxy and scapegoats along with his favoured blade. He had a list of targets, from Granter to Que to whatever harlot had insulted his pride from the bridge.

"Father Colis, show us your men and tell us of your strategy for the coming oblivion."


Awareness test to inspect the troops, since Arc and I both seem interested to see what type of horde will be seen in the siege. Especially looking out for equipment, loyalty markings and "delivery system" ie how they will board the enemy.
[roll0] vs Perception 42, Awareness + 10 = Final Mark 52

[ArcturusV]

'Waldo' was laughing. Chuckling softly as Father Colis discussed terms with the Astartes. It astounded him really, how little the man really seemed to understand his position. Maybe the father would think it was just mirth over the deal 'Waldo' was getting, or the joy of the 'drugs' he had taken just a moment ago. Or maybe he had an inkling of what was going on.

But to Rasfakei? In the eyes of the Dark Gods they were two powerful champions. The favored mortals of the gods? Perhaps not. The Path was still long and twisting, he could see he was nowhere near the end of it. But the Dark Gods saw all their deeds, even the ones they left no witnesses for like the scene in Sergeant Bob's Quarters. Even acts like the deceptions that Rasfakei had pulled off on this ship, or the challenges of spirit between the Astartes and the Lord of this Ship-City.

This man before them? He was a maggot by comparison. A petty would be, not even an aspiring champion, as he seemed content to worry about petty concerns rather than future glory.

To Rasfakei? He wasn't worth fighting with. He was a lowly bug beneath concept. This was a man who should have been giving him tribute, not the other way around. With but a moment of displaying his 'true' self and a few words he could have crushed this Father Colis and left him a whimpering shell. And it was tempting. Mildly so. But his Path was out there, not trifling with such concerns.

For Abdiel? This was more interesting. What he knew of the Space Marines suggested his pride would be his greatest flaw. He had little doubt that if Agror was here, the red space marine from earlier that he stood off against, that Father Colis would find his head ripped off his neck. The fact that this Night Lord had let this little man challenge and push him around during this back and forth seemed... interesting. It suggested perhaps a more level head than most of his ilk. Or at the very least a man who had a long term plan. He had no idea what Abdiel had in mind for the Father. His weaponry was... not that impressive. The typical things you found looting the average Imperial Guard Regiment. His power was that of a petty tribal chief, one who thought him lord of all creation, but only because he had never seen beyond the sheltered little valley and meager challenges before him. He doubted the Father would be of any use if a conflict arose in their other plans. He wasn't the type to risk anything.

... and that's why Father Colis had no Glory of his own, and was not even at the start of the Path. 'Who Dares, Wins'. And in this, and the other, reality playing safe got you nowhere.

His mouth split into a wide smile. "Sure, lets go. See what we have to work with, and just how much you value us," 'Waldo' mentioned for Father Colis. He expected good troops. If they were trash unfitting of the name of Warrior, that would reflect poorly on the Father in 'Waldo's' eyes. And well... you didn't want to slight a man who could and would happily burn everything you prized without breaking a sweat.

[thebothan]

I am going to give Scotsman a quick chance to get back into it before we move to far forward..

Father Colis nods to one of the scribes which stand on the pile of treasures below him. Taking a sheet of paper the adept scratches in a name, then a few extra lines of high gothic text before handing it to each of you. Your clan sigil, take it with pride. The soldiers will await your appearance on the deck 13. I assure you the clan soldiers are well armed.. We do not welcome dregs into our midst, it takes martial distinction to capture my attention.

[thebothan]

The ship gives another jolt, and with a sucking feeling the ebb and flow of the warp is drained from the vessel. A monotone voice intones across the ship. Warp Transition Successful, All Readings Normal.. Thank Your Gods That Your Horizons Were Not Broadened By The Magnificence Of That Which We Have Left.


On the ships bridge the screens and operators frantically run about carrying reams of reports, preliminary analysis, time stamps and approximate location. From her captains chair Que is bombarded with the findings from each station, eager to outdo the others in usefulness and accuracy. Madam, we shall have our real space location shortly. Madam, current scans appear clear, though there is evidence of Imperial Activity to port, 80 Su's to signal. Mamzel, looks like we lost about two days since we had entered the warp. As of yet no communications intercepted, Mistress.

I assume this is what Que is waiting for, in the meantime Abdiel and Waldo have made their way down towards where the troops are waiting.