Mutiny aboard the Malheureuse!

[Vexing]

The last shot rings out, and it's several seconds before the hoarse shouting for quiet is identified as your own. Could your throat really seem so raw, your plea so tired? It might well be. You're not sure when you started this endeavor, or where; an endless parade of bulkheads and hatches and long hallways from hours ago haunt your memory, seeming cavernous at one moment and claustrophobic the next as they flood with the bodies of the slain. Stumbling more than walking, you leave cover and move to the end of the bridge.

As the machine-spirits of broken relays and shattered pict-slates howl their mistreatment aloud and chemical vapor chokes the air from ruptured pipes, your feet hesitantly hunt for purchase on the ruined plating. The frenzied wave of lasfire has heated some spots to a dully cherry-red, the metal popping and pinging gently as it cools from the assault; bodies of servitors and astropaths lie dead at their stations or strewn across the field of battle. This is where the remnants of the command crew were finally cornered, along with the captain…or at least whatever had been wearing his face. Now it’s an abattoir. Your boot slips in the gore—fortunately, one of your fellows seizes an elbow before you drop into the mess. The group forges ahead.

There. Looming out of the mist of coolants and gases, the Captain’s chair, ruined by a shot of plasma. The corpse of the Captain-Thing lies nearby, twitching in an unseemly and blasphemous way. A crewman makes the sign of the Aquila; one calls upon the Emperor in a more practical fashion, immediately putting a bolt into what had once been a head. The Thing shudders and is blessedly still. Shaking from adrenaline and the sharp report, you give it a wide berth and near the chair. Twitching fingers disengage the speaking tube, vox-casters crackling to life before dropping to a quiet thrum. The ship seems to hold its breath with your fellow mutineers, waiting...

“Captain Onésime is dead.” Haltingly, slowly becoming more confident. "Stand down! We have control of the bridge.” The cheering immediately begins from all around you as lasguns are shouldered and tears of relief flow. You, however, refrain from celebration. This was the easiest step, and only the first.

You have command of the ship. But how long can you keep it?

"Five weeks." The silence after Old Hork delivers his assessment is paradoxically deafening. If you didn't know better, you might have thought even the servitors had paused in their duties, augmetic eyes shuddering wider as they assist in cleaning the bridge. Metal groans and pops faintly, the metallic tang at the edge of your thoughts serving as a gentle reminder that the Warp thrashes and twists only a few hundred metres beyond the adamantine and steel.

It's only been six short hours since the Captain-Thing's corpse, or what was left of it, was been hauled away and a semblance of order restored to the Malheureuse. As principal leaders of the mutiny or serving authority figures, you all have been hurriedly rushed through the ceremony and ritual swearing in as the new Command Crew to replace the Lord-Captain's inner circle, even frightened crewman heeding the ancient rites. Word will take time to spread about the particulars of the new hierarchy, but enough time has passed for a brief respite. Wounds have been bandaged, nerves calmed by looted amasec and prayer. The scattered pockets of voidsmen still naively fighting for Onésime have long since been subdued or converted in light of the Captain's transformation, and the worst of the damage caused during the mutiny is already on the mend. The bridge is no exception, already wiped clean of blood and even now being tended to by red-robed adepts and their servitors. Elbow deep in damaged cogitator units and buzzing to one another in Techna Lingua, the machine men are the only outsiders who could be trusted to overhear just how dire the situation was. Standing before you in the dim, flickering light is the voidborn elder who volunteered to examine the stores. He holds a shapeless green cap before him like a protective charm, turning the cloth over and over again in his gnarled fingers, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze. Alone, only you seven and the repair crew stand on the bridge, his captive audience.

"Five weeks", he repeats solemnly, "maybe longer if we stretch, or work the boys hard. But it'll already be half-rations. The Lord-C...mean, It must've gorged itself on the supplies. That or his men did when they lost their minds. We've only got that long because we're down boys already, anyway." It isn't every day one informs the ship's officers that everyone is likely to starve to death, and the gravity of the moment has thoroughly impressed itself upon Hork, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The green and brown uniform of the Malheureuse's crew is stained by blood and marred by scorchmarks, the old fellow likely still on his feet from the mutiny hours ago. "I got Yol and Cagga from Deck Nine counting it all for meals, but we're right fixed. Er, Captain", he adds quickly, pulling at an imaginary forelock. His cap drops to the floor forgotten.

"It's a proper mess." The words are whispered, Hork practically shrinking before you as if deflating with every utterance, perhaps desperately wishing the deck plating would swallow him whole. It would be a cleaner death than what potentially awaits him. "Half the boys think we're going to turn around to Wander, and the other half think we're going to celebrate our...our..." He swallows. "The thing what we did, that we're going to feast or celebrate it. Full rations, 'till bust. Someone needs to talk to them, Sirs! They'd riot if they knew! We--"

Whatever he says next is drowned out by harsh growling bass noise and staccato snaps of static from the mutilated vox-caster alongside the Captain's throne; the sound becomes clearer as an Enginseer continues his work, hunched over the battered device you'd used to announce your victory to the ship. Doubtless the communication network over the Malheureuse had been disrupted during the struggle. "...eed immediate guidance on how to proceed! Please advise. This is Midshipman Rhys near the Navigation chambers, and I need any surviving officers or armed men to break up a crowd. They're attempting to force their way inside, and my men and I can't hold them off forever. I need immediate guidance on how to proceed! Emperor be praised, please advise!" The voice sounds haggard, and there's a slight pause before the cadet begins again. "This is Midshipman Rhys..."

More vox-traffic continues to flood into the bridge as the red-robed priests attend to their labours. Armament not being surrendered to proper authority on-deck, a fire in crew quarters on Deck Seven, a request for a ship's priest to attend to the bodies of fallen crew, and many more. The quiet has entirely evaporated, leaving behind only a confusion of voices and the flickering of the lights overhead. Old Hork stands motionless, waiting to be dismissed.

It's going to be a long journey.

No rest for the wicked! With barely a pause for breath, the Captain is gone and new problems present themselves. In no particular order:

Mob at the Navigator's Chambers: A mob of crewmen have taken it into their heads that the junior Navigator should be 'persuaded' to drop the ship out of the Warp, regardless of the danger to life and hull. While the process of transitioning to realspace takes the efforts of the entire ship (so there's no real danger in the vessel leaving the Warp), it would be a shame if the only remaining Navigator were to follow in his late predecessor's footsteps because of over-zealous voidsmen. Or for the Navigator to be out of the hands of the Command Crew.
Armed Crew: On the third deck of the Malheureuse, a group of crew are refusing to surrender the lasguns they took from the armory. While necessary during the mutiny, armed ratings present a host of troubles all their own, from potential accidents to armed resistance to the ship's authorities.
Engine-Room Plea: A crewman has passed word from vox station to vox station that he and his unit have successfully secured the plasma banks that feed the Malheureuse's power requirements...and that someone requires the Captain's presence at their earliest convienence. He seems loathe to say more over the vox, and refuses to discuss anything openly even when threatened with insubordination; "I can't, Emperor as my witness. I need the Captain himself. It's urgent".
Low on Supplies: Old Hork is unfortunately correct, and the vessel has only a few more weeks of supplies remaining. With no real knowledge of the Malheureuse's destination or time remaining in the Warp, a food shortage could well turn into full-blown starvation before a return to realspace. Food must be rationed, scared up, or otherwise made to last. At best, perhaps the crew could be tricked or reasoned with. If worst comes to worst, disembarking from Warp transit early to try and secure supplies remains a viable (but desperate) option.
These are merely hooks for the problems that need attention. If you and your characters have other ideas about how to handle insubordinate crew, low Food, Morale, and Population, and all the rest, feel free to play it out! Rogue Trader is intended to be rather player-directed, and I'll roll with where the party is headed.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia had lain there, crouched behind the captain's chair in a web of hoarfrost, for nearly an hour. When she had finally been discovered by a kindly rating, washed down with a bottle of water and wrapped in a blanket, she was finally able to stand, to speak, and to lower the psychic barrier that she had been holding up for all of that time. Now, with the full details of the horror ahead of them, panic was rising again.

"Are the supplies secure?" She asked. Her voice was nearly a whisper. "If there is... unrest elsewhere..."

[Thragka]

Jack Solar was hanging back on the command deck, loitering near the wreckage of the throne. He wasn't too bothered by the blood - his outfit was a deep maroon anyway, so the stains and even sopping patches hardly showed up. After the assault, he'd let the others do most of the posturing and grandstanding; most of the rest of the chief mutineers were going through the motions of legitimacy and continuancy as officers of the ship Before Onésime (B.O.), whereas he was a newcomer who, as it were, had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Not that he didn't have ambitions, o'course - starting out afresh as a bosun sounded appealling - but now more than ever, he knew he'd have to earn his compatriots' trust. So he let them handle the pomp and ceremony in the immediate aftermath, the early hours of the new A.O. era.

But now they were talking about actual physical realities and pressing concerns, so he felt it was time to step forward.

"Five weeks is a lifetime relative to the next few hours. 'Course we don't want a panic, and plans need to be made, but first we need to get this ship under control. Go to standard rations, nothing more severe to start with.

"The mob's the immediate worry, and then the gunned-up lads on third. We want the guns back, that goes without saying, but they might sit tight for an hour if we make some noise to keep 'em happy and call for parlay. But a mob can turn sour in a minute. And I don't want our last navigator dropping dead on us. I mean, I ain't one for knowing the specifics of what keeps the ship in the Warp, but I imagine a sudden loss of navigator might be ... nasty. I'm happy to go down and help sort 'em out."

In the moment of silence that followed, he seemed to remember that Gaius was there. Ever so slowly, he turned to look at the Captain, and managed a semblance of a respectful nod.

"... Sir."

[Librarilen]

Regia's brow creases, then somehow creases a second time, as Hork's piteous report shifts from fact to fear. The Midshipman's concerns were far more pressing than the Voidborn's prattle.

"The men will not die nor rebel once we remind them that this ship has upon it the lingering taint of Heresy from their former Captain's weakness. The next weeks will have to be spent in prayer and... Examination. Purgation and fasting will help clarify their souls and bolster the light of the Emperor within them. I do believe that the Midshipman is suffering a need for considerably greater attention than a call for half-rations." A thoughtful pause. "At worst, fill their heads with grog quickly, and rush them to their bunks - and tomorrow's hard labor will do the rest."

While she speaks, it is clear that the Battle-Sister's attention is far more focused on the need for an authoritative hand amidship than on the food issue. She inspects minor lasgun burns by feel, more than sight, as she is still fitted in her holy raiment of blessed armour. Three hours of proclaimed prayers and litanies over sustained bursts of flamer fire, blessing and purging the taint of Heresy - that was only the beginning of her day's trials. She followed it with more of the same fire and faith as they struggled to cleanse the bridge entirely, and assuage the fears of all those below while not actually wading into the muck to do so. Her gold-and-black suit of ceramite glistens with sweat and blood, little of the latter (but all of the former) her own. Her injuries are minor, and the only thing which mars her beautiful, angular, aquilline face and tight bob of helmet-covered blonde hair is a thick smear of grease and ash she has not given mind to for hours.

The memory of a proper bath, the likes of which she had last seen in her Cloister, will be a soothing memory whenever sleep does come. For now she merely adjusts the grip on her recently-refueled flamer, looking to the other command crew. She is not a void-lord - she would rather keep her priorities where she may serve best than to worry with another's share of duty, so long as she can trust them to complete it satisfactorily.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius pinches the bridge of his nose, between the now crashing levels of adrenaline and a hangover which had issued a formal request to the Gaius that it did indeed exist still, he was about ready to walk out to an airlock and spare the universe the trouble... but that would be wrong.

He looks around the bridge and considers his words for a moment before speaking,"It seems to me like some of these issues can be solved separately and in short order and upon their solving, we can reconvene to see what can be done about our food supplies," he pauses for a moment and then continues,"Therefore I think it would be wise if Mr. Holt and Solar head to the Navigator's chambers and ensure that some of the less intelligent of the crew don't blow our only Navigator's head off and leave us stranded. You may gather however many men you need on your way there if you desire. Battle-Sister Regia, I would appreciate if you could talk some sense into the idiots on the third deck and get them to surrender their arms. Again you may bring with you any crew to back you up if you feel it necessary. Talia, please remain on the bridge and do not hesitate to inform me if you sense any oncoming danger. As for me, I'll head down to the engine-room and see what is so important it couldn't be said on vox."

He pauses and says,"Emperor protect us, this is going to be a long day."

[LeSwordfish]

"On my own?" Talia blurted, before she could stop herself. She didn't want to be left alone with the servitors, and the glittering mechanical eyes. Concious of the eyes on her she blanched, switched to her mind-voice, and spoke directly to the captain. Ophion wound itself around her arm and nuzzled one of it's snouts against her flank.

Gaius Only
Please, sir. Could I accompany you or the sister?

OOC
This is the basic use of the Telepathy discipline - no Focus Power test required. If Gaius- or anybody else in the future - wants to not recieve the message, he should test willpower at -20.

As much as anything else, this is my OOC desire to do something a bit more interesting than play the auspex - it's a sensible order from Gaius, but Talia wants no part of it.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius raises an eyebrow,"Hmm, i suppose Sister Regia wouldn't mind a bit more back up; would you Sister?"

Yeah sorry about that, i've played a pysker before but i have no idea what an astropath can do (beyond the vague "see the Imperial Soul Beacon") so I wasn't sure what to ask Talia to do

[Librarilen]

The Sororitas nods her head curtly in response to the suggested delegation. In service to the ship, the witch-girl had been forced to betray some of her closest compatriots. She posesses a resolve worthy of the crew's respect. In light of this, the Battle-Sister favors Talia with a tiny smile. She has a few variations on this: demure pleasure, patient satisfaction, ecstatic contemplation, vengeful comeuppance - the Orders Famulous ensure that all their own are capable of dealing with their chosen flocks, and in Regia's case that usually includes those nobles and gladhanders for whom a smile is important.

Regia is not so much older than Talia, she realizes - not yet doing more than stretching toward a third decade herself - perhaps that is where her empathy lies. It would be strange if she could not feel some whisper of commraderie toward the psyker, or at least familiarity, at being different, exposed, and watched.

"The company would be welcome. Come, Child, we will quell the men's fears together." She invites, gesturing to her side.

[The Grue]

"And eh, what about me then?" crackled Silus' implanted voicebox. He sat at the Augur Master's station, boots resting on the console as he fiddled with his sidearm. He hadn't bothered yet to turn 'round. "Shall I stay here an' mind the bridge, not that there's much for me to do middle of a warp transit. Or I could come with you, Cap, an' see what the fuss is with the engines."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods,"I could use the back up, just in case."

[The Grue]

Silus swings his feet off the console and stands to mock-salute at Gaius. "Lead on then, Cap'n."

[LeSwordfish]

"If the sister would have me." Talia said aloud, privately greatful.

[Thragka]

Jack visibly winced as the Captain directed the Battle-Sister to handle the arms retrieval, but said nothing aloud. He nodded to Holt, making it clear he was ready to move if the other man was.

[Librarilen]

Regia's noted Jack's expression with a slow, measured blink. For the briefest moment she looked less like a woman of the cloth and more like a sleepy predator who still required significant provocation before deigning to disembowel him. The surprisingly delicate touch of her gauntlet on Talia's shoulder as she drew in close did nothing to dispel that illusion.

She nodded confidently to the group. "We will return shortly." she promised, smiling at the men - Jack in particular - and bowing her head piously to the bridge in general. "May the Emperor Protect our endeavors."

And then unhesitatingly led her warp-touched charge towards the lifts, and the very armed, very angry, third deck.

[ChaosArchon]

"Alright, contact me if any of you find any other issues we haven't heard yet," he then nods at Silus,"Off we go."

As they head towards the engine room, Gaius considers making a short stop at his quarters to grab a glass of wine but considers that would be unprofessional. He would drink later... hopefully.

[Q'telun]

Lucius Holt stands at ease by the Gunner's Station on the bridge for the duration of Hork's debriefing. While the man painted a grim picture, they had at least 5 weeks. Maybe 2 if they went on full rations, but that would still be enough time to find a planet to resupply. Though they were all doomed if those men got to the Navigator and tried to force the ship out of Warp.

He nods back to the pirate and then snaps off a salute to Gaius. "By your leave, Lo-... Captain."

He spins on his heel and departs the bridge at a swift pace, pulling out his own vox-caster as he goes. "Midshipman Rhys, this is Seco- Master Gunnery Officer Holt. Please advise, how many men are assaulting your position."

As he walks he gestures to 10 voidmen who seem to be off duty that they should follow him.

[Vexing]

And so the (re)legitimized Command Crew left the bridge in their pairs, rushing off to their own vital errands...

"Thank the Emperor!" The vox-caster crackles as Rhys responds, his naval training slipping. The sheer relief can be heard in his voice, as if he could sense the voidsmen (twelve in all) falling in line behind Holt and Solar on their way to the lifts. "Maybe forty? It's difficult to get a proper head count. They don't seem organized, and fortunately we seized their guns long before this madness started. I'll give you the full sit-rep when you arrive. Cadet out."

The lifts and passageways down to Deck Two pass without incident, other crew pressing themselves to the side to allow your group room. So soon after the power strugle that wracked the ship, no one is eager to get in the way of another potential purge. Before long, the last armoured bulkhead swings aside and reveals a large chamber lit by recessed lumen globes high overhead. Entering as directly as possible into the wide 'C' shaped room, both Jack and Lucius immediately spot the source of the trouble: across the polished deck plating and to the left is a hastily thrown together redoubt made of flakboard and collapsible bunks blocking off one of the entry corridors. Manning the makeshift barricade are men in the uniform of the Malheureuse, dark brown and deep greens stained by sweat and machine grease. Two men sit against a nearby support pillar nursing nasty gashes around their heads and necks, and a third figure lies under a voidsman's jacket...unmoving. A young man, short of stature with eyes glazed by fatigue, staggers over. His tan skin leads one to believe that he's not void born, and the brown colour to his hair and eyes prove it; it's easy to identify him as Rhys after he salutes and begins to speak.

"Requesting guidance or relief from duty for me and my men, Sir--Sirs. After word came down that Captain Onésime was slain, I took my unit here to secure the Navigators. Unfortunately", he shifts uncomfortably, "Kai Navan was already dead. A group of mu..." He trails off, wetting his lips as he thinks his way around the word left unspoken. "A group of ratings dragged out the two warp-guides earlier in the fighting, but Navan struggled and caught a knife to his Eye. He and the rating are dead, and they took some of the deck with them when they left out of Access Walk Thirty-Six. I arrived on scene just as the group was interrogating the remaining Navigator. We were in the process of collecting their guns when the Navigator admitted to something that the men didn't much care for. They threatened him, and he escaped the group and locked himself in his quarters." He gestures to a mighty ceramite-plated door at the middle point of the 'C', scratched by metal and marked by lasfire. "The ratings dispersed, but came back in a mob to try and force the door. We've held here for three hours waiting for the vox to bring in support or officers, but I suppose the rest of the ship is still a madhouse. With respect, Sirs", he adds quickly enough. "So far kept them out of the other passageways by sealing bulkheads, but it's only a matter of time before they work around it. The ship's a maze. Finally, they've tried two pushes after we drove them off the door, and they wounded two of my men with improvised weaponry, a clear crime under Naval Code. And we have one man dead, knife wound to the throat--that has to be answered for." Letting it all out in a rush, he looks between Lucius and Jack for a cue, hand slowly dropping back to his side from the salute.

"We await further orders."

Regia and Talia's journey is a quiet one, passing through the shadowed passages and high gantries that make up so much of the Malheureuse's interior; as a native of the vessel, Talia takes a few shortcuts to save time, dizzying numbers of turns and short drops into dusty halls. Every muffled footfall on the deck took them closer to the mess hall where the armed ratings were apparently holed up, hopefully in time to avoid a violent confrontation. Or perhaps not! Before long the sound of a heated argument reaches the pair's ears, a man and a woman speaking harshly to one another:

"Stop this nonsense now, before you're consigned to the brig! There's no need for any of this. If you'll just hand over the weapons, I'll cover for you and yours when the new Captain's representatives arrive." Cajoling, frustrated, masculine. "Please, Dal."

Unyielding, imperious, feminine: "I refuse. And I doubt that the new Captain will be sending anyone--there's no drink in the mess!" A rowdy cheer echoes along the metal walls, more than a few jeers and pointed insinuations about someone's (presumably the cajoler) parentage and potential involvement of a Grox in the proceedings. "You can take our guns when we reach port."

The Psyker and the Sister round a corner into the mess hall, popping out of a small access passage into a sunken room of long metal tables and rough benches of recycled plastic. The place is packed with void born ratings, easily a hundred or so, all in the familiar brown and green of the ship. In the middle of the sunken dining area a tall, pale midshipman (judging by the stripes on his arm) stands with spread hands, pleading with a surprisingly doughty woman with equally pale skin and faded hair. She totes a lasgun, lazily allowing its muzzle to point to the floor during their argument rather than shouldering it properly. The officer-in-training seems alone in a sea of armed ratings; all of them are armed in a similar fashion, either with proper lasguns or compact laspistols, albeit with none of the weapons pointed at the man. Despite the sheer number of people and the noise, Regia and Talia are soon noticed.

In that moment, the atmosphere changes completely. Silence spreads in a wave from the men and women closest to the pair, even as those nearest bodies move a few more inches away themselves. To see an Adepta Soriritas would be intimidating in and of itself, but her accompaniment by an Astropath seems to truly drive something home. Everywhere the two look, crew touch charms or avert their eyes from them, some muttering charms or tearing fabric from their uniform to tie about their heads in strips--an old voidsman's trick that supposedly keeps ones thoughts under a tight hold. Despite Talia's status as the Witch-Girl of the Malheureuse, superstition is a stronger response than any familial call; she may well see faces she recognizes in the crowd, some with fear and others with apprehension as the ratings part to allow her and Regia to pass.

Immediately noticing the change, Dal pauses in her berating of the midshipman and turns towards the disturbance, eyebrows rising. She doesn't speak, but her hands do seem to grip the stock of her lasgun tighter. The room practically holds its breath.

The journey down is a long and eerie one. The Malheureuse's engines are far from the bridge and many decks below Gaius and Silus' starting point, a warren of half-forgotten grav-lifts and pressure hatches leading into the bowels of the ship; with every deck passed sights of other crewmen become less common, and soon the chambers and niches reserved for voidsmen are found either empty or completely unused, dusty and quiet. Standardized hallways and bulkheads give way to peculiar internal architecture as the minutes stretch on. Gantries loom over inexplicable drops between decks; passages shrink to almost childlike size before expanding wide enough for three Ogryn to walk abreast seemingly without rhyme or reason; and more than once, the lights from lumen-globes or strips set along the floor flicker and go out. The air changes from stale and cool to wet and hot, unfamiliar smells teasing at the edge of the nose even as the sound of the Warp without seems to grow louder. Every scuffed boot sounds like a leathery foot striking the deck in these oddly angled places, and the squeal of opening hatches screams like a claw on wrought iron. It would be enough to provoke nerves in even a steady fellow, let alone two men who are relatively fresh off of a mutiny and pitched battle.

In the end, it's a faint glimmer down a twisting hallway that leads them to their destination: an unmarked intersection of passageways lit in faint green light, one pressure hatch to the chamber within open slightly. As the new Captain and the auspex operator approach, the shining crosses their gaze yet again as a ginger bearded rating peers out into the dim hall. Spying them, he waves them over hurriedly, leaning a lasgun out as if expecting pursuit. "Inside, quickly!", he hisses.

Assuming they comply quickly, the hatch is slammed shut behind them with the familiar hiss of air being pumped out to lock it into place. The rating sighs with relief, mopping sweat from his reddened face. "Emperor...so you're Captain now?" Under normal circumstances, this unsanctioned familiarity would demand punishment, but these are far from normal times; the man extends a hand to shake as Gaius' eyes adjust to the gloom. Silus' augmetic implants have already accounted for the light, showing him a handful of frightened looking voidsmen a few meters away. All of them are eyeing the four hatches in and out of the room. Towards the northern hatch, the one leading directly on towards the plasma banks, two men flank a kneeling figure with their lasguns pointed to its head. Curious.

"Galdrin", the man murmurs in introduction. "We chased some of those Loyalist bastards down here with a few other groups. We think they were trying to reach the engines and ransom their freedom, or immunity, or...something." His palm feels clammy in Gaius' own, the hand quickly pulling away after a perfunctory shake. "Kept pace for awhile, but they took a turn into a dead end and disappeared. Probably a blind drop they knew about and we missed. So, we tried to cut them off. Set up shop here, let the other groups forge ahead", a nervous swallow, "and then? Nothing. They never showed back up. Engines are fine and clear, but the boys gunning for the Lord-Captain are gone. Vanished like spit on a griddle."

He risks a glance over his shoulder, shuddering slightly as his gaze takes in the kneeling figure. "Then...then hatches start opening and closing, and the deck starts to move, and...he pops out to talk with us. Walked right out from behind a wall like a fething ghost." Inexpertly making the sign of the Aquila, Galdrin plunges his hand into his vest and pulls out something that clinks, pressing it into whomever's hand reaches for them first. "Gave us these, and said he needed to talk with the Captain." The man's pale green eyes are wide and fearful. "Look for yourself."

The objects, under further examination, are identification tags--cognomens--for crew members on the Malheureuse. There are almost a score of the hexagonal metal chits, and almost all of them are stained with blood. They're still tacky to the touch in the hot, damp air.

[Librarilen]

Regia and Talia's journey is a quiet one, passing through the shadowed passages and high gantries that make up so much of the Malheureuse's interior; as a native of the vessel, Talia takes a few shortcuts to save time, dizzying numbers of turns and short drops into dusty halls. Every muffled footfall on the deck took them closer to the mess hall where the armed ratings were apparently holed up, hopefully in time to avoid a violent confrontation. Or perhaps not! Before long the sound of a heated argument reaches the pair's ears, a man and a woman speaking harshly to one another:

"Stop this nonsense now, before you're consigned to the brig! There's no need for any of this. If you'll just hand over the weapons, I'll cover for you and yours when the new Captain's representatives arrive." Cajoling, frustrated, masculine. "Please, Dal."

Unyielding, imperious, feminine: "I refuse. And I doubt that the new Captain will be sending anyone--there's no drink in the mess!" A rowdy cheer echoes along the metal walls, more than a few jeers and pointed insinuations about someone's (presumably the cajoler) parentage and potential involvement of a Grox in the proceedings. "You can take our guns when we reach port."

The Psyker and the Sister round a corner into the mess hall, popping out of a small access passage into a sunken room of long metal tables and rough benches of recycled plastic. The place is packed with void born ratings, easily a hundred or so, all in the familiar brown and green of the ship. In the middle of the sunken dining area a tall, pale midshipman (judging by the stripes on his arm) stands with spread hands, pleading with a surprisingly doughty woman with equally pale skin and faded hair. She totes a lasgun, lazily allowing its muzzle to point to the floor during their argument rather than shouldering it properly. The officer-in-training seems alone in a sea of armed ratings; all of them are armed in a similar fashion, either with proper lasguns or compact laspistols, albeit with none of the weapons pointed at the man. Despite the sheer number of people and the noise, Regia and Talia are soon noticed.

In that moment, the atmosphere changes completely. Silence spreads in a wave from the men and women closest to the pair, even as those nearest bodies move a few more inches away themselves. To see an Adepta Soriritas would be intimidating in and of itself, but her accompaniment by an Astropath seems to truly drive something home. Everywhere the two look, crew touch charms or avert their eyes from them, some muttering charms or tearing fabric from their uniform to tie about their heads in strips--an old voidsman's trick that supposedly keeps ones thoughts under a tight hold. Despite Talia's status as the Witch-Girl of the Malheureuse, superstition is a stronger response than any familial call; she may well see faces she recognizes in the crowd, some with fear and others with apprehension as the ratings part to allow her and Regia to pass.

Immediately noticing the change, Dal pauses in her berating of the midshipman and turns towards the disturbance, eyebrows rising. She doesn't speak, but her hands do seem to grip the stock of her lasgun tighter. The room practically holds its breath.

The trek to Mess Hall 2C is an eye-opening one for Regia. While she is as perturbed by the void-born as any human who knows what it is to be born amid solid earth and sunlight, Talia's familiarity with the ship's erraticism is useful almost to the point of being charming. The woman's confidence surges as the little psyker leads her onward, to the point where she sees fit to address the girl in their travel.

"These are scared men still in the haze of battle. My first impulse is to scatter their resolve with words, not war - but they are your people - if you know anything of them to share before we arrive, I would hear it gladly."

As they approach and begin to hear the argument, Regia's eyes gleam as she devises a plan for the room. Simple men with simple needs and fears - but what is thirst for grog compared to thirst for the Emperor's mercy? What is fear when one has the Emperor's protection?

She is confident: they will be easy to sway.

I just wanted to give Swordfish time to interact before I get my preach on. It would be unsportsmanlike to fill the page with a homily, leaving Talia in the lurch :-)

[Thragka]

Jack took stock of the barricade, the wounded and the dead.

"You and your boys have done a fine job, Midshipman. Have your lads hand the confiscated weapons over to ours, and then they are relieved. Make sure they tend to the wounded and the dead. These fresh young bodies will take up the barricade." He waved his and Holt's entourage towards the makeshift defenses. "I'll need you to hang on, though - I want you to give me a full tour of the area, show us these sealed bulkheads and highlight other possible means of assault." He dropped his voice so that only Rhys and Holt could hear him. "What was it the Navigator said that set the mob off?"

[LeSwordfish]

Talia hesitated before speaking. "I don't know. I think they're just trying to protect themselves. If we show them they don't need it..."

She tailed off. It was something she did often.

---

Once facing the armed men themselves Talia forced herself not to blanche and hide behind the sister. She forced the calm onto herself, and concentrated on the leader of the armsmen. Ophion slithered down her sleeve and poked it's jewelled heads out of her cuff, inspecting them carefully.

"Greetings." she said, quelling the quaver in her voice. "We come with word from the captain, and from the God-Emperor." That was as much as she was willing to say of her own accord. She didn't step back though, instead looking to Regia to deliver the message.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius grabs the tag and looks at them, he recognized some of the names. Good lads, if a bit obstinate, it was a shame things had turned out this way. Gaius then looks up at Galdrin,"So let me see if I have this correct. A group of loyalists fled down this way, only to disappear. Then a ghost appeared to you, gave you these tags, and now it wishes to speak with me?" Gaius silently curses,"First an insane captain and now a ghost, lovely."

[The Grue]

Silus reached out to take one of the crew tags and held it up to examine closer. "These cognomen," he said, "They'd belong to the Loyalists you followed down here, aye?"

[Librarilen]

The moment that the word 'emperor' began on Talia's lips, the sharp light of the mess began to refract and sparkle off the gold inlay of Regia's breastplate. Though she had not even completed the task of drawing in air to speak, a power armor gauntlet capable of exacting enough pressure to shatter a windpipe unassisted by its wearer began to cleave the air, marking all those present with the Sign of the Aquila.

"Bow your heads and pray for the Emperor's blessing!" Intoned the Sororitas, as easily prompted by the timid Psyker as she might have been by a whole Ecclesiarchical Choir: she looked out over a sea of cowed faces, and planted a heavy hand upon the shoulder of the beleaguered Midshipman who had struggled to keep order.

Step one: Earn the sympathies of your Flock by acknowledging their troubles and making then your own.

"As I understand it, you men and women are members of this crew, are you not? You have bled, and sweat, and struggled for this ship, for your home?" as she spoke, Regia guided the Midshipman with the gentlest pressure and most indomitable confidence away from the ratings, passing her judgment. His authority meant nothing - here was a proper voice, a wise leader, to dismiss all the hostility he had created. She would commend his service later, in private.

Step two: Provide an alternative interpretation of their misguided actions.

"Your struggle has not been in vain. In truth, it has been rewarded! The fog of war is thick and within it friend and foe blend into one. Yet the corrupting Heresy which infested the Lord Commander made him weak to the lasgun and strong arm of the righteous, those for whom the Emperor provides! Your souls shall NOT be devoured by the evils of the Warp this day! You have triumphed in your faith, and saved yourselves from misfortune by the simple truth that you. Are. Faithful!"

And again as she spoke, a heavy hand reached down, but this one was joined by a filthy, smiling face, as she pulled the lasgun-cradling agitator into her grip, casually shifting her weight so her adherents had no choice but to step away lest they be jostled by the weighty armor.

Step three: Allow them to revel in a new victory while you drag away the carcass of the old one.

"The source of the ship's trouble has been eliminated! We thank thee, prostrate in worship at the foot of your Throne, for your benevolence! We swear this that we shall investigate, and be assured the faithful have your protection! What matters is not what was done, but rather, who survived! While this ship still cuts through the void and sees the holy light of Terra as its guide-" naturally, this meant she had to drag the agitator back as she put another protective hand on Talia's shoulder, beaming down on her as a representative of order in the chaos, ironic as that might be, "-we will eat! we will rest! We will survive! We will praise the Emperor of All Mankind!"

Regia drew the rating in nice and close, and the Midshipman as well. Was it not glorious news?

[Q'telun]

Lucius helps the wounded voidsmen to their feet or into the arms of their comrades and sees them on their way, then positions his own ten men at the barricades in fire teams. "Now remember, don't fire until I give the signal. We have this position secure, and they'll not charge into las fire just to get the Navigator." With the men entrenched, he returns to Midshipman Rhys and the pirate.

[Vexing]

"Thank you Sirs". Rhys immediately delegates the order to his unit, tired voidsmen passing their weapons to Lucius' replacements, alongside words of encouragement. "I'll show you points where I think they'll try to make entry", he adds as the Gunnery Officer and the pirate draw near to him. Casting a careful eye over his shoulder, he walks the two around the 'C'-shaped room and begins to point out possible avenues of approach; sealed hatches, ventilation ducts wide enough to carry a desperate man forward, and the main doorways--long since closed and coded shut by obedient machine spirits. Jack's question almost seems deliberately ignored...until the naval cadet seems certain that they can't be overheard.

"It's bad, Sirs. The Navigator said he had no idea where our Warp jump was taking us." The pained silence that follows seems to leak between the men's bones. "We can translate to realspace without a Navigator, but we're just as likely to do it in the middle of a sun without proper guidance. I don't pretend to know much as a House Scion or even a Tech-Priest, but I do know that we're good as dead if overshoot our arrival window. Or if we drop back into the void too early, between proper systems." He shudders, but doesn't allow himself to give in entirely to the fear. Rhys boots shift nervously on the deck.

"If I wasn't worried about another accident like what happened to Navan, I'd be breaking down his door myself. We're doomed if he can't find a place for us to drop back in."

The midshipman allows Regia to pull him around without much complaint. Clearly weary of the whole affair, he's quite content in allowing it to become Someone Else's Problem. When the Sororitas reaches for Dal, she first tries to move away; as the speech continues and a power-armoured grip settles onto her shoulder, the rating seems to become more tractable. The disdain she bore so openly during the argument fades away into a slightly confused expression. Her attempt at a smile is a nervous one at best, perhaps because the crowd around Regia and Talia seems only half-convinced by the Sister's sermon. While moving, her words don't cause a sudden rush to turn in lasguns or fall into prayer for the majority of the ratings. They hem and haw, a quiet murmur running through the group as they await Dal's next words.

"...I'm not worried about whatever happened the the Captain", she finally confesses in a quiet tone of voice. "If you swear that there will be no more fighting, then we'll hand them back." With that said, she brings up the weapon and offers it to the unnamed cadet. A better symbolic gesture would be hard to find; he reaches out to grasp it, after a quick glance to both Regia and Talia.

The breath held so briefly is released. The armoury's weapons begin to land and settle on the many tables in the mess hall. While it's entirely possible that an ambitious or nervous rating has kept ahold of a pistol or managed to smuggle out one of the longarms, the collective spirit of the group has been turned back to unity and away from resistance to authority. For the time being, crisis is averted. The ratings are convinced that any further troubles will be rooted out and dealt with expressly by the Sororitas and the Astropath themselves, if not by the rest of the unmet Command Crew.

"Thanks for that", the cadet whispers in the sudden rush of voices. "Sorry you had to be mixed up in this, Tali" are his last quick words before forging into the dispersing crowd and pulling up his vox-caster. Dal attempts to imitate him and melt away into the rest of the crew. Unless stopped or otherwise questioned, the both of them will return to business as usual.

"That's right, Sir. Captain. Feth." Galdrin glances back over his shoulder again towards the kneeling figure as he answers Silus' question. "That's them, or most of them. But Captain, it's no ghost. We think it's a--"

Ghilliam. The word bubbles up into Silus' mind even as the man utters the blasphemous word. A dangerous word, too, for any voidsman to use in earshot of a senior officer without any proof, as rumormongering is a lashing offense on most vessels.

Voidships are massive in scale, the smallest of them a city unto itself and the largest constituting a world away from any planet's soil hurtling through the dark stars. While every ship has a population of crewman and officers, there's a shadowy counterpart to the 'legitimate' denizens of the vessel: runaways, failed mutineers, abandoned children or depraved minds occasionally slip between the fingers of Naval justice, disseminating to depopulated areas of the ship to eke out a living in the dark and the cold. Colloquially referred to as the "Underdecks", this nebulous term for distant and undesirable partitions of a ship is the source of many a voidsman's sense of unease in the late hours or when swapping horror stories. Superstition dictates that anything born in the underdecks carries an unclean soul, a condition that results in profane behavior or obscene mutation of the body. The taint of Ghilliam blood is the excuse given when a rating turns murderous, when food or critical supplies go missing, or to explain the peculiar feeling of being watched when one knows he is alone.

Stories like Galdrin's--of shifting deckplates and figures walking from behind walls--are surprisingly common among voidsmen. The stories maintain that mutants and other undesirables that populate the underdecks have an unnatural control of the ship around them, or perhaps nascent powers in 'spooking'; there's a seed of truth to these claims, as anyone or anything that survives unseen on a voidship of any size must be adept at using forgotten passages or hatches into abandoned chambers. On a rat's nest of deliberately twisting corridors and deceptive architecture like the Malheureuse, any malign presence in the lower decks could be safely assumed to have great wealth of secret paths to get around by, the better to steal from supply stores or ambush lone voidsmen. The fear in Galdrin's eyes and in those of his men can now be safely explained. They fear attack at any moment by cold-souled terrors in the dark.

The looted cognomen offer a macabre twist to this realization. Most voidsmen are born and die on the same vessel; when they receive their name (or sometimes later, at the age of majority), they also receive a ship's token representative of the vessel on which they serve. Considerable importance is tied to this small charm of metal, often equated to a physical marker of the rating's soul. So important is a voidsman's cognomen that labourers or ratings who transfer ships will carry the token of their birth ship in addition to the new one granted to them on arrival. Legend holds that anyone 'buried among the stars' without their marker is forever lost to the Emperor, doomed to haunt the places between systems and latch onto passing ships out of spite. A voidsman would do much to avoid parting with their cognomen.

Silus can now be certain that whatever stole away or killed the Loyalists wished to make an impression on Galdrin and his men. Stories of the Ghilliam claim that the pale-skinned monsters collect such trophies as a way of counting coup. Here, they've literally stolen the souls of the missing ratings and offered them up. An intimidating ploy, one guaranteed to provoke a response from these folk.

As if aware of the direction the Master of Augurs' thoughts are taking, the kneeling figure lifts its head and gazes at the three men from under its hood. Its face is thin and pinched, with high cheekbones and a thin slit of a nose sitting under entirely black eyes. Clad in a loose robe of tattered cloth, the creature's pale skin is concealed from the neck down, as are its hands somewhere in the garment. The two ratings holding it at gunpoint flinch as it moves, fingers tightening over their triggers. "It didn't say anything after giving me those, other than asking to speak with you. I didn't know what else to do", Galdrin whispers.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia responded to the rating's apology with a brief, nervous smile, sagging a little as the weapons were stowed. "Thank you, sister. That could have been far nastier."

[Librarilen]

The Sororitas' smile tightens, her eyes hardening against something like hurt.

"With a good will, Astropath. I fear they are sorely mistaken if they think there will be no more fighting, however. Life is a long enough struggle already. Running from conflict does nothing to aid it." She shakes her head. "Perhaps something should be done to... Mh. Let us call for servants to return these weapons to the armory. Would you like to speak with the officer before we leave? He seemed to know you."

For her own part, she is rather tempted to pressgang several of these jumpy mutineers into her service, just to keep a barometer on the ship's morale. Perhaps her dismissal of the severity involved in half-rations needs to be re-thought. These are not spoiled nobles, after all.

[Q'telun]

Lucius's eyes go wide and his face drains of all color. The worst possible situation for the entire ship. If the Navigator can't find a place to revert to realspace thats safe, the only comfort this crew might receive is from the barrel of a bolter. "Midshipman Rhys. Do any of your men know about this?"

[Thragka]

Jack only swore a little bit. "And I don't suppose you've been in contact with the Navvy since he holed himself up inside?"

[LeSwordfish]

Talia shook her head. "He- no, everyone knows me. Lets contact Gaius and see if he wants us anywhere else."

Choosing not to thought-send for the sister's sake, Talia activated her microbead. "Gaius? I mean... Captain? They've stood down, we're getting the ratings to return the weapons to the armory. Do you need us anywhere else?"

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius sighs, this was proving to be an even stranger day than he expected. Nevertheless he forces a smile on his face and gently puts a hand on Galdrin's shoulder,"You did well Mr. Galdrin, rest easy now." He then looks at Silus and quietly says,"Watch my back."

Before he walks over to speak with the messenger, he responds to Talia,"Well done. For the moment pursue any other actions you find reasonable, but I may require both your services and that of Sister Regia's should the situation devolve down here. Until then though like I said, any actions you find reasonable."

He then strides over to the hooded figure, his hand hovering close to the handle of his bolt pistol. "I heard you wished to speak to the Captain, so speak now."

making a Fellowship roll to appear more like a figure of authority or respect

[roll0]

[Vexing]

"The only one who knew for sure is lying under the jacket, but I'm sure the rest of them suspect the truth. I've sworn them to secrecy about this disturbance with the mob and--with your permission--I'd like to assign us to somewhere isolated on the ship. I don't believe they'd start a panic knowingly, but this news would be like putting the Malehueruse to the torch. We can't risk any of them talking to the other crew." Rhys sighs, putting his face in his hands for a moment or two before taking a new breath. "I'm more worried that word will spread from the mob. I don't think they've got vox-casters, and the in-built ones down here shorted hours ago."

Jack's question causes a flinch. "I...well, no. I haven't, Sir. We tried to coax him out with promises of protection but received no response, and we haven't had time to spare to try anything more persuasive. It's been almost three hours now." He shifts uncomfortably, gesturing towards the ceramite obstruction at the middle of the 'C'. "The door is warded by a machine spirit, and I don't know the proper rites to engage on its control panel to force an opening. We could've used an Enginseer, but the few I raised on the caster had more important tasks to attend to on the Bridge and at the air purifiers."

The figure tilts back its head to watch Gaius on the approach; when the man draws near and speaks, it blinks once or twice in the silence that follows. Almost a minute passes before any response is given, the rumbling of the ship and the faint crackle of distant plasma banks filling the Warp-stinking air.

When the creature finally replies, it's in a plodding, empty monotone: "Krex was ordered to talk in quiet. Tell your warmbloods to leave." The black eyes continue to blink regularly, as if discomfited even in this dim light. Galdrin immediately shakes his head, and the two men flanking the underdeck dweller don't budge their lasguns even a centimeter.

[The Grue]

"Enough games." Silus unsheathed his cutlass and held the point to the creature's throat. "This...thing is just wastin' yer time, Cap. I don't know what him and his mates are planning, but I say we spill his tainted guts on the deckplates and send a message of our own."

[Q'telun]

Lucius nods. "When your men have gotten some rest, have them report to the bridge and we'll get them assigned somewhere quiet. If we haven't resolved the situation by then."

He claps Rhys on the shoulder. "You did well Midshipman. You held fast in a stressful situation, and your decisive actions might have saved the ship. Unless you have any other information you think might be helpful, you are dismissed."

[Librarilen]

Regia nodded, and spoke to Talia without the head's assistance. "If they may have need of us shortly, perhaps they also need us now?" she suggested, adjusting the weight of the flamer over her shoulder.

Tarrying would serve no good, after all.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia signed off the vox, and nodded. "I don't trust a request only to meet him. Silas is with him, too." She did not present this as a good thing.

[Thragka]

Jack nodded his agreement of Lucius's commendation. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, Midshipman. Keep that ear to the deck."

Rhys dismissed, Jack keyed his micro-bead into the command crew channel.

Solar's rustic diction crackled across the micro-bead channel. "Cap'n, the mob on Two seems to have temporarily dispersed, but chances are they'll be back. But the thing they had the problem with is that apparently our surviving Navigator doesn't know where we're headed. Which, not to put too fine a point on it, caused a bit of a panic down here."

There was a pause.

"Don't suppose you're privy to the late captain's intended heading?"

[Librarilen]

Regia's fingers fumbled in the direction of her commbead on impulse, but the Sister was able to resist the urge to switch on and speak to the others. She would have had little to say to that, save some of the very colorful words she had been taught by older hivers in Schools when she was a little girl. Instead she looked down at Talia, and deadpanned: "Like I said. Life is struggle. Let's go save him before this thrice-cursed boat can think of another way to spontaneously make our day more difficult."

Hopefully the Witch-girl knew a quick way to their next destination.

[Vexing]

"Nothing further to report, Sirs. Only that you may have more luck with the machine-spirits than myself. You're accustomed to the void, and I think the ship resents the touch of anyone but its own." Rhys pulls another tired salute and is dismissed.

The barricade is currently staffed by Lucius' men, all armed with lasguns and laspistols; the fortification is shoddy, but provides adequate cover against small arms fire and thrown objects. In the event of a charge up the hallway by massed crew, it may even hold up for awhile against a wave of bodies and fists before being pushed aside or torn down. There are many different points of entry into the 'C'-shaped chamber, but all of them have had their hatches locked or bulkheads sealed. A possible weak spot (the ventilation system) was pointed out by Rhys, but would only allow relatively small numbers of ratings to labouriously crawl into the room, and would be as inefficient an attack as it would be noisy. Still, these are desperate men.

The Navigator's quarters lie beyond a mighty ceramite door marked with the Aquila in black, though the eagle has been unhappily beheaded by a lasburn. A sliding cover to the left of the imposing barrier would reveal a luminescent screen marked with dozens of peculiar symbols, ritual signs that respond to the warmth of a human finger pressed to the screen. When the correct sequence is input, the machine spirits minding the door will be returned to their gentle rest and the locks will disengage. For now, it's immovable, secured by magnetic fields as much as the weight of the door itself. Onésime always believed in peerless security for valuable assets, and this included the Navigators.

The pale creature doesn't twitch as Silus puts the cutlass to its throat, at least at first. It appears to react only sluggishly to the threat, merely tilting its head back farther from the edge of the edge of the blade after a few seconds have passed, exhaling quietly. "Khrex was told to talk with the Captain. Khrex carries a message", it murmurs in the same monotonous manner. Silus or the voidsmen to either side of the misbegotten thing could kill it with little trouble on their part; the presumed mutant has no visible arms or armour other than the shapeless, tattered cloth it wears as robes.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius sighs,"Mr. Silus, I would appreciate if you restrain yourself at the very least until the mutant delivers his message." He then turns to the mutant,"I don't know if you are aware, but hostile actions aboard the ship only just finished and the crew are loath to lose another captain so soon. So your request for all of them to leave puts them in somewhat of an awkward situation. Perhaps you could simply whisper the message to me, while my men remain here in case anything untoward should occur, yes?"

making a Command roll since that seems the most suitable one, but correct me if I'm wrong.

[roll0]

[Vexing]

The mutant's brow furrows. It blinks as if confused about Gaius' request and simply breathes quietly for a time. Slowly, ever so slowly, its eyes narrow and it hisses at some private thought. "Swore. Khrex passes the message to the Captain, without other warmbloods to hear. If Khrex fails, then Khrex's blood is forfeit." It moves a hand from its robe and gestures with bony fingers to the ratings on either side, then to Galdrin and the rest. "They shiver and quake. Tell them to leave, out of this place." There's yet another long pause while the creature's nostril-slits widen and shrink with its breathing, fingers hovering forgotten in the air as if frozen. "The angry warmblood who smells like oil may stay." A small compromise, but whatever motivates the mutant has it completely unwilling to deliver its message before Galdrin and his men.

Khrex waits. As an afterthought, its fingers drop slowly back into the folds of its robes.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius sighs,"Very well. Mr. Galdrin, you and the men shall guard the area until I call you on the vox. I am sure between Silus and myself," he gestures at the thunder hammer strapped to his back and the power armor gleaming in the low light,"I'll be ok."

making a Command roll [roll0] heres hoping it works

[Q'telun]

Lucius eyes the pad warily. It might be worth a try to enter the code and placate the machine spirit, but Onésime might have been paranoid enough to booby trap the thing to prevent unauthorized access. So instead, he uses the butt of his sword to knock on the ceramite. "Navigator! This is Master of Gunnery Holt. Are you wounded in there?"

[Vexing]

Despite the loud ringing caused by Lucius' strikes, no response is forthcoming from behind the mighty door. The men glance backward from their post only briefly before refocusing on the corridor ahead of them.

Galdrin hesitates at first. After a noticeable pause he lowers his head and murmurs: "As you wish...Captain. We won't go too far." He gathers his men with obvious discomfort, but soon leaves by the hatch Silus and Gaius came in from. The faint whisper of the hatch restoring its pressure marks his exit.

Now, the Master of Augers and the newly minted Captain are alone. The mutant seems to take awhile to notice the change, only rising to its feet after almost a minute has passed since the rating's departure. Lifting fingers like pale spiderlegs, it removes its hood to reveal a completely bald pate, blue veins visible under its parchment-like skin. "Khrex carries a message from Underking Visaeus the Nose. Visaeus has heard of the struggle." At no point does its tone vary from the droning, flat affect its been using thus far. "Khrex was sent with brothers to kill the fleeing ones. The engines are safe, from these and others like them."

"Visaeus knows you've lost many of your warmblood brothers", it continues. "He offers to replace them so that you both may live."

[LeSwordfish]

Talia lead Regia down through the ship, following passages by instinctive knowledge as much as anything else. They met Galdrin and his men in a corridor.

"What's happening?" Talia asked. "Where's G- the captain?"

[Vexing]

After a long and increasingly uncomfortable journey in the warm, humid depths of the Malheureuse, Regia and Talia pop out into one of the long corridors that lead to the plasma banks; Galdrin and his men have set up a small checkpoint partway down the main passage, the bearded voidsmen and his fellows looking distinctly ill at ease even when the two are recognized.

"Hail." Galdrin doesn't offer any further greeting or supplication, tapping his boot against the nearby wall as if to free it from something grimy and unpleasant. "The First Officer and the Auger Master are two intersections down...the twist that wanted to talk said it needed to do so alone." He scowls, glancing back over his shoulder.

Regia doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary, other than the attitude of these crewmen.

[Q'telun]

Having spent some time trying to dredge up a semblance of a code from his memory, Lucius finally sighs in defeat and keys his vox. "This is Officer Holt to the Bridge. Are there any available enginseers to entreat a machine spirit?"

[The Grue]

"Ha! Reckon you'd be wanting food rations and bunks too!" Silus turned to face the new Captain, the tip of his blade still held to the creature's throat. "You can't seriously be considering this, Cap'n. Even if we had reason to trust him, we've five weeks on half-rations with just the crew we've got left. Any more we add just means less food to go around, and you can bet the men won't take kindly having to share with mutants."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius frowns, what Silus said was true... but the mutants had control of the engines. Of course they didn't explicitly say so, but the fact they were guarding it from the loyalists meant they could guard it from the rest of the crew too...

"Mutant, I would ask the advice of my senior officers before giving an answer one way or another. Return to your king and inform him I will return here in approximately three hours."

And with a swift turn, sending his xeno-pelt cape slicing through the air, Gaius turns to leave the room,"Mr. Silus, with me." He then makes a broadcast on his vox to the rest of the senior crew,"Meet me on the bridge as soon as possible, I have new information to discuss."

[Librarilen]

Regia stands at an easy sort of attention until the Captain has passed by, and falls into step behind him. It is odd to think of Gaius as Captain. Or perhaps it is odd to think of anyone else as Captain, after that role has been assumed by a warp-infested monstrosity whose purge was so complete as to leave nothing behind except a title and a record of misdeed.

She will spend the trip to the bridge in silence. Much of their work this evening has been grave: what is now so dire as to need all of their council again?

[Q'telun]

Lucius keys his own vox. "Captain, Solar and I still have work to do. We'll join you as soon as we're able."

[Thragka]

As Holt took over comma, Jack moved to the door. He balled one fist and began bouncing it hard against the door, again and again, ignoring the ache it boiled up.

"Navigator!" he roared. "This is the Master at Arms! Open up, Warp take you, or, so help me, we'll leave you to the mob and then flog what's left of you!"

Gonna roll Intimidate, with Fate if necessary. Granted, it might be hard to Intimidate through the door, but let's give it a go.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[ChaosArchon]

"Very well, good luck and may the Emperor protect you both. I won't hold up the council for you two but we can get you up to speed when you arrive."

[Vexing]

The hammering soon began to tire Jack's arm, and his hand burned more with every strike. The only noise in response to his threatening is the echoing of fist on ceramite for the long seconds while Lucius begins communications with a Tech-Priest about proper supplications to machine spirits.

Success is unexpected, when it does come. Jack's fist falls against the door: Smack! It withdraws, rises, falls...and whooshes harmlessly through open air as the mag-locks disengage and the door pulls into the ceiling faster than an underhiver prostitute's skirt, leaving the rogue to stagger slightly through the threshold. The chamber beyond silent, and a strong, earthy smell coils into the two men's nostrils as they stand without. No lumenglobes or strips illuminate what lies beyond, though the faint light of a flame can be seen flickering somewhere in the darkness ahead.

Lucius' men keep to their post, though more than a few heads turn. No one had expected threats and tantrums to produce results where reason and concern had failed.

[Q'telun]

Lucius gives Solar a look, before cautiously approaching the flame. "Navigator, are you well? Do you require a medic? We'd like to escort you to a more defensible location on the bridge."

[Librarilen]

"Is there something you wish to discuss before we reach the bridge, Captain?" Regia asks, with an imperceptably longer pause between those last two words. It -is- still hard to think of him as captain. "There are many ears there waiting for you. We still have the benefit of privacy while we are on approach."

[The Grue]

Silus glances at Gaius, then at Regia, then at Gaius again. "You wanna tell 'em, Cap, or should I?"

[Thragka]

"The hell we would," Jack muttered sourly. He examined the door mechanism from the inside to see if it could be closed; the last thing they wanted was the mob resurging while the defences were lowered. "But," he announced into the chamber, "we'd also quite like to know what thoughts y'may have on this whole ... drifting rudderlessly through the Warp sitch'ation."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius sits down at the bridge throne, and then holds his index finger up and then waves over a junior officer. "I want the bridge swept for listening devices and then for everyone who is not a senior officer to retire elsewhere until I recall them to their stations on the bridge."

After the bridge is swept and the junior officers leave, Gaius begins to speak,"This is the situation: A horde of mutants from the underdecks have sent an envoy from their "king" who has extended an offer to replace the losses we suffered during the... cleansing of chaos from this ship. Now normally I would have rejected them immediately," he then sighs," but we have a problem. They secured the engines from the loyalists, however they still control the engines. Ostensibly they mean to protect them from the loyalists, but the issue is that if we were to refuse them, they may very well tamper with them to our detriment."

He waits for a moment and then continues,"We have three options before us: one, we act in good faith and have the mutants serve in a crew; two, we accept the mutants in the crew and then expunge them from our midst once we have docked in a civilized world where we can replenish our numbers with actual human beings; and three, we organize a strike team to simultaneously liberate our engines and begin attempting to cleanse the underdecks of the mutant population, preferably starting with assassinating whatever passes for a king down there."

[The Grue]

Silus, arms crossed, was the first to speak up. "Do we really think this Underking would sabotage the engines just to spite us?" He shook his head - were his metal jaw flesh and bone he might have frowned. "Anything happens to those, the Malheureuse drifts helpless through the Warp until the Gellar field fails or she strikes a space hulk. Or worse, Emperor forbid. The "king" and all his foul brethren would be just as dead as the rest of us; it's an empty threat, Cap'n."

[Vexing]

Jack finds a touchpad tucked to the right immediately within the threshold, the twin of the one without the doorway itself. The door can be lowered again and the mag-locks reengaged, but it would take someone already knowledgeable with the peculiarities of these machine spirits to do it in a timely or dramatic fashion.

As Lucius advances into the darkness, his eyes slowly begin to adjust. An opulently appointed room awaits beyond only a few meters of hallway, a sunken affair arranged in three descending tiers; at the bottom the Navigator's 'chair', the machine whereby the three-eyed mutant would guide the ship directly, sits unmanned. The light he's approaching resolves into a small candleflame sitting atop a (wonder of wonders!) wooden desk, casting strange shadows on objects scattered about in the gloom. A collection of shapes and a faint shimmer pooling across the surface draws him closer.

He might jump as one of those objects is revealed to be a man, lines of limbs and shining eyes twitching in the candlelight as the void-master closes in. The junior Navigator looks unwell, with a sallow face, scruffy beard and a stained cloth tied about his head to conceal the Third Eye endemic to his kind; one hand clutches a knife, bloodied, while his other hovers shakily in a closed fist over a human skull. The shimmer is revealed to be blood pooling slightly around the macabre token, a steady dribble leaking between the man's fingers. He watches Lucius distractedly, as if his attentions are split.

"No more noise." The Navigator's eyes return to watching drops of blood run down bone, contemplating their flow with an apprehensive expression.

[Q'telun]

Lucius immediately stops talking, and starts breathing as quietly as he can. The Navigator might be unhinged, but he's their only way out of this mess. He watches, waiting for the man to speak again.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods,"Yes but if they suspect they're going to die anyway, they might take us down with them to spite us."

[Librarilen]

Regia looked across the room, trying to think past the initial impulse of distaste - not so much as they were mutants, but more that one among them was bold enough to call himself King and perhaps craven enough to sacrifice home and innocents to keep his station.

But then what else could he do? Without much in the way of threat or preamble the crew was already considering when to exterminate them. Regia decided that her personal judgment was not half so valuable as observation of the situation.

"Bold. Perhaps to our advantage. If they are confident enough to send you an emissary, Captain, they are equally confident their stratagem has a chance of success. I do not think it wise to threaten - their desperation has earned them a measure of cooperation, as we do not have the resources to remove them yet. Indeed, if we do not win their confidence, the closer we are to safe harbor the more dangerous they shall become."

"My greater concern than their extermination would be that without the Light of the Emperor to guide them in the dark corners they have skulked in for so long, they are ripe for the corruption of the Warp. Particularly while they occupy the engines. They require more than reticent acceptance. We must delve deeply into their company." Regia's hand moved not to her flamer, but to the furthest pinion of the Aquila emblazoned near her collar. The Emperor's wings were wide, and needed to spread far. "When you deem it appropriate in negotiations, I would take it upon myself to inspect them myself. I shall find the faithful in their midst." And the competent. And humble. And unambitious.

[The Grue]

Silus raised an eyebrow. "Sister I expected you to be the strongest voice against consortin' with the mutant," he said with mild surprise. "But I gotta say, if a Sororitas sister can get behind it, maybe it's not such a terrible idea after all."

"Still leaves us with the food problem, though - every deck-rat we take on is one crewman who don't get his ration, and we're already low on half-servings.

[ChaosArchon]

"Well unless they're facing a famine which we do not know about," Gaius says,"they must be able to feed their own population. If they are facing such a famine, it may very well be that they are sending some of their number to us merely to reduce the strain on their own food."

[Vexing]

Lucius didn't have long at all to wait. After a few more tense seconds, the Navigator groans and pinches the bridge of his nose with bloody fingers. "Useless. You interrupted me, anyway." He gestures--with the hand holding the knife, a poor choice--towards the far wall, the point waving far too close to the void-master's face. "The auguries aren't working. We're in the Warp!", he barks in a sort of manic chortle, pushing himself back up from the desk. "Turn on the light. I'll need to try the maps anyway."

"I can't be moved from this place. I need the mindlink station below to guide the Malheureuse. Kai might have been able to directly conduct the ship from the bridge, but he has...had decades more experience than I do. I need to be linked into the ship's machine spirits in order to find our way out." The assistant Navigator seems to be explaining as much for his own benefit as for Lucius' and Jack's, practically muttering. He doesn't notice if the lights are turned on or not, pacing slowly down one of the room's tiers, footsteps taking him towards a scattered mess of charts and scrawling glyphs on a great plotter's table. "We haven't had anyone guiding the ship for hours now. Every moment we're blind in the Warp is another chance to wander into a storm, or beach against...whatever's waiting outside", he finishes solemnly.

"These were the last charts Kai was working with before he perished. I don't recognize half of these routes and markings, and the other half look like they've been protected in some kind of cipher. Even if I keep the ship from foundering, we need to know where we were heading before we can translate to realspace." He looks at Lucius wearily before glancing back to the knife in his hand; perhaps just realizing it was still being held, he releases it to clatter on the table. "I need either another set of eyes and hands, or another one of my own. But most of all I need quiet."

"Well?"

The Emperor seemed to have indulged in suitable dramatic timing for the moment, as the second he'd finished the snap of a lasgun echoed into the chamber. A sharp yelp could be heard in the distance, followed by one of Lucius' men at the barrier bellowing: "That was a warning shot! Lay down your arms and report to Deck Four for interrogation and judgement!" The answer is too faint to be made out inside the Navigator's room, but it sounds more angry than cowed.

[Q'telun]

Lucius sighs when the lasgun reports. "Mister Solar, could you go and quell that fight? You seem to have a way with words that I lack. I'll assist the Navigator with his course." He moves to the table and begins trying to plot their path from the notes left by the deceased Navigator, starting with their last known Realspace location, and eliminating possible Warp routes.

[LeSwordfish]

"I could... interrogate them." Talia said carefully. "With their permission, I could look into their minds and ascertain if they are telling the truth, or if they are... tainted."

[Librarilen]

The Battle-Sister gave Silus a patient smile for his comment. "Do you consider this 'consortion', then? Not all battles are fought with chainsword or bolter. I think that in a better circumstance it would be prudent to be more direct, but it it sounds to me like we shall find only gains in our restraint: I would suspect they have stores of their own food, for one. I fear the taint of the Warp and expect to easily divide the mutants between the faithful-to-be-saved and the abominations-to-be-purged, for another."

Talia's suggestion, however, gives her pause. Mutant or not, she would not wish to expose the little witch to the foulness of their new associates. "When the time comes for individual conversation and interrogation, perhaps?" she suggests. A touch of concern brushes over her as she does so, for she hears in her voice shades of that venerable battle-axe of a Drill Canoness, Sister Agnesir, as she speaks.

[Vexing]

The noises from outside the chamber slowly grow in volume, and urgency. "Sirs?", one of the men at the makeshift barricade calls. "They appear to have lascutters."

Lucius, in any case, leaps directly into helping the Navigator...

The charts are truly a mess. Whether it was Kai Navan's custom to work with incomplete stellar atlases or whether Onésime is to blame for the patchwork arrangement of information, the papers are as confusing as they are numerous. In fact, it would be hard to call any one sheet of parchment or high-grade pulped paper a proper 'chart', most of them small segments of various star systems or celestial arrangements rendered alone on small sheets or block-like cards. Conventional names and measurements are missing, replaced by nonsensical gibberish, names lifted from legend, strings of High Gothic-styled numerals or (rarely) left entirely blank. Fortunately, Lucius at least knows where the vessel left for the Halo Stars: Port Wander. And with a starting point and the three weeks spent positioning in realspace with only minor warp jumps, a canny man can narrow down a galaxy of options.

Assuming the hours pouring over charts and struggling through Onésime's charts go uninterrupted, Lucius and the Navigator (Tsu) will emerge tired but triumphant! Not only will they have confirmed the Malheureuse's rendezvous, but they have a working estimate of the time left for the Warp jump to be completed that seems close enough to be trusted. Only five more days in the Warp, and Tsu believes that the ship's position in the Immaterium will have the group arrive at the right place (and the right time, as weeks and months spent in jump can be fickle).

The ship seems to have been launched into the Warp towards a lonely system hovering in the darkness of the scattered Halo Stars, home to a young sun and a single planet, according to a piece of scrap chart that stood out to the eyes of both men. Written on aged leather rather than parchment, its faded inks and burned inscriptions indicate the presence of an asteroid ring and cluster in the destination system, both of which can now be safely planned around and avoided during translation. While other markers appear throughout the system's periphery and the primary orbital band occupied by the planet, their meaning cannot be so easily deduced. While the mundane dangers of the system hold no more mysteries, Onésime's other signs and sigils will simply have to be explored or seen to be properly interpreted.

As for the reasons for such an out of the way trip, it's anyone's guess. At least Lucius will have some good news to report.

[ChaosArchon]

"So, it seems in general, that you all would support an action where we add the underdeck mutants to our crew, at the very least until we can land on an occupied planet and recruit from the populace there,yes?"

[The Grue]

"I'd be lying if I said the idea don't make me uneasy," said Silus reluctantly, "but if we really think the mutants would sabotage the warp engines and damn us all, then I don't see we have much choice. Course, I think it'd be wise the Cap'n revisit the topic when we're in a better position."

[Thragka]

Jack bustled back out to the barricade.

"Boys, boys!" he shouted to the crowd. "Let's all just calm down, eh? What's the problem?"

this is not a good situation
[roll0]
[roll1]
ooh dat not good

[Vexing]

Jack reaches the barricade just in time to deliver his charming address to a crowd of crewmen down the hall, easily a score or more. A handful of them are armed with lascutters, the unwieldy devices making for dangerous (if desperate) weaponry that could pull double-duty when besieging the Navigator's room. Unfortunately, either the tenseness of the situation or sheer anger on part of the mob renders a call to reason ineffective.

"You know damn well what the problem is! We're marooned in the Warp!"

"He's stalling!"

"Bring out the Navigator!"

A thrown hunk of metal comes dangerously close to Cap'n Fflynt on Jack's shoulder as it's hurled past. The crowd slowly advances on the barricade.

[Q'telun]

The sounds of the mob outside aren't dispersing, and that means they're getting closer. Heaving himself to his feet, Lucius draws his saber and his pistol and heads for the door, his distinctive blue Imperial Navy great coat billowing behind him ominously as he steps into the light. His face is full of thunder, and the look that foretells doom for the hapless ratings under his command is in full effect. "RATINGS," he bellows as he strides towards the barricades, "WHO HERE AMONG YOU CAN NAVIGATE THE IMMATERIUM? BECAUSE IF YOU CAN, AND BELIEVE YOU CAN DO SO IN A MORE EFFICIENT MANNER THAN NAVIGATOR TSU, STEP FORWARD."

Here he stops at the edge of the barricade beside his men, and drops his voice to deadly quiet. "Otherwise, disperse, and allow our esteemed Navigator to complete his duties in peace."

Intimidate using Strength: [roll0] vs. 21

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods,"Naturally. Now then, I assume the envoy is expecting me. Do I have any volunteers to come with me and serve as an honor guard of sorts."

[Librarilen]

"Of course, Captain. Unless you have other duties for me, I see no reason to leave those poor wretches in the dark, ignorant of the Emperor's Light, any longer than necessary."

Rolling her pauldron-encased shoulders forward, Battle-Sister Regia blinks her eyes slowly closed, letting her thoughts wander toward their Father and Savior upon his Golden Throne, watching over them - and then her eyes open once more, steeled with resolve, ready to journey down into the dark pits of the ship's underbelly, carrying his righteousness with her.

[The Grue]

"Aye, I'll come along as well," said Silus. "Not that I don't doubt the good Sister's sword-arm, just, you know, strength in numbers 'n such."

[Vexing]

"We have them outnumbered! If we don't get the Navigator, they'll never take us home!"

The mob of ratings breaks into a sudden rush towards the barricade, urged on by a particularly vocal dissident--conveniently towards the back of the charge. The whipcracks of lasfire echo noisily throughout the corridor, lances of bright light arcing into the crowd.

"Push!" With bulky lascutters and clubs hastily improvised from scrap metal, the errant crew surge against the makeshift barrier. There's little choice but to fight back.It's over in less than a minute, and a massacre besides. The slugs and slashes from Lucius coupled with the heavy blasts from Jack's bolt pistols help make a far more solid impression than lasers and the butt end of a lasgun, clearing out the first few cramped ranks within seconds, the hail of fire shattering the mob's momentum. The primary instigator is lost in the confusion of bodies, perhaps trampled as the remnants of the charge double back over the fallen and the shocked alike. While Lucius' men take one or two parting shots to make a point, they're content to allow the retreat.

In the bloody mess that lies before the two members of the Command Crew are eighteen dead and four wounded. A little less than half that number escaped down the passageway, doubtless scattering out of sight. The men manning the barricade offer to track them down for proper judgement, with the CC's permission.

With an unfortunately violent end to the encounter, the Navigator is safe (for the moment), with Jack and Lucius free to attend to their duties.

[Q'telun]

Lucius stares at the carnage left in the hall and makes a displeased noise. "No. They'll cease to be an issue once we leave the Immaterium. As it is, they outnumber you. Hold position, and see to the wounded." Shaking his head at the lack of faith the mutineers had displayed in the Navigator, he keys his vox.

"Lord Captain, the Navigator is secure. I would request a Chirurgeon and a squad of cleaning servitors, we have casualties." He pauses and considers the barricades and the men manning the walls. "And twenty armsmen as reinforcements."

[Vexing]

When the members of the Command Crew finally brave the lower levels of the ship, Khrex is found waiting for them in the same intersection as before. While the peculiarly slow mutant doesn't seem to have moved--even crouched in the same position as when Gaius and Silus had left--it has found company. Crowding the intersection are a dozen additional figures, pale limbs gleaming like fresh wax under the green lumen-strips; while they're clad in the rags of ill-fitting naval uniforms or nearly shapeless robes sewn together from scraps, these men and women differ from Khrex in that they seem markedly human, albeit drained of colour and undernourished. Eyes are in their proper places, a pair of arms and legs for each figure, and no visible signs of corruption at all. As mutants and Ghilliam, they're somewhat of a...disappointment. Hunted looking expressions dominate these newcomers, though their gaze quickly drops to the floor when the officers enter. They even attempt to fall into a rough sort of line against the bulkhead farthest from the Explorers.

Khrex lifts its head slowly to peer at you, taking several seconds (as always) to process the group's arrival. "Well? Will you take Khrex's brothers to labour for you, or no?"

[The Grue]

Silus kept his distance from the mutant, his hand resting uneasily on the hilt of his cutlass.

"After due consideration", he began, in as neutral a tone as he could muster, "the Captain has decided to accept your King's proposal."

[Librarilen]

"And in exchange, he shall accept the Lord-Captain's." Regia pronounces, chasing after Silas' words, which took her by surprise. She can feel her heart clench with disgust at the mistaken acknowledgement of a king aboard this vessel, but it is not an error she has the luxury to correct right now. "We would meet with him and discuss terms post-haste."

[Vexing]

The Ghilliam recruits seem just as surprised as Regia feels, wearing their disbelief openly on thin faces. Nothing quite compares, however, to Khrex's reaction. After the slow processing of both Silus and Regia's response, the mutant's nostril slits flair and it hisses slightly, face contorted in a confused grimace. "Khrex brought hands for Underking, and you will put them to labour. Terms? Khrex brought what was ordered, you have some now. Soon you get more, and more, to fill the empty spaces updeck." It shifts uncomfortably, a spotted tongue flicking out every few seconds as if to test the air. It isn't difficult to see that the creature is perplexed, either unwilling (or perhaps unable) to take initiative.

[LeSwordfish]

"One t-term." Talia said, her voice breaking a little. "Is that you submit to a mental scan performed by myself."

"The process is not painful, but will ensure your intentions are pure and... and that you are telling the truth."

"We can perform the scan now or at your convenience."

[Vexing]

Another drawn out pause, stretching uncomfortably as Talia's request hangs on the air. Khrex behaves much the same, eyes narrowing imperceptibly as her words finally make impact somewhere in the mutant's glacial thought processes. Looking over its shoulder at the wall of potential replacement crewmen, however, seems to remind the creature of the severity of the situation. "Khrex will let you...poke, and prod", it mutters, slowly rising to its feet. "But Khrex has only brought hands to offer. You waste your time, witch-eyes, when Visaeus gives so much for so little."

Pulling back the hood of its robe once more reveals its bald head and eerily thin skin, veins practically popping against the surface. The mutant's dark eyes regard Talia as it awaits her mind probe, the rest of the underdeck offerings waiting in glum silence. "Khrex fears nothing."

[ChaosArchon]

While en route, Gaius responds via vox quickly,"I'll assume such force was neccessary but would appreciate if from now on we try to not reduce our numbers even more than we already have. But that is talk for a later time, for now you may summon what you require with my full authority supporting you. Once you wrap that up, meet up with me on the engine level, passage section 158C. Captain out."

When they arrive at the meeting place, Gaius puts on a look a slight disinterest mingled with a paradoxical measure of amusement. He is content to allow his senior staff to speak in his stead but as the mutant becomes aggitated Gaius flatly says,"Well you what they say about angels and treading with fear."

He grins for a slight moment for realIzing the jab likely sailed over Khrex entirely. Nevertheless he motions for Talia to begin searching the mutants thoughts and waits for a report.

[Q'telun]

"Aye, Lord Captain. I'll give a full report at your convenience."

Once the orders have been given, the wounded have been separated from the dead, and the medics have arrived and begun their work, Lucius will return to the Navigator and continue assisting him in sorting out the charts and unravelling the mystery that is their destination.

[Librarilen]

"We should ready ourselves to speak with their leader, once these hands are at their duties, Captain." Regia advises, her jaw still set in a grim frown.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia nodded and stepped forward. "This... this will go more easily if you relax."

She reached out with her mind and parted the curtains of the mutant's Psyche to step inside.

The first levels of the woman's mind were open, old thoughts on the surface like oil on water. Talia skimmed through them easily, plucking facts to inspect in her hands and then gently place back. The mutant's name, gender, age... she steeled herself, and slipped below the surface.

Here the mindscape shimmered as the light shone through the surface, curtains of mind-patterns drifting gently. Talia moved around them, watching them as they pass... most of them were fears.

Below her, deeper in the water, there was far more to be found. Talia steeled herself, and dived deeper.

[The Grue]

Silus gingerly reaches to his side and eases his bolt pistol out of its holster, hoping it won't be needed.

[Vexing]

The mutant's thoughts are slow and plodding, shifting like clumsy leviathans in the depths of her mind; Talia flits about them with relative ease, plucking information from memory and conscious thought alike as she dives ever onward. Fears, back-up plans, and visions of the mutant 'King' are stolen and interpreted, dark images passing through the Astropath's vision in flickering waves. Every so often Talia is buffeted by a minor current, the creature's will stubbornly attempting to force her out, but to no avail.

Seen from without, Khrex becomes more and more discomfited. Her pale skin sweats, and her lips peel back to reveal a nest of needle-like teeth as she snarls in silence. The would-be ratings against the far bulkhead look away in fear. Some glance to the maze of pipes and lumen-strips above, some nervously check behind themselves and gaze longingly at the activation panel for the bulkhead, slightly out of arm's reach from the closest rating. They hover on the edge of flight, anxiously awaiting the end of this peculiar standoff.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia rocked on her heels as she withdrew from the mutant's brain, reaching out a hand to steady herself.

Her mind still stank of another spirit as she reached into Gaius's mind and that of his crew to pass on what she had found.

They are desperate. They mean well but if we refuse them... they're not afraid to cause... problems. They have prisoners. They have prisoners... because if we don't start supplying them with food, they will run out.

[The Grue]

Silus turns to face the captain, placing himself between him and the Ghillum so as not to be overheard.

"Just as I thought, Cap'n," he whispered. "They want our food stores. Can we really afford to give away our dwindlin' supplies? We do this, we'll have to resupply nearly as soon as we leave the Warp. And we can't afford to be picky 'bout where it's comin' from."

[Vexing]

Khrex withdraws as quickly as anyone has seen the mutant move, pulling her hood up with uncharacteristic swiftness while shifting a few paces back from Talia. "See, warmbloods? Nothing to hide, nothing...to fear", she hisses from behind her pointed teeth. "These are the first of many hands. Visaeus has more to give, soon."

The offered mutants still wait with bated breath, faces blanching ever paler as Silus moves to confer with his Captain. Whispering wasn't a good sign.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius slightly nods at their words and thinks for a moment, before psychically sending a message to the others,"So their position is not as strong nor benevolent as they claim. Talia, did you happen to glean from the mutant's mind where the hostages might be or where their "king" resides?"

Seeing the underdeck mutants' discomfort, Gaius then speaks aloud,"Your king's terms seem most generous. I simply must meet with him to express my thanks. Is it possible we might seal the deal in person?"

[Vexing]

Khrex's dark eyes seem to shift away from the Command Crew, the wet orbs rolling slightly in their sockets. "Khrex was told to bring hands. Perhaps...Khrex could carry word back and offer your words to Visaeus. He is busy finding more to work with your warmbloods, and down here in the decks." She motions to the ratings; some flinch, but one woman takes the initiative and crosses over to the Command Crew and bows low, with the others quickly moving to copy her actions. "Take these. More will wait at the great Engine for you to assign."

If no one moves to stop her, Khrex will take the opportunity to slink towards the bulkhead farthest from Gaius and begin to open its lock. It's obvious she's preparing to leave. "Khrex will tell Visaeus."

[The Grue]

Silus chambers a bolter round with a satisfying CHUNK.

"No, Khrex will bring the Captain to Visaeus, or Smiley will fetch a pair of voidhands to scrub her off the goddamn bulkheads."

[Librarilen]

It is imperative we satisfy the mutant's fears, then. If we can promise his subjects enough food for their bellies and enough labor to stop worrying about anything else, he will have nothing to offer them save a place in the new pecking order. We must swear him to the service of the Emperor, and ourselves, immediately. Regia reflects, glad for a more solid understanding of what lies beneath their feet now, still fearful and desperate -- but a known quantity, at least.

[Vexing]

Khrex freezes, hand hovering over the bulkhead's release latch. The would-be ratings stop dead in their tracks, eyes wide, as the unsettling mutant turns her head to hiss at Silus. The gesture is ultimately impotent, since Silus could spatter her across the floor with little difficulty, but the bared teeth and dark eyes still prove unsettling. "I will carry your message to Visaeus, warmblood, urgently. Shoot if you dare." While the words are slow as ever, there's a fearful tremor in her voice as she presses down on the release.

The latch releases, pressure seals vent. Metal groans and settles, the sounds of scraping and rattling echoing throughout the chamber and in the passageways without. While it could simply be the ship grumbling (so close to the Engine room, it would be normal) or the door bellyaching about opening, Talia would recall that Khrex has mutants lying in wait. The tension in the air could be cut thick and served as a proper meal...

[LeSwordfish]

"No!" The thought-form was wild but hit Silus enough to shake him. "They have an ambush. Let him go."

"I would request," Talia said aloud, with a sideways glance at Gaius, "That your leader also submit to the same mental scan I performed on you."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods slightly,"I understand that you have your own fears regarding this situation and that is perfectly understandable. But understand we have some hesitance regarding this as well. It would smooth over a great deal of issues if I were able to meet with your king now."

fellowship (charm) roll: [roll0]

[The Grue]

Silus reels from the Astropath's unwelcome intrusion into his mind.

His metal jaw contorts into a grimace. But he does not fire.

[Librarilen]

Regia positively sneers at Talia's report, the urge to visit justice upon the traitorous mutant causing her forearms to tense, unseen, within the vambraces of her power armor, but she holds her tongue - and her fire - while the Captain attempts to resolve this more diplomatically.

[Q'telun]

Lucius walks up to the tense stand-off, heels clicking on the plate flooring as he quickens his pace in response to the palpable tension between the mutants and the voidhands. As he nears, he releases the catch on his holster, then comes to a stop and offers Gaius a salute before turning to face the door.

[Vexing]

The moment stretches, strains...and collapses in on itself like a rotten fruit, rather than exploding. Khrex's shoulders slump and she closes her eyes in thought. When she opens them again, the mutant appears resigned, thin lips pursed.

"...Khrex will take you to Visaeus. Follow close, don't wander." She turns around, fully opens the bulkhead, and moves into the passageway beyond without a backward glance. The Command Crew is likely quick to follow her lead.

There isn't much deeper to go in the frigate, but the short descent is a nerve-wracking one. The rumbling and crackling discharge of the ship's plasma banks echo in tight passages and down unused corridors, muffling speech and disrupting clear thought. Illumination comes from damaged or ancient lumen-strips--when it comes at all, though Khrex doesn't appear to notice when a sudden turn or a drop down a hatch plunges the group into complete darkness. Hot, wet air presses down on the Command Crew, soaking hair and clothing alike. Worse still are the shapes that lurk at the edges of their vision, loping figures that vanish before even the keenest eye can fix fully upon them--the other mutants are always near.

Gradually the familiar (if disused) lines of the Malheureuse's passages come to an end; its as if a boundary has been crossed, as the group exits another sealed bulkhead and drops into a humid chamber, twisted and cavernous. Everywhere is the faint sound of recycled air labouriously pushing itself through aged pipes. Droplets of dirty water constantly patter from the high ceiling and unseemly looking mold grows across scattered metal plates and blocks...

A thought winds its way into the heads of the group. Not grown--not in such inorganic shapes, not in what passes for ordered rows. Cultivated. They've reached the heart of the mutant presence on the ship.

Straining eyes soon begin to pick out holes in the walls and floor plating, makeshift huts thrown together from harvested sheets of steel and discarded plastics, some illuminated by weak firelight. The crude structures begin to mound up on either side of the crew as they follow their guide, stacked atop each other or leaned against the walls of the chamber for support. Everywhere a flat surface can be found, more of the disgusting fungus offends the eye and the stomach.

Worse still are the inhabitants. Pale things shift about in the gloom; some walk like men, others slither, wriggle, or twitch away from the path Khrex takes through the dingy village, and one might swear something flaps by overhead. The odors of sweat, blood, infection and rot exude from every corner and leave one longing for the scent of the stale air or plasma discharge in the decks above. Chatter in a debased form of the ship's dialect is at a constant hum all around the settlement, punctuated by the occasional scream or inhuman wail. Dark eyes sneak glances out of hidden alcoves, many of the glittering orbs too many or too few to belong on a truly human face. A conservative estimate would place the population of the area at several score mutants at least, if not a hundred or so. And who can say how deep the warrenlike hovels are scattered in the bowls of this forgotten corner?

Khrex doesn't slow her pace. Eventually the group breaks free of the claustrophobic warren and into what passes for an open square; no buildings mar the deck plating for almost fifty meters from the edge of the village up to a large hold door, though more fungus is being coaxed into life in patches. The door's mag-locks are visibly exposed and rusted into uselessness, the portal left partially open like the waiting maw of some riverside predator. Six mutants stand (slouch, slither, quiver, shake) at attention under the light of two dying lumen-globes carried on sticks, though stronger light leaks out from the hold itself. Clad in stolen flak armour and carrying a mix of surprisingly well-kept lasguns, they part immediately upon seeing Khrex and don't give a second glance to those she's guiding. Perhaps word had already been carried ahead? The slow-witted mutant moves over the threshold and into the light.

The old storage bay is a mess. Steel crates and grav-assisted lifting equipment make an uneven landscape, discarded containers and metal sheeting stacked in precarious towers or collapsed into dangerous slides. Tables made from poorly welded metal stand atop piles of flakboard, littered with lasguns (likely stolen from the Malheureuse's various armoury holds), crude blades and vicious looking clubs in various states of disassemble or repair. Fresh oil drips to the floor from one such workstation, bare footprints wet with the dark fluid leading back out the door. Fortunately, the air seems clearer in here, and globes full of electric light are settled almost every ten meters on a surface or wedged between packing containers. In an alcove once occupied by a lift is a shrine, a crude Aquila fashioned out of steel and polished to a bright shine.

"Forgive me. There wasn't any time to make it all...presentable."

The voice's owner reclines atop a 'throne' of stacked crates, set up near the back of the storage area. While his skin is pale as the rest of the Ghilliam, his appearance is almost surprisingly normal. The proper number of arms and legs, and a pair of bright green eyes in an otherwise unremarkable face; Visaeus doesn't look like the mutant ringleader Ecclesiarchy clerics warn against in popular sermons. He's clad in clean brown robes, and a stave of braided metal leans against his chair. Cognomen hang from it, woven near the top of the weapon as charms.

A clear space has been cleared in front of the throne, with one of the more complete tables occupying the center; a hodgepodge of chairs and makeshift stools complete the picture, one for each interloping human, a laughable nod to proper hospitality. Khrex shuffles across the intervening space to kneel at his feet. She attempts to speak but is silenced with a muttered word, though his hand reaches out to pat her bald head comfortingly. "You did well, Khrex. Leave us and go rest." The creature stands and wriggles through the chaos, back towards the door. Visaeus leans forward on his throne and reaches out to take his stave, gesturing widely with his free hand.

"I am Visaeus the Nose. I take it you wanted to discuss the specifics of my offer?" A small smile creeps onto his face.

[Q'telun]

Lucius stands at parade rest two steps behind his new Captain, taking in the terrain. Plenty of cover, with a kill-zone in the middle. The mutants had expected this to happen, or at least were paranoid enough to consider. The Aquila was a nice touch to lure the crew into a false sense of security.

With a politely neutral expression, Lucius steps forward and gives a half-bow to the "king" before he speaks. "I thank you for receiving us on such short notice, Mister Visaeus. As I'm sure you can understand, we wanted to make sure our potential allies did not possess the taint of Chaos, or wish us harm, before we accept their aid."

[Librarilen]

"Indeed. This ship has suffered greatly from the taint of heresy. Any weakness of faith or sign of internal struggle could damn thousands of souls to infernal torment. When we heard of your service in keeping this holy vessel afloat, we thought it prudent to seek you out and do all in our power to bolster your trust in the Holy Emperor, and our Lord Captain, his representative in this barren patch of void." Regia adds, stepping in so she is perfectly abreast of Lucius, her eyes fixed directly upon Sir 'The Nose', and ready to respond to the slightest hint of arrogance or disloyalty. Of course the terms they are rapidly laying out before the 'king' like so much carpet will be difficult to swallow, but then, it seems the Sister's pragmatism has started to corrode when faced with shadowy monstrosities and the reek of unknown fungus around every corner.

[Vexing]

"I can understand your concern", Visaeus begins, "but you needn't have any fear. My people's bodies are twisted and fractured, but I assure you our spirits are whole enough to satisfy. Nothing troubled you on your way down--if we intended to take over the ship, wouldn't the opportune time to have done so already passed?" The mutant leader tries for what he clearly believes to be a disarming smile; instead, it comes off as artificial and stilted, like a taxidermied creature baring its teeth. When no one seems forthcoming, he rushes over the silence, murmuring: "As for our trust in the Emperor, you will not find us wanting. I assure you that we give Him On Terra His due."

"The Malheureuse is listing like a wounded animal, from what I hear of the situation abovedecks. I decided to offer my people's assistance to you without expectation or limitation. Surely that passes inspection, Sister?" He meets Regia's gaze with his own, unwilling to back down. "We're all tied to the fate of the ship, after all. We are willing and able to help."

[LeSwordfish]

"While we appreciate the assistance," Talia said, "we would like you to submit to a mental search to ensure your intentions are honest." That said, she stepped back, partially behind Gaius.

[Vexing]

"Is that right? Can I expect the same treatment you accorded to my emissary, then?" Visaeus snorts. "I can smell your mind all over hers, Talia of the Gun Decks. I refuse to be dealt with that way in my home, where you have already intruded so rudely." The mutant pushes himself to his feet, the cognomen on his stave clacking and chiming with the motion like leaves in a light breeze. "I have sacrificed much to be where I am, and risked much more still to broker this arrangement. And here you all enter," he points an accusing finger, burning gaze attempting to bore a hole in Talia, "bearing weapons and making demands of me. I can feel the suspicion and the hateful thoughts that dog your heels..." His free hand gestures widely, encompassing Silas with his itchy trigger finger, Lucius' checking of the potential killzone, and even the Sororitas' slight movements of discomfort. "No. My mind will remain inviolate, even if everything else is to be taken from me."

"We will negotiate with each other as equals, or you will all be forced to leave." With his brows proudly arched and arm outstretched, Visaeus body language dares any of the Command Crew to take issue with his ultimatum. "Well?"

[Librarilen]

Regia giggled.

Like sunlight dancing over sarcophagus marble, like the bloom of color from the welder's torch - infuriatingly attractive and completely at odds with the harsh place it originated from.

"...come now, Overseer of Engines, do you really think any of us are 'equals' of our Lord Captain? If you are waiting for the Emperor to strike us all down and declare you one of his Living Saints before we parlay, I think we will all be waiting a very long time."

The sooner they had him compromising his authority - would a new title satiate his fears? - the easier this would be.

[The Grue]

Silus chuckles along.

"And until that happens, Sister, I think our... associate ought to tell us his uptake of our arrangement. Extra deck hands helps us a lot more than it helps him, and if he's not keen to pledge fealty to the Lord-Captain... Well a suspicious man might wonder what he stands to gain."

"If'n yer skittish about a psyker poking around yet brain, I can't honestly blame you. But I don't buy for a second that your aid comes without expectation of repayment."

[Vexing]

"I'm the equal of any of them now", Visaeus retorts harshly, "with you as perhaps the sole exception, Emperor's Daughter. It hasn't been a full ship's cycle since the last Lord-Captain was murdered and his body burned. That title carries scant weight. I may never be a Saint, but he", with that accusatory digit jabbing in Gaius' direction, "stands even less a chance of being the real Captain of this ship! Why should I treat him as anything but my equal? You all need me." The witch shakes his head irritably, visibly rankled by the pair's merriment at his expense. "You wouldn't have come here otherwise."

Turning to the Master of Augers, he continues a much more controlled tone of voice: "My offer is simple, and my reasoning is sound. I provide you as many hands as you are willing to take, to help the Malheureuse stay shipshape. In exchange, you will treat them as you would any other voidsmen; my people are hungry, and cold, and many are tired of living in shuttered places beneath the proper decks. Clothing and feeding them is where your end of the bargain begins, and it will continue with the protection of these offered hands from any reprisals or abuses by your crew. Is that so much to ask?"

"We wish to properly join the crew, instead of rotting here in darkness."

[The Grue]

At the mention of food, Silus shoots a glance at Gaius as if to say I-Told-You-So.

[Q'telun]

"I don't believe we need you at all." Lucius regards the mutant witch coldly.

"The hands you offer are tainted, I doubt you have enough able-bodied men and women here to fill our ranks, and any that could complete their duties would be a drain on our resources. To be frank, any hands you did offer would be a disruptive influence, and we do not have the hands to spare to keep mutants safe from the actual crew."

[Librarilen]

"What we do need," Regia adds before the other crew members can tip the scales too far out of proportion for the mutant to remain amenable to discussion, "Is your tacit understanding that we consider the cost of your removal a greater burden than the phyrric threat of your cutting yourself off, Nose, to spite the face." Another tickle of sunshine, this in the form of a grin, as she is reasonably proud of that wit. "We would rather keep you in the ship's service, and provide you and yours with considerations as we do all the crew. That does not mean we can inflict your ill-fortunes upon the rest. So instead we negotiate: you have stated your need. We will meet it to the full measure we are able, and shall have your loyalty for it."

[Vexing]

As Lucius speaks, Visaeus grows quiet. His jaw sets firmly, his shoulders hunch, and the hand on his stave tightens visibly. Regia's laughter and the line about ill-fortune (perhaps misinterpreted?) serve to narrow his eyes further than they had already. When the mutant leader finally replies, it's through clenched teeth.

"You'll find the hands I'm offering are more than capable for the task, some more so than the men currently at their labours. In any event, I have been selecting those who are...pleasing enough to the eye to avoid the worst trouble. Perhaps that will put your fear to rest? The one thing you got right is what we already knew--I alone cannot supply a complement large enough to fill all the Malheureuse's stations. But every worker now puts the ship closer to full function, and that is what we all need most."

Clearly biting back some further comment, the witch throws himself down into his seat and sighs explosively. "..."My loyalty is to the people that depend upon me, first and foremost. It is not so easily bartered away. Sit! Let's begin."

"What is the 'full measure' you intend to provide? I anticipate having over three hundred count of workers by the end of the current cycle, and--Emperor willing--they'll be joined by nine hundred count or so by the end of the week. It's possible to gather more, but they would need to be assigned to duties far away from you warmbloods or sworn protection in their work."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius silently watches Silus and Regia play off one another, reflecting that they worked well together. Bit by bit they had chipped away at the mutant king's patience, throwing him off his game. Now was the new Lord Captain's turn to show why he now held that title.

"You talked about how you have sacrificed much to attain your position, and much as well to broker this deal. Of that I have no doubt, but have you fully considered the ramifications of this deal across the entire ship. Your men do us no good if it results in ours performing at less than 100% due to mistrust or if, Emperor forbid, a fight were to break out and reduce our numbers even more. You say that you wish to help this ship because to do otherwise would be suicide but help is more than just offering up men. Your offer currently only represents the letter of the sentiment when it comes to offering help, as you offer the aid without the support behind it. If you wish to fulfill the spirit of such a sentiment, it would be reasonable for you to at the very least swear fealty. After all a man cannot serve two masters, and if a portion of the crew looks to you for answers rather than I, well I need not tell you how hazardous our voyage across the void is and how life or death can hinge on mere seconds. So, will you offer fealty or will you roll the dice and blindly hope that everything works out in the end?"

Fellowship (Charm) roll: [roll0]

[Vexing]

Visaeus looks at Gaius as if the man is an unpleasant specimen of ship vermin, expression an equal mix of disgust and confusion. "That you can tell me that I haven't offered my support is laughable. I arranged for my men to assist yours in the ship's moment of need, and what have you offered me in return? You threaten my emissary with your weapons and pry into her mind. You force yourselves down here, and open our discussions with false flattery." Slender fingers crook at Lucius and Regia in turn, recalling their introductions. "And now, nearly all of you insult me and the people I govern. Why should I offer you fealty, 'Lord-Captain'?", he practically hisses. Fuming quietly, he glares about the faces of the Command Crew, searching their expressions for a hint of weakness. A brief silence fills the room; presenting a united front, no one in the crew moves to speak up, allowing Gaius' words to settle and Visaeus' vitriol to wither away without an attempt at justification. Their terms were clear.

Closing his eyes, the mutant is the one who backs down first. He leans back into the makeshift chair and exhales quietly before speaking. "If these are the terms, then so be it. I will offer my service and my word, and then the hands under me will follow suit. They will work the stations of the ship tirelessly, so long as they are fed and protected. However..." Visaeus' eyes slowly open, pointedly staring at Gaius. "We will swear our fealty to you as the new Lord-Captain the same way you swore yourself to Onésime. You served him and the Malheureuse, until he violated the trust of his crew as well as the ship's decks."

"My men and I are yours for as long as you honor our bargain. The moment you discard it or renege--perhaps because you find it expedient, perhaps as murderously as Onésime--I will take matters into my own hands. Just as you've done. Well, Lord-Captain? I am ready to settle our negotiations and take the oaths of service, all before the Emperor." He nods his head towards the crude Aquila for emphasis.

[Vexing]

The next five days pass in a blur. Fresh from the pitched negotiations with Visaeus, the Command Crew leapt to their duties without pause for rest. Regular watches are set over the limited supplies, and fresh guardsmen are assigned to the armories; distribution of the half-rations and the return of all loose weapons pass without further incident over these cycles, a miracle easily attributed to the firm hand of the new officers. While even the most hopeful assumptions would plan around future discontent over food or possible struggles for leadership in the power vacuums left by the deaths of senior crew, at present things seem to be on an even keel. None seem willing to endanger the ship's safe passage by putting their own interests over their required tasks. With the ship reasonably calm for the first time in days, the new Command Crew soon manage to find time for their own pursuits...

Usually spending his off-time calibrating his augmetics or tweaking the auger settings of the Malheureuse in anticipation of future use, Silus has found himself more than a little bored. Barreling through the Warp means the sensory apparatus of the ship is less than useless, and even the most patient voidsman would find interminable maintenance or simulation tedious. Perhaps not unexpectedly, this mood seems shared by the Malheureuse itself; possessed of an unusually ornery machine spirit, the vessel often gives off false readings of unidentifiable enemy vessels or is caught running detailed active scans of the nothingness that lies without. The ship will undoubtedly be happier when it can 'see' once more.

For her part, Regia has taken to her self-appointed task with all the expected vigor and enthusiasm of an Adepta Sororitas, 'spiritually guiding' the mutant crewman--usually away from the proper crew whenever possible. Visaeus had kept his word, providing Ghilliam for assignment to out-of-the-way places or the lower decks, and these specially selected hands bear no visible mutations (or few enough to pass). The occasional extra digit or webbed foot does little to impact these new crew at their tasks; the mutants handle themselves like proper voidsmen, having been born in the depths of the Malheureuse and used to spying on the activities of the 'warmbloods'. Though they seem greatly pleased to be in Regia's hallowed presence, and much happier still to be receiving proper food, the Sororitas can sense a slight pang of disappointment running through everyday interactions with the mutants. She suspects that many of them hoped to mingle with the crew, and the conscious separation serves as a constant reminder to their status.

Oddly, Visaeus can often be seen working alongside his people. While a little on the scrawny side, the witch is quick to lend a hand with even the most mundane tasks, seeking to lead by example.

When not ensuring maintenance of the guns, or running ratings through a crash-course in reloading and ammunition storage to replace hands lost during the mutiny, the Void Master has assigned himself an unenviable task: to thoroughly search Onésime's quarters. The ex-Captain's lodgings towards the rear of the Malheureuse are first opened by lascutter and force of arm, locked at some point during the mutiny and the old Command Crew's retreat towards the bridge. Over the next few days Lucius picks through what was once a richly appointed cabin, now torn to tatters and reeking of death and alien effluent. Furniture and decorative material has been clawed down to be used as nesting material, human bones lie scattered over the floor, and the lumen-globes that lit the area were smashed in some forgotten fit of rage or displeasure by the Captain-Thing.

Much of the detritus is fit for little other than burning or dumping into the void. However, by working through it all with a steady hand and keen eye, the voidsman turns up two items of interest: a large chest bearing Onésime's seal, and scattered papers that look as if they once belonged in a bound folio.

Onésime's Lockbox: The chest bears an impressive series of locks, from physical tumblers to glass ports meant to be opened by particular shades of light, as well as a gene-sequencer serving as the last line of defense. Heavy enough to require two strong men to lift, and with the characteristic thrumming of some internal containment field, what lies inside could be anyone's guess. Peculiarly, it bears clawmarks and small dents, as if some wild beast attempted to open it and failed miserably. Perhaps Onésime found himself unable to manage the complex operations required to open it during his transformation?

Coded Papers: While some of the papers have been rent by claws or stained by ichor, it appears that the vast majority of them are readable...if unintelligible. Rhymes, cryptic phrasing, and lines of numeric ciphers. Still, one hopes they will prove to be of some worth. As this was Lucius' only task during the last days of Warp travel, he has successfully turned up all the pages, though some may need repair or delicate cleaning to be made whole again, to say nothing of the task of ordering them.

Somewhat freed of immediate dangers, Gaius has split his time between raising morale with a few carefully applied words and the intoxication of which he's so fond. Sometimes, the two coincide, but half-rations for the crew mean that even the fermented ploin juice that serves as low-grade liquor for the ratings must be doled out in portions so small as to be cruel. He finds that Onésime, for all his predatory hungers, had left quite a bit of well-filtered amasec untouched; in the last few days especially, the new Captain finds himself easily convinced to while away the hours with drinking and the clouded slumber that follows.

It is seldom a pleasant experience, in the aftermath. Too often are his dreams haunted by Onésime's pinched face set in a wrathful scowl, or else by dark corridors and a slavering, beaked maw that chases him from passage to passage. Nothing, of course, that another drink won't fix...

The fifth day 'dawns' in the roaring Empyrean. Eventually, the call goes out. Navigator Tsu communicates the timetable for realspace translation, messages shuttling rapidly between the Navigator's sensory tank and the bridge. Non-essential functions shipwide have their power redirected to the Geller Field; crew men pause in their duties as the lights flicker overhead, murmuring prayers; on the bridge and at the plasma banks, the Enginseers begin the half-forgotten rites of 'Temporal Signature Matching' and light incense and fat red candles to appease the ancient frigate's mercurial nature. Data input streams from hastily repaired cogitation stations, and finally, Tsu indicates the countdown in Terran seconds, the counter flaring to life on all screens.

Thirty remaining. Blood pounds in your ears, you feel your feet beginning to stretch away, and your vision spots. Twenty. The vox crackles with a woman's insane laughter--only once--before dying back to its familiar static. Ten. The shadows coil and twist beyond the candlelight. Should the servitors have so many eyes, multi-hued and shining? Five, four, three, two, one.

The Malheureuse greets the void like a familiar lover, a brief rumble passing through her frame as the Empyrean claws desperately at her plasma trails. She glides into the space between the stars freely. As if a switch has been flipped, automatic routines rouse spectres amongst the bones of the frigate, power rushing all at once from the Geller Field to its usual paths. Every head feels clearer, as if the whining of a thousand bloodsucking insects has suddenly been silenced by a cleansing breeze. In all passages and all parts of the ship, ratings heave sighs of relief and clasp arms in joy before jumping to their stations with renewed vigor. Translation is successful!

Normalcy makes a quick return as the bridge becomes a veritable hive of activity as preliminary measurements are taken and electronics are recalibrated for local celestial conditions. Minutes later a voidsman subordinate to Silus marches a parchment readout to Gaius and any of the attendant Command Crew, smiling as he snaps off an easy salute in his freshly cleaned uniform. "Initial scans are coming back clean for any trace Warp storm activity, gravity tides, or harmful radiation. Officer Lucius' assistance was right on the Thrones, as it were: readings indicate that it's a G-type star, Sirs, which means its possible that the planet he and the honorable Navigator expect to find could be habitable." He can hardly keep the excitement out of his voice, eyes bright with hope. "The only thing that's coming back strangely is the EM sniffer; the spirit manning that part of our sensors seems confused. Won't stop running some sort of sorting algorithm. It might be leftover charge from the jump, but we have an Enginseer placating it." The rating holds out the parchment for perusal.

Down from the Captain's chair in the pit of cogitators and projector screens for readouts, one of the men calls up to Gaius. "With your permission, Captain, I can mark a course for the planet once it's found. But Captain On--I mean, the old Captain's standing orders were to run quiet immediately after translation until all scans were completed. Are we holding to that pattern, Sir?" While work continues in a frenzy to ensure the Malheureuse is operating within normal parameters, more than a few crewmembers look to the Captain's seat and the officers around it. Now was the time to prove their authority.

[The Grue]

"Aye," barks Silus from behind the hood of the main augur console. "It's a sensible policy, never know who or what ye might run into out here. Helm, engines to standby power, maintain solar orbit with manoeuvring thrusters only."

Without waiting for any of the other officers to speak up, Silus returns his attention to the augur sweep of the system.

[Q'telun]

The Gunnery Officer stands to the side of the helm on the bridge in preparation for reversion to realspace and reflects on the last leg of this voyage. Five days of running voidsmen ragged to make sure they could reload the great guns correctly and in the shortest amount of time. Five days of watching his back around the new mutant crewmen. Five days of digging through human remains. Five days of hunting through unknowable alien substances, secretions, and wastes. All worth it for a safe realspace reversion, with the remaining crew intact, and a new lead on what the Cap- former Captain wanted from this system. Lucius smiles as the system's sun comes into view, the background of stars on velvet coming as a welcome change from the Warp.

When the voidsman mentions Lucius's contribution he nods slightly to the man in thanks, and takes the offered parchment from the man for a quick perusal. After a brief read through, he bends down to hand the document over to Captain Gaius. "Captain, I think it might be a good idea to run silent a little while longer."

As he straightens up, he looks over to the Astropath's station and and taps twice on the side of his head with his finger, trying to indicate to Talia a desire to speak.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia had spent much of the journey alone in her quarters, her mind extended, broadcasting waves of calm across the ship. It was an exhausting effort, and frequently left her drained and fatigued. She was suffering nosebleeds occasionally now and headaches, as the strain took its toll on her.

Nevertheless she was on the bridge for the rematerialisation, and she caught Lucius's gesture, reaching out with her mind into his.

Lucius? What is it?

[Q'telun]

Lucius shivers slightly at the touch of the Warp on his mind, even though he asked for it. As much as he appreciated and enjoyed Talia's company, he doubted he would ever get used to that sensation.

Miss Talia, a set of documents has come into my posession. I believe it to be written in a cipher, and I find myself unable to decode it. Do you know of any among the crew that you consider trustworthy that can decipher code?

[Librarilen]

Regia's eyes do not flutter open so much as they tear back into action in the same way the Malheuruse has into reality. Her labors have kept her surrounded by something far worse than the stink of ignorance and nearly as bad as the indifference of privilege - the brutality of ill-fortunes. Though she hardens her heart against pity, the Sister strongly believes in the value of actions: the pleading glances of the mutants and the dogged determination of their ex-King speak far more eloquently to her than the witch-man did in his ramshackle throne room.

She has finished the devotions which she began with the announcement of warp translation - and compares it to surfacing from deep water only to breathe in fetid air. There are no new troubles to distract from old ones. Yet. So her vigilance turns upon her with pricking claws to consider the Mutant question.

Or at least it does until the rest of the command crew stirs and commits to its duties. She moves towards Talia to share a benediction as the cursed, hungry Warp undoubtedly tries to claw into her mind at their departure, but hesitates when she sees the look of concentration upon her face. The Sister holds her breath, curious of what distracted the little witch so soon after their departure from the Immaterial.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia and Lucius
I have such skills myself... What is the nature of these codes?

[Q'telun]

Rhymes, number ciphers, and obscure references. I can make neither heads nor tails of it. Adding to my confusion is the... nature in which I found the documents. Disordered, covered in Emperor knows what, with some pages torn.

If you can help, I would be grateful for the assistance of someone of your talent.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius considers his options, on one hand waiting could prove to be the safer option but while they lay in wait their stores of food and drink would be decreasing to smaller and smaller portions. That being said, having life return to a sense of normacy could prove to be a boon for his crew's morale. At last he nods,"Run her silent while all the requisite scans are completed. Then full steam head men."

[Vexing]

Gaius' fears could be laid to rest quickly enough, as the results of the long range scans began to filter back to the Malheureuse; little more than three hours passed before Silus and his capable team of operators, physics-mystics, and arch-geometers had processed the data flowing into the ship's complex sensory systems and begin to render it into a more comprehensible format. Lines of meaningless binary and peculiar diagrams of mathematical formulae are dutifully translated into plain-text descriptions, once into High Gothic (as superstition and Naval Law required), and from there into much more digestible Low Gothic script.

The results raise more questions than they answer, of course. The Emperor moves in mysterious ways. The same rating as before is quick to offer up the readout to Silus, but his smile has slipped. The man with the augmetic jaw would already know the anomalous readings marked near the bottom of the parchment, and soon the Command Crew would as well.

System Name (Provisional): Sigma-4457R Perditus Portum
Star: Class G, White, Vigorous designation
Planetary Bodies: One, Class C2, rocky composition, primary habitable zone
Additional: Cluster of asteroids (planetary fragments?) near system 'rim', extensive asteroid belt in primary habitable zone
ANOMALOUS READING: System peppered with vox traffic on multiple communication frequencies and bands, erroneously indicated as EM interference [Suggested Disciplinary Action: Rating Kol, 5 lashes]. Source undetermined, broadcast signals consistent with Imperial equipment. Unable to open clear channels for reception due to saturation; re-attempting every fifteen Terran minutes.
Note: Re-calibration of auger systems required, pending inspection of equipment. Error 79.
"We'll continue trying to access the vox channels discretely. That number running up appears to be, ah, a count of them," Kol gestures towards the faded green lights running under his glass screen. "We're just over two-hundred separate broadcast signals. It's a mess out there, for some reason." He winces after a moment. "It's a mess out there for some reason, Sirs!"

[LeSwordfish]

Bring them to me when you have the liberty. I will see what I can do.

Talia paced the front of the command deck nervously. "Can we read these communications? Can we understand them?"

[Q'telun]

Thank you, with a strong sense of relief behind those words.

Lucius steps up to the helm at his Captain's orders. The controls in his grip seem to buck and strain, begging for caution to be thrown to the wind so that the great machine spirit can strike down whoever threatens it in this system. Instead, he moves her to half-speed and keeps an eye on the auspex crew for any changes, reciting the Litany of Stealth under his breath.


Three hours later, when the report is delivered, he is still at his post. "Miss Talia, when they have the answer to that question I'm sure that we'll be the first to know. In the meantime, why don't you get some rest."

[Vexing]

The assigned rating, Kol, gives a nervous shrug towards Talia: "They're clearly within established frequencies for human vox equipment, so that's our best guess, Lady Astropath. As for reading them...we get fragments of sound, but not much else. Too much interference out here along the rim. I imagine signals will become somewhat clearer as we approach."

One of the crew at the charting stations signals up to the Command Crew, another rating quickly passing up word that a course has been plotted for the sole planet within the star's pull. The path estimates time from the outer reaches of the system to the 'inner' zones to take a little under two weeks, the swift passage due in no small part to the powerful engine and raging temper of the Malheureuse. Supplies of food and clean water will last, but leave little room for error in searching for a way to take on additional rations; either the planet itself or the mysterious vox activity must somehow provide for the crew.

With a path tracked through the void and the order to maintain silent running, the frigate forges onward. Days pass and apprehensions grow. Sensors are redirected, analysis refined, vox patterns slowly being sifted out of the scattered noise between the stars. Refreshingly, the sounds from fully reconstructed and intercepted signals are indeed human. Most have no clear connection to each other:

"We have a door secured by grav-plate here. Can't open it without power, so we need lascutters to get in from above. Offering food and some laspacks."


"Final warning: Watch where you're moving gear, you fething rock jockeys! I want my site clear as an amasec shot. Keep away or regret it. Roller out."


"Taking on three more hands for my gang. Open shares if you can work for them, but don't get too attached! Spaced the last group who tried to take a souvenir."

However, a few things become abundantly clear the more vox traffic tapped into. The signals sent are unorganized, far from Naval standard or even the operating procedure of most small colonies; almost every missive is focused on labour, 'shares', or inventive threats of physical violence towards those nearby if interfered with. Some sort of salvage is underway.

All the while the Malheureuse wends its way closer to the heart of the system. When the vessel encounters the asteroid fields, Lucius' steady hands and constant adjustments over a couple of tense days ensure safe passage--and a quiet one, as well. With his guidance, the frigate slips between gaps in the floating stones like a minnow, darting from opening to opening without hesitation. It's only when you're about to exit the field entirely that good news is brought in from the crew assigned to Silus and the sensors. They've managed to definitively locate the source of some of the chatter, a site relatively nearby your current position.

A holotank is brought up to the Captain's chair, ancient connectors run from its corroded ports to drink the ship's electricity. Enginseers hover nearby, picking and prodding at the device as images flicker and fuzz in sickly green light, striving to render a clearer image. The Command Crew is once more assembled from their places on the ship, hovering nearby. Eventually a scene begins to take shape in the projected images of the holotank: the remains of a once-mighty voidship (or ships?) lie as if resting atop a massive asteroid, floating amidst other debris. Dwarfed by the ruin and remaining stationary alongside is the sleek outline of a raiding vessel, quietly identified as a 'wolfpack' ship of indeterminate hull designation. The image occasionally shivers or distorts, only to be restored with the traditional Rite of Percussive Supplication administered by a tech-priest's strong mechadendrite.

A grizzled auspex operator explains the find, gesturing to parts of the image in turn. "We picked up something that wasn't coming back as rock, and a running drive near it, so we narrowed it down. We've got one or two holed ships--hulks, really, locked up in the asteroids. The escort means there's someone interested in scavenging from it, and since only some of the vox signals originate from here, there may be more wrecks nearby." Pale eyes glance back to the Command Crew as the elderly voidborn jabs a finger through the holographic plating of a ruined hull. "If we were close enough to get pict view, I'll bet you'd see some evidence of stripping or salvaging."

"We'd only have to make a slight course adjustment to bring ourselves near. They haven't noticed us yet, and they're unlikely to if they're putting out this much wasted energy." After a moment of thought, she rolls her shoulders and brings her hands down to her sides. "We've also picked up a few of the stronger vox signals coming from near the planet a few days out. Also seems related to the salvage here. More of a hub than this place, from what we can tell. Still have a few boys down in the pit there who are sifting through it all."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius thinks on it for a moment, scavenging was a violation of Imperial Naval Charter 16311.81.9501, section H, subsections C-G. Unless fate was against them and this ship was actually the possession of a Rogue Trader, Gaius would be entirely in his rights to commandeer the ship or consign it to the void if they refused. But... the ship still lacked a full crew and it could be wiser to slip by and attempt to replenish Malheureuse's manpower before taking what could be more than a single ship.

But the ship and its spoils might be gone before they return if they sneak by to reach the system hub. Gaius sighs,"Officer Lucius, please continue our advance towards the scavenging operation. By the time we are in range I want all available weapons armed and ready for action. Once we reach them I'll send a vox ordering them to surrender to the justice of the Emperor or be annihilated."

[Q'telun]

Lucius snaps off a salute to Gaius. "Aye, Lord Captain." He reaches for his vox caster and switches to the gun crew's frequency before barking orders. "All hands! Prepare for battle! Gun-Captains Roland, Maynard, and Thomas, I want the batteries ready yesterday!"

He begins the maneuver to correct the Malheureuse's heading, bearing straight for the raider. Almost lovingly, he strokes the helm, whispering promises of death and war to the machine spirit as it courses through the void.

[Librarilen]

At her place near Gaius' side, Regia ran ceramite-clad fingertips along the vambrace of her gauntlet, deep in thought.

Scavengers. So far from the Emperor's Light, anxious children who thought they could pilfer His blood and treasure for their illicit gain without returning to him what was due. A chilly sneer cut across her face as she sunk into her thoughts, pondering how many had shunned righteous duty or proper service to the Imperium for such 'adventure'.

With luck, many would be welcomed into the Malheureuse's fold before long. Their redemption was at hand. It was a rare and precious thing they were providing.

"If it pleases, Captain, I am prepared to.. mh.. serve as the tip of the spear. I will be our instrument if we have needs reach beyond the light of our guns and sound of our vox." she murmurs, quietly. With a hiss, her power armor announces itself void-rated and ready for service. But then, after waiting so long, aren't they all? Even if the whole crew wished to venture out, it is still important to Regia to at least make herself valuable in this period of preparation --- she can do no more for the crew's souls at this juncture, save through the very works she expects the whole crew is eager to perform.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods,"Should it come to combat, and I believe it will, then I would be more than happy to have you form a boarding party."

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse lunges for the raider and ruined ship like a jungle predator, silent and full of murderous intent. Even the least superstitious of the crew or land-born officer could sense the ship raging against Lucius and the limits he imposed on it; fluctuations in the plasma banks needed constant readjustment, the lance focusing array was found to be spinning up long before their gun crew arrived, and the cough of the air cycklers sounded for all the world like slow, expectant breathing. Reports from the macrobattery begin to filter back to the bridge, each Gun-Captain reporting ammunition loaded and crews standing by for combat.

Almost twenty minutes later the bridge erupts into hushed whispers, almost as if the faraway raider could detect a voice through the endless track of space. Pict arrays are brought online as the holotank is reconfigured to provide a tactical view, the surrounding area presented from as many different perspectives as the augers could arrange. What the crew had originally taken to be at least two ships is revealed to be a massive transport of some kind, lying broken in almost three separate pieces. Caught in the gravity that binds the asteroids together, it rests near the edge of the rocky expanse. As images are refined and recaptured, the hull is presented in greater detail; everywhere small lights flicker and shine over pockmarked plating, and the fuzzy suggestions of men and equipment move over rents in the ship like pale maggots on a corpse; stone faces in angelic repose or marred by impact scars stand almost half a kilometer high on the ship, with sculpted gargoyles the size of mining rigs lurking in niches along the topmost length of the ancient vessel. Interspersed amid these haunting sentinels are crude, blocky shapes that small figures occasionally slip out of or drag objects into, though lack of detail at such a distance makes their packages impossible to discern, or the exact number of shapes. All the while the raider vessel sits near the wreck, tethered to the hulk by long tubes on its port side (for transport? air?) and hundreds of meters of guiding wire snaking towards the peculiar boxes mounted along its dorsal plating. It's clearly a months-old setup, if not a year or more.

The same grizzled auspex operator stands to report as the Malheureuse moves into position. "More news to report, Captain. There's more vox activity, perhaps only half an hour at our current speed. From what we can pick up...more salvage efforts. This is a graveyard; we now believe this is the farthest wreck out from the 'center' of what we're picking up. We can't detect any additional active vessels other than Target-The-First, though they may be moving quietly as we are." She's visibly discomfited by the news. Most voidsmen are loathe to approach space hulks, and a veritable burying ground of ships often has as many practical reasons to be avoided as superstitious ones.

"We're running quietly, and scans for heat near the vessel are coming back cold. They haven't engaged their drives. If you wish, we can perform an active scan of the vessel or simply open communications. We await your orders, officers." A beat. "....Apologies, Captain. We await your order."

[The Grue]

Silus' augmetic eyes catch a glint of light from the bridge console. He knew this dance - the hunt, the silent approach, the sudden reveal.

"I'd suggest we go to full power just before you make yer address, Cap'n," he said. "A frigate suddenly lightin' up on their scopes ought to rattle 'em good, and we should be able to charge our void shields before they finish scrapin' out their trousers. Other way round, they might get ideas we don't mean business as much as we do, maybe try and fight us." He shrugged. "We'd win, 'course, but we'd risk losing any bounty we'd take off 'em."

[Q'telun]

"If we're sure that this is the only other active ship in system I would agree with Mister Silus. If we go to full power while they're unprepared we'll face much less resistance." Lucius crosses his arms and watches the voidship on the holoscreen, biting his lip in concentration as he tries to discern any identifying marks on the potential enemy.

[Vexing]

The rating looks pained, her face betraying her frustration in the twitch of a lip. "We can't be certain that it's the only vessel in the system, Sir, at least not at the moment. If we wait and perform another long-range scan from this location, perhaps we'll pick up something that wouldn't have shown on the rim territory. The Lady here", she says as she puts her hand on a nearby pict screen, "is keen enough to do the job while remaining hidden, but it'll take a few hours for another sweep. You know as well as anyone how well a ship can hide out there." The salute is held, still.

[Q'telun]

Lucius digs his teeth into his lower lip as he continues chewing on it. "Aye. I do. Though the presence of other ships might not matter if we can take her fast enough." He taps a gloved finger on his arm, then glances over at the rating. "And, ah, at ease, Voidsman. " He sighs and looks to Gaius, waiting for the Captain's decision.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius walks over to the command deck's window and stares at the space hulk. What secrets lie within your corpse, old girl. What treasures slumber within? He then turns around and announces,"I want all Malheureuse' systems powered up 100%, and I want a communications open with our target immediately. While I'm speaking with them I want all our weapon systems aiming at vital sections of the enemy ship and ensure our shields are strongest where we can detect their weapons."

[Librarilen]

Regia nods, fiercely approving of the Captain's decision at first blush. She is no voidsman, and does not know the tides of space combat half so well as she does the webs of social intricacies which occur landside, but to her reckoning, it is a sin to waste the opportunity they've been given, with the advantages they have. It will be far better to leverage all they have upon this target than to flounder hoping for a better one.

[Vexing]

The crew on deck leap to Gaius' command, though there's little else they can account for. The Malheureuse already hangs in the void like a spider in its web, the lines of sensors and auspex rigs shivering at every stray vox signal from the wreck or eddy of heat off the hull of the raider, its chosen prey; last minute adjustments are made, retro-engines fired to keep the ship in a steady position, and ratings subordinate to Lucius begin to run different firing patterns through simulations. From all outward signs on pict-captures or from scanners, the enemy vessel is completely unaware of its predatory guest.

All that remains is to open communications, and expect the unexpected.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius makes a motion to signal to open vox channels between the Malheureuse and her target."Hello, I am Captain Caecilius of the Malheureuse. You are guilty of violating Imperial law and I would be within my rights to blast you into oblivion. But, in memory of the Emperor's mercy, I am giving you the chance to surrender yourselves. If you do so, we will not fire upon you and I'm sure we can come to some solution wherein you will be able to expunge your sins in His service. I am giving you on chance, do not waste it."


making a charm roll, because i'm not sure what-else would work.

Charm (Fellowship): [roll0]

[Q'telun]

Lucius waits at his station. The pirates are unlikely to accept. At any sign of stalling, the enemy would be dust in the solar wind.

[Vexing]

The response, when it does come, is almost certainly not what is expected. The vox crackles to life as a weary, irritated sigh cuts across the channel:

"To the Captain of the Malheureuse: get bent. Just because Mala tolerates your sick sense of humor doesn't mean I have to, Onésime. If you have anything worth talking about then you can get your pet stooge off the vox and say it yourself. Otherwise? Get your cargo to Penance and then get your thrice-damned hide out of the system. I don't appreciate you throwing a fright into my men, and I've half a mind to run you out for it--at the end of our lances." A small chuckle, made tinny by the ancient speakers. "You need us more than we need you, Faux-Trader. Maybe you need Woluun to remind you of that. Drop off the shipment; Galder out."

The open thread of electricity and swift, invisible forces governing vox transmissions is cut immediately thereafter. A great many of the ratings on the bridge are peering up at the Command Crew, confused expressions and the quiet susurrus of discussion filling the silence. The pict-arrays reveal that the Raider hasn't moved from its peculiar moorings, and the assigned crew are quick to confirm that no powering up of engines or priming of weapons seems to be forthcoming.

[Q'telun]

Lucius allows himself a momentary smile before he turns and faces Gaius. It wasn't every day you got to kill pirates. "With your permission Lord-Captain, I believe the Malheureuse can deliver a sufficient rebuttal."

[LeSwordfish]

"Their confidence is disturbing." Talia said quietly. "There are too many unknowns here for us to ignore that."

[Librarilen]

"In fact it implies that the traitorous dogs were the monster's ...contact." Regia scowls. The outlaw's familiarity flares a hot wave of contempt into her soul. This is that lure she was just meditating upon - withholding the Emperor's Judgment for their own curiosity or greed or honor-lust. It will not do. "I do not know how much information can be extracted from the dust we spray into the void, but I do not know that we care very much, either. If you would like that boarding party prepared, I am also very well-versed in the language of 'traitors learning to speak without any of their teeth for the first time'."

She lets her hands fully clench into fists, and finds the smell of Blessed Promethium echoes strongly in her memory. A great comfort indeed.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius grinds his teeth for a moment before once again regaining his composure. Even from beyond the grave, Onesime remains a thorn in his side. "Captain Onesime has been found wanting in the grace of the Emperor and was granted the mercy of death lest he profane His name anymore with further existence. I am the captain now, so I will repeat myself only once again. Surrender or be eliminated, you have 21 seconds."

[Vexing]

Precious seconds burn while the Command Crew waits. Vox contact is reestablished after a tense moment, Enginseers moving quickly to improve the sound quality. A muted buzz hits the line first, opening up into a speculative humming. Confusion. Uncertainty, perhaps fear?

Seventeen.

"So that means you killed Onésime? I'm...impressed. I think we're going to get along just fine."

Fourteen.

The same rating who had been ferrying the earlier updates is down among the auger-workers, not too far from Silus' current position. She communicates as much through slight gestures and facial expressions that something is amiss before speaking aloud: "They just began broadcasting a signal. Wide, probably distress. Need to isolate it and decode it before we listen in."

Nine.

The vox crackles as the connection flutters. Words rattle off quickly, but their speaker doesn't sound openly rushed. "Can't comply. I can make a counter-offer, though: we have seven ships in this system. You have one. Those are bad odds, Captain. How about you and I talk this over? I can take you to meet Mara--we're out one Trader, so a lucrative position just opened up. We may even cut you in at his old price, since we're going to be such good friends."

Two.

Every crew member not immediately assigned to maintaining the call is preparing for war. Orders fly through the in-ship vox system or are hurried on through pneumatic tubes; final adjustments to speed are proposed, to account for any movement on part of the raider; and near the Captain's Chair, a man has taken the liberty of lifting the frosted glass hatch covering a yellow rune of great importance. With only the barest brush of human warmth from Gaius' finger, the alarm will sound and the Malheureuse will move immediately to live-fire. All stations are ready, and the plasma banks howl with enough fury that one can feel a faint shudder in the deck beneath one's feet. The tension can be cut with a knife.

Time stands still...

"I'm giving you one chance. Don't waste it." Gaius' precise words from the original hailing, echoed in the pirate's rough voice. Mocking.

Zero!

[Q'telun]

Lucius readies himself to fire the moment the Lord-Captain presses that rune. These pirates would learn respect the hard way.

[LeSwordfish]

"Captain I'm sure something is wrong!" Talia said, a little more urgently. "This isn't so straightforward, i'm sure of it!"

[Librarilen]

Regia's eyelid twitches as she looks over at the little witch. "What do you mean, Astropath?" she murmurs through gritted teeth, as close to the edge of conflict as one can be before surrendering to its inevitable gravity.

[LeSwordfish]

Talia was cowed, stepping away from the battle sister, but when she recovered she was quiet but firm."This is not witchery, this is... they might have seven ships! Who is Mara? Who or what is Woluun? They have no qualms whatsoever about threatening us, they must be taken seriously. We are weakened, we cannot survive a prolonged encounter! And if we do we will be alone in the system. We don't know where we can take on supplies. We cannot fight at this stage!"

[Q'telun]

Lucius turns his head towards the Astropath and Sister of Battle. "And if we don't fight? If we give them what they ask for, will they let us go just like that? Or will they hold it over our heads, and force us to work for them?"

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius grits his teeth, unfortunately at this point there was only one option. His captaincy was in a precarious position already, and surrendering to pirates wouldn't do much to strengthen his claim to either the title or to the crew. He pressed the rune, signaling the ship to commence with hostilities.

He silently whispers to himself,"Time to try my hardest and leave the Emperor to sort this mess all out." He then barks out his orders to the crew,"I want someone to jam their comms asap before they can call for help. And I want all our weapons focusing on disabling their engines and weapons, in that order. I also want a flak shield up to protect our boarding parties while they attempt to engage our foe. Boarding parties, when you arrive I want you to locate the command bridge and attempt to neutralize their command crew, either by taking them hostage or by granting them a final rest."

making a Command roll [roll0]

[Q'telun]

Lucius snaps back to attention, and roars his own orders to the gun crews. "Gun Captains Maynard and Thomas, I want those Void-shields down in preparation for the Lance! Gun Captain Roland! Our enemies have insulted our crew, our ship, and our Captain. Once the shields are down, deliver a suitable rebuttal!"

[Vexing]

Lucius gets his response from Roland immediately, as cheerfully as one could hope for: "Aye, sir! Short and sharp!" The wail of klaxon horns and warning chimes echo the length of the ship, crew rushing to their combat stations as those on the bridge begin planning evasive maneuvers. Shuddering reports signal the launch of the macrobatteries, kilo-tonne ordinance freely rushing through the void towards the raider. The lights flickered as the lance began drawing energy to itself across kilometers worth of wiring.

Moments later a vox signal is received. The rating on duty moves to play it aloud, perhaps unwisely. It's Galder again; this time, all pretense of being unphased by the imminent struggle has dropped away, the rough voice filled with seething hatred. "Bad call, kneeler. After this is done I'm going to personally feed you out of your own airlock--and your men with you." Some of the more impressionable crew blanch as the feed lapses into meaningless static, the old hands continuing about their business as if nothing at all had been said. Real threats awaited, the thunder of laser fire and the deck-shattering impact of macrocannon to anticipate and guard against.

Tense minutes pass as the opening salvo races towards its target. Readings begin to filter back just as fears mount over missing the shot, confirmed results shouted in the peculiar, twisting tongue of the Malheureuse. Void-shield down...hull damage observed...the lights cut for a split second as the lance unleashes its pent up fury, scything unseen--and a joyful shout goes up from the augury pits! "Most of our shells made impact! Glancing strikes near their starboard side, cracked the hull!" A cheer rises over the lance's damage, a neat slice of deck plate spinning away from the raider on the pict captures (though not in real time), though it's cut short by a gruff rating's report: "They're coming about."

From the point of view of the God-Emperor and those crouched in front of the holotank display, the Raider seemed to rock with the impacts and sluggishly lift away from its salvage. The docking tubes fell away to drift, air visibly boiling into nothingness on the low-quality picts as the slim vessel brought itself around and to full speed. A harsh turn takes it perilously close to nearby asteroids on the projections before it darts closer to the Malheureuse, augury arrays and cogitators suddenly screaming about incoming fire. One imagines that they can hear the void-shields breaking with an electric hiss and see the approach of the silent killers, heavy metal shells closing for the deathblow. Clearly it was attempting to get into knifefight range with the larger frigate the better to leverage its small size and greater maneuverability.


"Our shields are down!"

"Laser fire gone wide to our port side! Conventional arms on course for the prow..."

A shudder rocks the ship and the bridge cants slightly to the side as reams of paper begin flooding out of already crowded catch baskets for readings. "Impact along the prow! Damage reports!" The knuckles grow white as the ventiliation system coughs, Enginseers and common crew already making adjustments to aim weapons again. Deeper in the prow and along the spine of the ship, Lucius' men are hard at work preparing their war engines for the next shots. Crew report in from their stations, listing block by block of passages in order to determine who had been lost and what section of the ship had been compromised. Battle in space always strode the thin line between agonizing waiting and exhausting bursts of activity, the conflict carried out on a scale almost incomprehensible to mortal men. It would wear on even the most resilient of minds.

Confirmations are hailed in to the bridge, the cannons loaded and the lance recharging, before they're interrupted by a choked, disbelieving cry among the crew. "The armour held! We're...Emperor be praised, not a scratch!" An auspicious beginning, but luck seldom holds out for long.

[Librarilen]

Holy Emperor, source of all light, Beacon of Terra, Beacon of Salvation, Beacon of Mankind...

The klaxon screeches a bitter counterpoint as Regia's body forcibly relaxes in response to the beginning of the Dangerous Litany.

See now your Child, adrift amid the black current, with no one but You for Succor...

Her movement is Swift and Proper, and her voice resolves itself as a balm over the tension on-bridge.

"We will go aboard. Have one of the gun-cutters prepared for me." she commands a comparatively less-frantic rating in contact with the shuttle bay vox.

Thank you for the opportunity to do glory, and share your Light in the darkest of places, from the most unworthy of foes...

She looks over the command crew, voice softer and less likely to interrupt anyone's morale with distraction, or the crew's response. "Lady Talia? I expect your crewmates will fly all the swifter knowing they carry their Witch to our mutual defense. Will you join me?"

Thank you for the Wrath I now visit on all who stand between me and Your unwavering Light.

[The Grue]

"Feth!" Silus bangs a clenched fist against the side of the augur control console. "No good on vox jamming, Cap! If anyone's out there, they heard that broadcast loud and clear."

As Lucius relays orders to the gun captain, Silus stands to address the auger techs. "Samson, Williams, coordinate with gunnery crews and feed them targeting data. The rest of you, eyes on the scopes! If so much as a drop of bilge fluid enters our engagement envelope I want it tracked, catalogued and painted! You!" He points a finger at the crewman manning the steering console. "You stand relieved. I'm taking the helm."

Obligatory ship battle music.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofsEOHFX0gQ

[LeSwordfish]

Talia took a deep breath as the ships moved into fighting position. "Well then." she said aloud: but quietly.

At Regia's suggestion she visibly blanched. "I couldn't... I mean i'm not..." She closed her mouth and shook her head mutely.

Once Regia had gone she moved, walking across the shaking deck to the Astropath's chair, and sat in it. It was too large for her, and she curled her feet around underneath herself for protection. Ophion nestled along her back.

Breathing deeply she began to extend her mind out throughout the ship, quelling her own terror to broadcast images of hope, triumph, and glory into the subconcious of the crew.

OOC
Sorry! Talia's no sort of combatant. Instead, she's going to go for Unnatural Resolve to boost the ship morale. [roll0] vs WP 61-30+5 (shipwise) = 36
Reroll: [roll1]
If that succeeds it's [roll2]+1+DOS morale restored.

With Talia's fate point used, that looks like 6 Morale restored!

[Librarilen]

Regia had given Talia a patient nod, despite the heat that was growing within. Even a small, patient flame could burn and scald, and the weeks of travel and hours of waiting had given the young Sister an aching determination to release her righteous rage. Yet she was at least able to accept the astropath's decision with grace - even pride - and then found herself quick-marching toward the shuttle bay, ready for war.

[Q'telun]

Lucius folds his arms behind his back, and addresses his subordinates "Gun Captains, the ship before is us still moving! Will you let this affront to your skill persist? Another salvo, and destroy that blasphemous hulk!"

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse
Once more the Malheureuse snarls into the open void, her displeasure an edged and physical thing. Macrocannon thunder along her spine, the aged circuitry running deep within the prow crackles with the whispers of her charging lance and howls like cruel laughter when the beam is unleashed into the inky space between the two ships. Beneath the thin skin against the void, men and women rush about their duties while the battle rages without...

Regia moves--quickly, but deliberately--through corridors bustling with ratings who're preemptively preparing sealing material near the internal bulkheads, anticipating a strike that will compromise the frigate's armour plating. Tight passages and several 'dead end' halls which open onto cunningly concealed lifts carry her down towards the utility bays for aircraft. Lacking proper launch bays for dedicated fighter craft, the Malheureuse nevertheless possesses a flight wing of nine Guncutters and is preparing to make use of them. Gaius' call for a boarding action had set flight crew to work and now, almost a half hour later, the final checks were underway. The sound of voices rattling off figures, fervently praying, or arguing echo in the small bay alongside the familiar sound of actions being checked on slug throwers and the faint 'snap' of charge packs being locked into lasguns; almost two hundred and fifty ratings are in various stages of arming and armouring, prepared to take the fight to the enemy crew.

As the roar of the guns above shake loose tools to the floor, an Enginseer and chaplain move between each active Guncutter in a flurry of red robes and cloying incense. Man and machine are blessed and bonded to each other, called to serve each other as brothers and deliver the wrath of the God-Emperor, the Omnissiah, to those who would feign escape due judgement. Seven Guncutters will brave the crossing, while two will be kept in reserve against an uncertain future. A cursory examination of the boarding crews assigned to each ship might make the Sister's eyes widen--Jack Solar? He was standing with the crew for the second Guncutter, sharing a few quiet japes with nervous ratings while the "mummery" came to a close. Perhaps his duties called to him as strongly as to her?

Ushered within the first Guncutter in the flight, Regia is given the seat closest to the fighter's exit--the first to leave, first to fight. The bay is emptied, the boarding craft sealed, and heavy doors open to greet cold space. Unto the foe they charge, engines roaring and hearts fluttering!

Talia settles into the Astropaths chair, perhaps the smallest shred of discomfort lingering. She had slain its last occupant personally, after all, an act that seemed to taint the air in her nostrils with the phantom scent of blood; for the briefest of moments, her mind shudders before the echo of Meredith's body striking the floor and Ophelia's scream of anger. Ophion shifts against her back as if privy to her discomfort. Not 'as if'--was.

Focus.

Closing her eyes and renewing her mental edge, Talia feels her mind bunch up as if tensing...then sprawl out, rushing along the length and breadth of the Malheureuse like a warm skein of quivering threads, each tenuously linking her to a member of the crew and their surface emotions. Gaius, and his fears of revealing weakness before the crew. His nightmares. Silus' frustration over the failed jamming. A crewman for whom Galder's threat was taking on hideous life, images of dying in the void wrapping cold hands around her heart. The pilots of the Guncutters, damage control crews rushing about the ship in anticipation of a hull breach, the anxieties and fears of the mutants who were struggling to prove their worth.

Tending to each in turn would have exhausted all but the strongest of Telepaths, so Talia uses a soft touch; the worst off had their fears quelled, those in command of others or directly responsible for vital functioning. Images of the Aquila triumphant, of flawless victory and an easy path to glory were easy to plant as original thoughts, and where they took root, confidence and surety bloomed. The effect cascaded, the hopeful air taking on a life of its own as Talia neatly unknots troubled thoughts and smooths over the emotions of fear and doubt. Without anything seeming to have changed at all, the frigate became a brighter vessel. Victory was assured, all that needed to be done was to seize it.

Lucius' orders are clearly received well, and bolstered by the Astropath's unseen work, the gun-crews leap to their duties with an exceptional vigor. The macrocannons were made ready in record time, gangs of men reloading the massive shells as well as any automated planetary defense grid on Ancient Terra. Reports flood back within minutes reporting the main line of cannons are ready to unleash their payload, and his thunderous order is mimicked by the guns themselves as the Malheureuse absorbs the shock. Exquisitely timed, the lance stabs out at the raider like the accusatory fire of the God-Emperor himself, a half-garbled communique from the lance stations indicating an almost unnatural fury present in the charging cells.

The primal roar of a job well done rises from the augur pits, joyful noise made by hoarse voices and laughter shedding the stresses of battle. "Void shields compromised, two excellent strikes behind it! And we've knocked out their sensors Sir! And, Emperor be praised", practically sung from a bright-eyed fellow's lips up to the Command Crew, "their port battery has caught fire! We have them now!" Three solid impacts--and the lance has struck truer than any mortal arrow! The raider is now blind as well as lamed, the holotank display slowly updating to reveal extensive rents in the plating of their foe and its suddenly limping gait towards the frigate. A cry goes up that the Guncutters have reached the maximum distance of the enemy turrets...and then that vox contact with the attack ships has been lost, likely due to interference from the sheer amount of flak. Prayers are made, oaths are sworn.

Even at the steering console Silus is still run reports from his underlings. Though the initial jamming went unsuccessfully, his men are busying themselves with monitoring vox traffic from the salvage site as well as any incoming data pertaining to the current conflict. It's to him that a rating with a cheerful expression rushes, though the crew in the pits behind him seem troubled again moments after his absence. "Good news! They'd been intending to board us, but with their drives strained to this degree they won't even be able to keep us within weapon's range. Some pirates in the ruined hulk were going to be joining by shuttle, but they would've needed us held in place. I suggest--"

Her suggestion is cut short by a grim-faced man piping up from his station, tapping an augmetic hand on his screen. An older rating, and one who was familiar with the Master of the Augurs from his larcenous days. "Smiley, the fire's out. They vented that entire section of their own ship. These...creatures are probably going to fight to the last man. They killed more of their own than the flames would've gotten just to get the guns back." His voice is quiet enough to not carry over the entire bridge, but clear enough to reach Silus' ears. "Unless we need the cargo, the Captain might be better off putting a hole in their drive at a safe distance." Turning back to his screen, the ex-pirate returns to working out attack vectors for Lucius' men.

Gaius is left in the Captain's Chair, an island of relative calm in the sea of shouting, data compiling, and constant rushing about with parchment and dataslate in hand. Only a few minutes after the frenzied shouting erupts and reports of the successful strikes make their way to him, a small scroll is left at his right hand. Apparently the Guncutters have been spotted on the pict arrays. Miraculously, every one of them appears to have made the dangerous crossing, and their forcible docking is represented in a new flurry of symbols sprouting across the holotank images. One only hopes that even a single vessel has made its way to the enemy bridge.

The Raider
The wait was excruciating. Only the pilot's cockpit in the front of the Guncutter had any visibility, which perhaps was a blessing; the rest of the boarding crew and the Sister of Battle waited in darkness lit only by warning runes and faint lumenstrips marking the exit door. Every faint roll of the floor under their feet or screech of metal shaking about them could have spelled death, either over in an instant or the slow wasting afforded to those with leaking oxygen. More than a few of the ratings vomit or whimper during transit, none of them specially trained for boarding actions. Hitting the flak, of course, made it all worse; for all the world they felt like a scrap of paper tossed in a torrential storm, entirely at the whim of impersonal iron and mindless laserbolt.

Regia, of course, knew better. The Emperor's will could not be thwarted by mere turret fire. And it seemed her confidence was rewarded when the screech of steel on steel echoed into the craft, a faint hum following soon after as maglocks were engaged. "Door!" The Guncutter's exit flies open and reveals the far side of an open passageway beyond that reeks of ozone and the faint smell of burnt oil. Evidently her pilot has managed to override an external airlock and hijack its entrance for the boarding parties use! Successful beyond measure, for common crew!

The surge of pride in the ratings is short-lived, as proves to be a man who forces his way past Regia in order to claim bragging rights as 'first aboard'. His rush out of the Guncutter and out the small side hall is cut short before her very eyes, a sharp report echoing in the passage as his body jerks; arterial blood sprays from the ruin of his throat, the rating crumpling to the plating as voidsmen on the Raider's side of the bulkhead move into position. A withering hail of gunfire rains down the short hall towards the ship, most striking the floor and walls as ratings huddle in fear behind the Sister of Battle. Scant cover is provided by ribbed support beams just outside the vessel, but the thunder of slugthrowers makes getting to it a tricky proposition.

"Kill them all now, let the Gods sort them later! Protect the bridge!"

[Librarilen]

Aboard the shuttle, Regia is forced to come to terms with what are altogether foreign circumstances to her. The Orders Famulous may count themselves among His Brides and Daughters, and be blessed with all means of war and armory great and glorious in his sight, but they are no Space Marines, nor is the battlefield their normal environ. Regia has been trained by the Patient Flame's best and most veteran in the art of battle, but her gifts are no less valuable amidst the moneyed throngs or the silent hallways of her order - and such places are far more often frequented by her. Aboard this shuttle, there is the smell of men's sweat and all-too-mortal anxiety, a far cry from the cold stone and brightly panicked eyes of noviates before their testing - this scene is one for which she has little experience to draw upon. Instead she takes her place of honor and becomes an Icon - rigid and prepared, an example for all the others to turn to in their time of need. She is alone here, and above the poor ratings and scoundrels - and that is good.

They travel through a hail of flame and anger unperturbed, for the Emperor's Will has not yet been done, no matter how glorious a blow the Malheureuse has struck when leading them. Their approach is the stuff of textbooks, perfectly-improvised and executed, but Regia knows that the reality of void combat, previously unknown, is waiting to show its face. Autogun fire reveals it as the first braggart gives his life for the Emperor. Regia can hear a dozen men cower like children in her shadow, pressed tight against support beams, suddenly all too small, and tossed amidst a too-great tempest.

Regia's arms do not tense, and her body does not cower. She is gird in Faith, a far more potent steel than either flak or ceramite, and her exit from the shuttle seems almost preordained, her heavy trod planting her at an angle decidedly un-complimentary to that of the crew's fallen brother: in that brief blink of an eye where barrels must be retrained a few scant degrees to find their next target, while weak men process the weight and disgust of sacrificing a loyal child of the Emperor for their sinful cowardice - in that moment, Regia acts.

"The Emperor's Wrath burns hotter than any flame! See the price of treason and cowardice!" she roars, her Mezoa-pattern flamer leveling itself dead center in the hallway. A single impulse of her finger turns the world into a miniature sun, all sound and fury without reason or mercy - Blessed Promethium issues forth, the very Breath of the Emperor, and whispers his truth in the ears of the unworthy.

She will cleanse a path to the bridge, and gut it. The crippled, nerveless ship will have no opportunity for desperate acts of valor or spite while she is here to guide it to its demise.

[Q'telun]

Lucius stares at holo of the enemy ship, grim faced. He's seen this macabre play enough times to know what the pirates just did to their own gun crews. To curse the enemy captain would never be enough. To curse him ten thousand times would still be too little. If only... Ah. With a sadistic grin, he opens a channel to the enemy vessel, broadcasting to every single one of their receivers.

"Unknown pirate crew. Your captain does not hold your life in any high regard, and neither do I. Surrender to the Sororitas aboard your ship, bring us Galder, and lay down your arms. If you do not, the moment the Sister is finished with her task, I will finish what was started by destroying your plasma drives."

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse
No incoming transmission is found to be directed at the Malheureuse, leaving it anyone's guess how well Lucius' threat has taken root aboard the enemy vessel. A low whistle from the augur pits, however, reveals one crewmember's amazement. "Sirs, they're trying to rearm their prow cannons. Not so much a threat to us when they're leaking air and power, but they could get a lucky shot off."

"Should we begin planning a preemptive strike?" Eyes move to the three officers clustered around the Captain's chair and control screen. More than a few make the sign of the Aquila as they note Talia twitching or murmuring in her meditative focus.

The Raider
The howling calls to violence pause in the brief span of time between spying Regia, taking in the sight of a fully armored Sister of Battle, and the sudden rush of flame that erupts after the Sister's answering rebuke. She can almost see the eyes widen on each grimy, hateful face before the wash of promethium obscures it all from sight. The surprise was a nearly palpable thing--they had expected boarding crew, obviously, but a Bride of the Emperor? It was scarcely to be believed.

And then, the screaming begins. Oil-spotted rags and poorly kept flak armour cheerfully light with clinging flame, automatic pistols clatter to the floor as the renegades panic, and a sudden shout goes up behind Regia as the flames die back. Lasguns utter their signature whipcrack reports, and bright bolts dart through the air on either side of the Sororitas and towards the end of the short maintenance passage. A few glancing impacts later, and the trio of pirates lie crackling and smoking along the plating as the ratings surge ahead to spread out.

"We're near where the comms are coming out", the pilot shouts from within his Guncutter. "Should I hold here and wait for your return, Sister?" The other boarders have begun to adopt defensive positions along the corridor outside; some are working a bulky lascutter into position before a bulkhead, preparing to slice their way deeper into the raider, while others keep their sights trained on the door at the far end of the longer passage, ready for reprisal.

[Librarilen]

Stepping through the disturbingly sweet-smelling breeze, consisting in equal parts of roasted flesh and the tang of incensed Promethium, Regia's hand quietly signals for a rating to approach the bridge doors: the boarding crew is divided with half held back in case of an approach from the rear, ready to surge in with the group prepared to support and cover the rating who now wields a breach-cutter rather than a weapon as he makes the way forward for them.

Regia and her flamer stand, confident, beside the door in the slimmest of cover. She has discovered a small well of previous hope, that the Emperor would see them through this - most of them, at least. She murmurs the Litany of the Patient Flame over the crackling screech of the welding tool:

"The Fire that burns swiftest burns brightest / but the Flame that burns longest cannot be denied.

The Fire can bring life or destruction / Holy Sol guide our Radiance wisely to every star.

The Fire that burns in this heart needs no fuel / for the Emperor has stoked it with Righteousness."

She looks over her command, a wolfish, predatory, beatific smile on her face. "Stay put, pilot. We'll be back soon, bound safe for home. If you can hail the Malheurese, update them as to our status. The Emperor leads us! May we burn fiercely, his most Patient Flame!"

[Vexing]

The Raider
The pilot's shouted response (panicky?) is lost in a sudden screeching of metal as the door fails to hold together under the lascutter's assault and the stout shoulders of the inspired boarding party. The heavy metal plate falls forward, ratings surging forward through the opening left behind into the charnel house that lies beyond.

And it is a bloodbath that awaits Regia and her fighters! The squat rectangular bridge of the raider seems uncomfortably cramped after the old-fashioned, multi-tiered design of the Malheureuse, a feeling made all the more prominent by scattered bodies, and a crowd of crudely armed renegades. The dead seem to have been thrown about with some violence, necks bent at unnatural angles and many limbs gruesomely torn--as if by a wild beast--from their owners sockets, haphazardly left dangling from power cables above or lying limply atop crude cogitating units still clamoring for shipwide repairs. All clearly pirates and recidivists of some order, some still twitching the last of their lives away. The mob left alive are pale of countenance and shaky, though they leap to engage the charging boarders with speed born from mind-numbing terror. The sounds of combat, las and blade, fill Regia's ears.

All this she takes in at a glance, the training endured by every Sororitas initiate enabling her to observe the cast of a battle within moments. And...there! At the epicenter of the carnage, scarcely over thirty meters from the door and seemingly distant from the growing din is her quarry. The crack of bone echoes in her ears as her eyes focus. A brutish Ogryn of a man with a bald pate snarls as he engages the engine of his chainsword, wrenching it in a spray of gore from the chest of a kneeling pirate; his unprotected face is heavily scarred, frame appearing twisted and grotesquely misshapen as cords of unnatural muscle strain at his armoured voidsuit. Dark eyes immediately meet Regia's serene gaze, narrowing with all the hate of a hunted animal facing its tormentor. The body of Galder's last victim falls in two messy halves as he roars above the melee:

"Fight, you rats! The man who brings me the Kneeler's head leaves alive! The rest of you cowards die!" His free hand dives for a holster at the tool mount on his hip, swinging the business end of a massive hand cannon up towards the breach and opening fire. The shot plunges through the metal edge of the door Regia is slightly obscured by.

[roll0] vs. 35
[roll1]

Edit: Penetration of 2, 14 Wounds versus Armour 7, Toughness 3, 4 Points of Cover (I chose to interpret "the slimmest of cover" to mean she was at the corner of the door rather than standing in the middle of the opening). Five Two Wounds are forfeit, from a rough light hit to the Right Arm! Blood for the Blood God! Regia has the option to Dodge, of course.
Three other pirates all in Imperial Guard flak armour and wielding swords take the initiative and begin rushing towards Regia, moving straight through the disorganized struggle in a desperate bid to close the gap. Their blades gleam in the dim light, catching the flash of lasbolts and reflecting it across their grim expressions and tightened lips.

For the purposes of our combat here, your ratings and the would-be mutineers/"loyal" pirates are holding each other at bay in a chaotic mess. Galder is 30 meters away from you at present; while the description suggests that moving to engage him would be through difficult, combat-ridden and body-strewn terrain, mechanically it'll be a straight shot up the bridge. Little to no cover, with most monitoring equipment or cogitators along the walls of the bridge rather than mounted along the walkway up the middle.

He has a chainsword, an armoured voidsuit, and one hand cannon--no other visible arms and equipment other than murderous intent and a face only the Emperor could love, but wouldn't.

After taking a Full Move to engage Regia (and perhaps escape Galder's sword arm), two sword-armed pirates are 22 meters from Regia, while the odd one out is 24 meters since he's moving mostly to the left. They've spied her Flamer, and are trying to space themselves appropriately--one is just outside of the thirty-degree firing arc coming towards the left, while the remaining two are still close enough to be hit by a single flamer shot. They'll have spread out a little farther by their second turn and will be approaching from the right.

If there are any other questions or things I've left out (I'm sure there's something), just let me know and I'll get you the answer quicklike.

[Q'telun]

Lucius sighs. It had been worth a try at least. He turns to face the pirate at the helm. "Mister Silus, shall we make ready to meet the Sister, and lend her our aid in subduing the enemy crew?"

[The Grue]

Siluis grinned a toothy metal grin. "Aye, manoeuvring to new heading. Watch officer, call out distance to target at intervals of ten thousand kliks. Enginarium, stand by for full reverse thrust on my mark!"

[Q'telun]

Lucius salutes the Lord-Captain, then spins on his heel and departs from the bridge while issuing orders into his vox-caster.

"All available armsmen, prepare for boarding actions. We go this day to reinforce a Daughter of the Emperor, and purge one more stain from this galaxy! Lets show these pirate cowards how real men fight."

[Librarilen]

Regia feels her lip curl into a sneer at the very first sight of the pirate captain, disgusted in equal parts by his warped flesh and his gross incompetence: crew are a resource too valuable to waste on petty ego and rage. Yet there he is, blustering and violating his own crew, wasting precious manpower in the last futile moments of his existence. A fitting epitaph if there ever was one, for the scum.

If he is so eager to lose his men, then the Sister is happy to help him in that regard. She is making her decision, raising her flamer high, when a thunderclap flashes in her sight and a vicious bolt of pain runs up her arm - if she'd not already been moving, Regia had little doubt the shot might have stressed her power armor to the point of failure, striking it more directly -- she'd have been lucky to keep anything below the elbow in such a case.

As it is, the Emperor's rage has guided her to safety through decimation. She will embody the wisdom of her order and take away all support and aid that the fool has, leaving him to collapse under his own weight. Before the hand-cannon's echo has finished reverberating off the bare metal walls, the Sister of Battle looses a mighty war-cry, and storms out from behind the buckled barricade that protected her so far, haloed in the harsh glow of the bridge's lighting system as she puts her back to a wall and points her weapon at Galder's minions. A gout of flame erupts from the nozzle, and Regia focuses her attention on one of the two desperate, charging men in the brief moment she has to train the blast, hoping to remove them one at a time.

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse
"Aye, Sir!" Watch Officer Branson moves to obey orders, the navigational arrays and incoming reports receiving his undivided attention. Word is passed to the Enginarium, the finicky minders of plasma banks prepared for the call to activate retro-thrust. Now to wait. A crippled ship was unlikely to escape a boarding sweep in time.

The Malheureuse, chafing under the restrictions on her speed, lunges towards the raider as quickly as she's allowed. The count is called at regular intervals. Reversing the thrust brings the comparatively large frigate alongside, turret flak spraying impotently against the armoured plates of her port side. Crew assigned to the augur pits inform the bridge that the raider's engines are flaring and attempting to create more distance, though far too late to accomplish anything. A final call is sounded, void shields adjusted for proximity, and...a small shudder runs through the deck! Success! The ringing of alarm bells and the mournful sound of klaxon announce the boarding action, calling all available hands to brutal action.

Lucius is there when the first round of signals go out, gathered at the entrance to a boarding shunt forcibly linking the two ships together, a hollow spear to deliver the Emperor's Wrath. The Malheureuse reveals more insidious surprises as similar shunts emerge from underneath concealed hatches in the external plating, plunging deep into the raider. Strain and struggle as it will, the smaller ship cannot gain the speed to escape. The pressure door before the Master of the Guns hisses open to reveal the artificial hall made; hot, stagnant air rolls out through the segmented tube along with the faint cries to arms from its far end.

Victory is practically a foregone conclusion. It merely needs to be seized.

The Raider, Bridge
Regia's practiced sweep of the flamer is textbook, even with an injured arm. The brilliant cone of ignited promethium washes over where the two closest pirates make their advance; one drops into a low roll and avoids the worst of the fire, while the other howls in pain, powering through despite singed eyebrows and the smouldering wreck of his flak armour. Neither were aflame, and the damage seemed minimal at best. At almost the extreme range of the weapon, it was only to be expected; the God-Emperor's holy instrument preferred closer quarters for a thorough purging.

But where was the third pirate? Her ears detect a sudden hammering of feet on metal, almost lost in the noise of combat and the flickering motion of the melee around her. The remaining renegade Guardsman has dropped into a sprint, trusting that his allies have the Sororitas distracted. The nozzle of the flamer twitches, Regia's head turns slightly to line up the next attack--and a bolt of white-blue fire crackles from beyond the ruined doorway, a lance of plasma that burns eagerly through the man's flak protection and causes the skin beneath to bubble. Stumbling, the pirate finishes his stagger within arm's reach of Regia; though his eyes are glazed and his wound severe, the man's sword is still firmly in hand.

Her comrade reveals himself with a hearty chortle and the familiar hum of a charging plasma cell. Jack coolly surveys his handiwork from just beyond the threshold of the bridge, the ex(?)-pirate moving to assist. The other guncutters must have made the crossing unharmed as well, a welcome relief. With fire support--

A thunderous report refocuses her; the deck plating near Regia's feet is suddenly scarred by hand cannon shot, shrapnel tinkling off of her ceramite plating. The fight is far from over.
Report for the round!

Briefly mindjacked Jack to have him join into the fight. He's little more than a half move away from Regia. Fired his Plasma Gun on Maximal for...underwelming damage. Still, better than nothing!

The two pirates Regia fired her flamer at are still on the move--they've each used a Full Move action, ending movement at 11 meters from her, but now far enough apart to avoid the flamer cone catching both. They're within Charge range for their following turn, something she would doubtless recognize and be prepared for! The solo pirate who attempted to outflank Regia took the Run action and moved a full 21 meters to get into melee with her; while Jack's shot still hit even with a running penalty (which I forgot to add into the roll in my OOC post), any hand-to-hand attacks gain a +20% bonus to strike him until the beginning of his next turn. Galder took his shot and missed.

Finally, the Malheureuse has successfully initiated a boarding action! The noose tightens, and the pirates have failed to escape. I'd like whoever is leading the majority of the crew to make a Command Test; the pirates have to oppose with a Command of their own, but take a -20 penalty for focusing their efforts on escape rather than repelling boarders. For every DoS the winner receives on the test, they can cause either 1d5 Population and 1d5 Morale Damage (two separate rolls), or one point of Hull Integrity Damage (which reduces Population/Morale as normal, also). Then the loser tests Morale...and if it's the Pirate, likely surrenders. We'll see, though!

Command: [roll0] vs. 25

[The Grue]

Silus stands from the steering console and motions for a nearby voidsman to take the helm. "Contact with enemy ship, Cap'n," he reports. "Permission to join the boarding party?" Silus produces his bolt pistol and begins muttering the Rite of Re-Armament. He does not wait for Gaius' response, and proceeds to the lift tube to join up with the second wave of boarders.

[Q'telun]

Lucius takes a deep breath as he stares into the guts of the enemy ship. Then, he draws his handcannon and sword and turns to face the assembled armsmen. "Gentlemen, I only say this once. He points down the boarding spike with his sword in a dramatic sweeping motion. "Kill those who stand in our way, restrain those who surrender! Carve a bloody path to the bridge, leaving none to oppose us in our wake! For the God-Emperor on Holy Terra and his Saints, and for the Lord-Captain, CHARGE!"

Whether or not the crew follows, Lucius is the first to charge, running headlong into the melee with fire in his eyes and rage to guide his hand.

[Thragka]

Jack was singing a voidfarer's folk-tune as he slung the plasma gun and drew a bolt pistol in one hand and his sword in the other.

"In year M thirty-nine, seven hundred and six, we set sail 'neath the cold light of Pry.
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks to the docks in the Scintillan sky ..."

He snapped a couple of bolts at the nearest enemy, but perhaps he ought to have spent less time singing and more time aiming; both smoked wide.

Free action to draw sword and pistol, and then Semi-auto at the nearest enemy. BS 52. Bolt pistol is Pen 4 and Tearing.

[roll0] terrible miss
[roll1]+5
[roll2]+5

[Librarilen]

While her fellow crew member appears to be suffering from a minor nervous breakdown as a result of combat's tension (though he is, at least, pleasantly on-key), Regia grits her teeth and decides it is time to reduce their enemy's advantages. As one of the pirates closes into melee range with her, Regia backs away again, and directs her flamer at him: she will reward his bloodlust with a burst of holy promethium.

move-and-attack, movement being directly away from the charging folks as best-possible.

[Vexing]

The Raider...
Lucius hears his call to arms echoed throughout the crew, chillingly amplified by the tunnel walls. Every rating joins in the charge whole-heartedly; not a soul hesitates, bolstered by the Gunnery Master's resolve and complete faith in their own righteousness. Who could stand against the will of the Emperor, after all? Throughout the boarding shunts similar cries for blood and vengeance erupt as men follow their commanders, determined to bring the fight to the dastardly foe. Silus finds himself joined up alongside a secondary wave of boarders arming themselves. Soon enough, he too is in the thick of it, trading shots and strikes with the pirate crew in the tight passages.

The fighting is surprisingly brutal. The Raider's crew appear to be a mix of seasoned voidfarers and renegade Guardsmen, many still in their PDF issue flak armour, all well adjusted to the rigors of shipboard combat. Explosive-rigged pressure hatches or booby-trapped corridors that vent oxygen set up for devastating ambushes; however, despite their greater familiarity with the ship and dirty tactics, the pirates seldom fight as a unit, instead breaking off into their own 'individual' combats. While an acceptable approach when raiding civilian ships or traumatized naval vessels, this lack of cohesion fails them on the defensive. Hall by hall, room by room, the enemy are cut off from support and destroyed by the measured, unified advance of the Malheureuse's crew. Eventually whole squads of renegades begin to surrender in the face of the Imperial's inevitable victory.

Little could be sweeter than hearing the warning call of a klaxon ring off las-scarred deck, followed by a frightened plea: "Gods above and below, lay down your arms! They're going to hole the drives!"

...and its Bridge!
"Gods above and below, lay down your arms! They're going to hole the drives!" The call screeches out of the numerous vox-ports along the bridge, though none of the men locked in combat with Regia and Jack's ratings pay heed. Galder lives, after all--they may die if they don't surrender, but they're sure to die if they do!

Regia ducks out of combat with her closest assailant, but not quickly enough to avoid a slash to her left leg. It slips beneath her armour--a mono edge!--but fails to effect any real damage. A spray of burning promethium answers the attack, washing over the pirate and leaving a crackling pyre in his stead. He's dead before he can manage to scream, skin bubbling and hair charring as the jellied accelerants seep beneath his flak. The two remaining swordsmen close as quickly as possible, darting around the cone of fire and Jack's two boltshots to draw alongside the Sister; her unexpected movement sets their charge off course, and they're forced to reexamine the flow of combat before bringing weapons to bear.

Their captain is incensed by the continued resistance, roaring a wordless challenge as he steps forward towards the door. The hand cannon rises and another booming shot whistles into the battle, striking Jack full in the chest; carapace plating cracks and shards of micro-shrapnel plunge into the gaps, drawing dark blood to the surface as the Knave of the Expanse finishes his verse. Perhaps recognizing the danger of the plasma gun (or more likely, leaving Regia to be picked apart by swords), Galder seems to be lining up a second shot on the ex-pirate with his advance.

Galder moved forward by four meters (26m away), and took a shot at Jack which cost our friend two wounds after Armour and Toughness. The pirate Regia flamed is quite dead! His two comrades, one uninjured pirate and one lightly broiled, have used the Run action to drop into melee with her again. Jack remains out of melee combat, but he's only a Half Move away from either pirate.

As for the rest of the ship, the pirates have surrendered. In another round (so effectively one more NPC round of action), Lucius and Silus will arrive to help mop up. Technically shouldn't be happening, but making time a little plastic never hurt anyone.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius grimly smiles, it seems the battle was won. "Boarding party, once you have finished up, do please ensure that the distress signal is no longer being broadcast."

just realized how long it's been since Gaius posted, so making one right now and then might modify the post with more. currently checking up on the specifics of the battle

[Thragka]

Jack's song was cut short by the shot to the chest. He coughed, staggered, and spat.

"You naughty bastard!" he exclaimed towards Galder, eyebrows high and eyes a-twinkling. Taking aim at the pirate commander, he squeezed the pistol trigger again.

Semi-auto at Galder. Pen 4.
[roll0] - One hit, I think
[roll1]+5 = 11X
[roll2], oof, shame I couldn't roll that first

[Librarilen]

Regia's sculpted visage continues an unbroken display of disgust as she catalogs the location of her near-injury: she will have repairs to make when this fray is settled in order to ensure nothing critical was broken.

She exults to hear Jack Solar's voice and can only partially register the possibility that he has struck true - good tidings, but she has more immediate concerns.

Her armour's sensors respond as a suite of variables are flagged, and her Wrath becomes of the silent variety, an air mask clamping itself over her mouth as she once again sets her flamer to the foe, these now close enough in addition to the charred husk of their bretheren to set off environmental fail-safes in her suit. Regia pays it - and her enemies' attacks - no mind as she replies with endless flame.

And Regia will fire on the two in melee with her. [roll0]

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge
The upper hand gained by the Malheureuse seems reflected in the struggle for the bridge, with Regia and Jack's ratings finally driving back their demoralized foe. The struggle is now definitively a losing one; though the fighting continues, all the panicked energy which characterized the pirate's resistance has leeched away and been replaced by mounting dread, the leaden weight of their inevitably defeat slowing their sword arms and dulling their reflexes. They know their struggle is a doomed effort. As if to underscore that point, more ratings flood the raider's bridge--even in the dim light and the confusion of battle, the green and brown of friendly uniforms identify the men as reinforcements. Leading the charge from a side hall into the thick of it are Lucius and Silus, the two men having met in the earlier struggles aboard the ship and joined forces directly. The cavalry has arrived!

Both of Regia's assailants chop and thrust as she tactically retreats to gain spacing for her flamer, but fall short of contact. Though their will holds upon sight of reinforcements and the blaring of the call to surrender (unlike some of their lesser fellows around the area), stubbornness proves to be an...ineffective defensive against a thorough bath of promethium. The smell of charred human flesh fills the air as they drop screaming, scrabbling ineffectually at the flames as the Emperor's judgement consumes them; now three smoldering corpses mark the advance towards the breached door.

It is perhaps in keeping that Galder's final shot goes wide; Jack Solar's bolt, already in the air as the pirate was taking aim, does not. The diamantine tip strikes Galder in the left knee and--with a distinctly organic 'skelch'--mulches the flesh of that leg in a spray of gore. Eyes widen as the hulking creature staggers, and stomachs drop as he continues to lurch forward; Solar's keen bionic eye quickly picks out shards of armour plating within the ruin of torn skin and exposed bone, accounting for such freakish durability. The raider captain drops the emptied handcannon and surges towards the two nearest interlopers, a light foam already building around the corners of his brutish mouth as he howls: "Die! Die damn you!" The motor of his chainsword is engaged as he begins to build speed for a final, futile charge on the buccaneer and Sister's position on one good leg.

Galder has run out of shots, his most loyal (a relative term, to be sure) men are dead, and both of his hated foes are still alive. He's 23 meters away from Jack and Regia, but closing VERY fast despite his injury. Silus and Lucius are now in this combat, and act at the bottom of the round (right after Jack/Regia, before Galder acts again. Thank you for your patience!

[Thragka]

"Wouldn't be the first t'damn me," said Jack, squeezing off another two shots. "And I 'spect you won't be the first t'kill me, either."

Pew pew. Semi-auto, Pen 4.
[roll0] - one hit
[roll1] +5 = 13X
[roll2] +5

[Librarilen]

"Our damnation is unlikely," Regia agrees, leveling her flamer at the hulking, wounded pirate with a steadiness bordering on casual disregard. "And your redemption, impossible. Know the price of betraying the Imperium of Man."

Fearless in the face of the brutish traitor's spinning chainsword, Regia puts her faith in the Emperor, and unleashes a final issue of his fury.

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge
Jack's bolt pistol barks once more, and another massive shell slices the air between him and the charging pirate. Galder twitches aside--with the uncanny sense afforded to gunslingers and the paranoid--in a shaven second, a loud peal splitting the air like a bell as the bolt arcs off of his armoured shoulder and explodes harmlessly behind him. Eyes full of hate lift to reassess the distance, shaking off the near impact effortlessly. Those eyes widen, and the bully's lips peel back as Regia steps forward, Galder howling his defiance as a curtain of fire sweeps over his frame and ignites him. It doesn't stop his charge, at least not initially; the musclebound brute barrels towards the two fighter's position, looking for all the world like a damned soul made manifest as a screaming pillar of flame.

Mere meters away, the Emperor's judgement catches up with him. The shouts and pained shrieks wither away even as his body gives out, toppling uncomfortably close to the two Command Crewmembers' feet. Gruesomely, the chainsword continues to struggle and spasm in the dead man's grip as if thirsting for blood, though its master is stilled forever. A cheer goes up from those present from the Malheureuse: "Huzzah! For the Emperor and His Saints!" The last of the fighting is truly finished.

All along the tight confines of the raider, your boarding crews begin collecting officers and other persons of importance, marching them to the bridge. The enemy vessel is scarred, broken, and blinded, its crew completely at your mercy.

[Q'telun]

Lucius paces back and forth in front of the captured "officers", if they could truly be called that. He keeps his hands behind his back, holding his pistol in his right. After a long time spent in silence, he stops in the middle of the group and faces the bound and kneeling wretches.

"Now, which one of you would like to fill me in on what's going on here?"

[Vexing]

The Raider
Surprisingly, it hadn't taken all that long to collect the various petty officers (or simply the best-armed bullies) manning the stations of importance aboard the raider vessel; in the end, eight men and women are dragged to the ruined bridge and forced into a line before the waiting Command Crew. Your boarding party explains that the reason so few command personnel survived the fight is that the renegades tried a half-hearted mutiny attempt...and Galder ripped out that heart minutes before Regia and Jack's 'cutters made their landings.

Bound and kneeling, the motley bunch are in no position to ignore Lucius' question. His first answer comes from the far left of the group; a woman with closely cropped brown hair and dark eyes sneers openly, revealing unnaturally sharp canines as her lips slip back. "You'll need to do better than that, kneeler. You could kill every one of us, and--"

One of her comrades caves immediately, mid-speech, much to her irritation: "We're here to salvage the wrecked fleet, but the rest of the operation is based on the orbital station around the planet in this system." He's a scrawny individual, with a peculiar tattoo of two four-pointed stars burned into his left cheek. The man's gaze lingers on Lucius' pistol, tongue wetting his lips as he continues. "The natives supply us with iron and their twists for free, and we strip hulls out in the rock fields for spare parts and weapons to be shipped to...wherever they need to go. I know more, but my condition is that she", he jerks his head towards Regia, "keeps away from me, and I get put down planetside."

"And what do you know that we don't?"

"Hey, Captain! I know a damn sight more than--"

The prisoners break into squabbling, trying to shout over the others to be heard and presumably spared the fate of their fellows. The lack of loyalty to one another turns the stomach, a disgusting display of cowardice and base survival instinct. The lot of them are terrified!

[Q'telun]

Lucius holds up a hand to silence the outpouring of information. When the assembled cowards have quieted down, he speaks again.

"The quality of information you provide here will decide your fate. I want to know everything that could be considered important, starting with the number of ships in system. If you attempt to deceive or mislead me, I will personally deliver you to the Adeptus Mechanicus for servitor conversion. Is that clear?

[Librarilen]

Regia is far too busy completing the Act of Deignition to look up at the man who singled her out - a credit to her piety, to be sure. She makes a mental note to speak with him later, though - someone smart enough to recognize the threat of faithfulness does not deserve the coward's misery of a long life spent in the cold darkness bereftof the Emperor's Light. Perhaps he can be convinced that a life devoted in service to the Patient Flame will rarely end at flamerpoint.

She has often pondered the value of a combat servitor, of course, but finds unblemished humanity a far more valuable resource in most cases. More versatile. More capable of pleasant surprises. She will ponder the man later. For now the Rites of Cleansing and of Refuelling must be attended to before she will be of further use to the command crew. The woman's hands continue their careful attendance to her weapon, and as well to the traitor Galder's impure chainsword, which will require much incense and purification before it finds service in her crew's hands.

She will wait to hear their captives' preliminary confession before she profers her services to aid the penitent - assuming the Captain wishes any of them forgiven.

[Vexing]

"Clear as triple-distilled 'sec!", one of the kneeling renegades offers immediately, "but we need to leave...and quickly." As the facts tumble in a rush from the prisoners, the reason for that warning becomes all too clear...

Ships: "Three Phobos-class escorts and a Sword; Mala tossed more armour on them, but now they maneuver like drunken grox, so they assigned Galder to salvage in the asteroid field with this ship. The escorts are only armed with macrocannon and laser batteries, but the Sword has a lance for heavy combat. If you try to fight them head on, even your luck will run out...kneeler. Just try fighting four-to-one odds, even with a coward's ambush. That distress signal will have been heard, and it won't be more than a Terran day before they're out here, picking over the rocks for your blood!"

Mala Vahn: "Galder served under Mala. She's the brain here, some runaway official or noble from...was it Malfi? Or Scintilla? Where she came from doesn't matter as much as where she got to, though: now she's a lieutenant under Woluun, who's one of Karrad Vall's captains. Has a head for numbers and a mean streak wide as a Titan's stride. Somehow Onésime either charmed her, or she owed him for some other reason, but a portion of our take here in raw iron always leaves with men who represent him. They got on like a chapel on fire, so she won't be happy to hear that he's dead." A nervous chuckle. "And that you lot are responsible. Might even take the Sword to go hunting."

The Planet: "Throne take that place an' everythin' on it. The air tears yer lungs an' fights ya down to the ground, an' even if your shuttle lands it's cold an' wet an' dull. Stubby little trees an' swampy-snow plains--but the locals seem to make do, somehow. Weird bunch, think they're sufferin' the Emperor's punishment for summat their ancestors did an' obsessed with their 'redemption'. Bah! Wouldn't be worth spit if Mala hadn't won 'em over with her fancy wings an' some honeyed words. Now they mines iron, copper, anythin' they can find for us! Mala also gets 'em to fork over their weirdies and witches. Ships them out-system to Woluun, never see 'em again."

Orbital Station (and Moon): "The station was here long before we arrived, but it wasn't hard to reactivate some of the necessary systems. Human, we think. Its sensor arrays can pick up almost anything happening on the planet's surface, and Mala stores and catalogues everything we salvage there before shipping it off to Woluun's court or elsewhere. It has a powerful lance and defensive turrets, but it would be hard pressed to defend itself from a dedicated attack...like the one you and I will launch, right? Friend? Of course, she won't leave it unguarded. Then again, your assault here may force her to be on the offensive...hm."

"The moon? The moon is cursed. Oh, the air is breathable and there's clean water--pure and clear--but spending a full rotation there is a death sentence. The two survey teams we put down vanished without a trace, no vox hails, no warnings. The search parties vanished as well, no matter how carefully we planned the approaches or coordinated the contacts. Observation from the station reveals...nothing. Investigating was like trying to bottle smoke. Mala maroons those who disagree with her there and otherwise has nothing to do with it."

Salvage: "These are old, old ships, out here on the rocks. Older than any I've worked with. Everywhere you find images and ikons of the False Shepherd and his idiot flock", a wary look towards Regia, "wrought in precious metals and bordered by real wood. We've been spending months stripping the smaller vessels alone of anything worth using: armour plating, wiring, cogitators, plasma containment fields, Gee-Field cores and warp drives. And that doesn't cover the loot, those precious things, gold and platinum and all the rest that Mala takes and sends away to appease Woluun's appetites. Greed has made going slower than normal. We lose more to fighting and to Mala's paranoia than to the usual accidents, depressurization and security triggers. This transport vessel is our most recent endeavor and the largest of the ships. If you spare me--and me alone?--perhaps we can share in the profits we seize from those haunted halls. Mala already found a favourite toy, wings of gold and flashing light that carry her weightlessly. Yours, soon?"

"There's another collection of ships on the far rim of the star's gravity well, but we've been working inwards-out. Just as well, I say; here the ships are human, but the brief scans we performed while mapping the system indicates xenos construction in the other cluster. My soul is dedicated to He Of Cold Blood, but no voidsman would willingly walk upon an alien deck. She had sent a reconnaissance team, but they haven't communicated with us in some time. Curious..."

[Q'telun]

Lucius relays all of this as quickly and as clearly as he can back to the bridge of the Malheureuse and the waiting Lord-Captain.

With that done, he turns to the Sister of Battle. "Sister Regia, I defer to your judgement in spiritual matters. Is this bunch of cowardly scum worth saving?"

[Librarilen]

Regia blinks away the soft dazzle that's graced her eyes while the Mezoa-pattern's wick-core shrugs off its gorgeous red glow, and rises, holding it at-rest.

Whether Lucius realizes it or not, his question is a welcomed dismissal of her previous concerns. The scriptures are clear on matters of deliverance.

"The scriptures are rather clear on such matters." Regia admits, inclining her head down towards the captives. "But the path to follow them correctly is no easy one: a good soldier obeys without question, much as a good officer commands without doubt. If these would be not traitors but soldiers, then they will be so understanding that there are no second chances. Only Work earns Salvation, and they are in dire need of it. Even a man who has nothing can still offer his life. ....and they will. I would only accept their new conscription after a week of penitence to smooth away the imperfections of their illicit liberty - and then only under the strictest taskmaster you can assign, with explicit instructions that their lives are utterly forfeit." the woman looks across the line of them once again. "Save, of course, those who fear the pain which cleanses the body of sin, and wish the Emperor's Justice right now. Cowards die in shame."

https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Warhammer_40,000:_Dawn_of_War#Start_menu_and_Comma nder_quotes:_Imperium_Thought_for_the_Day

[The Grue]

A little further down the line of the Malheureuse's officers, Silus clears his throat. "The way we used to do it, Sister - eh, before I signed aboard the Mal' that is - was we'd strip the ship of anythin' useful or valuble, slag her engines, and set 'er adrift with the crew that refused to join us. If they're deserving of His Mercy, we figured, the Emperor would guide them to safety. And if not the lucky ones would starve before the air turned stale."

[Vexing]

The look of calculating hope that had been creeping--albeit slowly--across the faces of the captured men and women vanishes in an instant, the moment when Silus' metal jaws offer up a more common sense solution. Immediately the bunch is back to begging for their lives; no new information presents itself in the streaming din of promises, threats, and bawling as dozens of strategies to secure safety wrestle with one another to be heard. One might begin to wonder if these creatures can really be called Men, given how quickly their resolve falters. Only one has managed to keep his cool: the man with the tattooed cheek. Keeping silent as his companions babble to all sides, he tries to subtly make eye contact with Silus as if to get his attention, while studiously attempting to avoid drawing Regia's eye. If the Master of Augurs gives even the slightest indication that he's noticed, then the man nods imperceptibly. Perhaps suggesting to come closer? He's still bound, and ratings stand guard over all the miscreants with lasgun and gauntlet.

Through all the din, the Command Crew receive two missives to their microbeads. One is a direct transmission from the Malheureuse, while the other comes from their men within the raider...

"Sirs, Sister, we have a minor...ah...malfunction." The rating at the other end of the broadcast sounds as if he's picking a careful path over broken stone, tongue slowly rolling over his choice of words. "The Captain has seen fit to begin celebrating. W-Which is his right, with respect! But I'm afraid he's making himself of no use, now that he's found the last of the amasec. Please advise?" A faint cheer can be heard on the tail of that question, and the clink of glass on glass. "We tried to relay the information you retrieved but he doesn't seem to have heard us. Or much care."

"Officers, this is Marine Pilas. We're the fifth team engaged in the sweep of this vessel, and..." She trails off, an enraged hiss escaping clenched teeth. "If I am permitted to suggest a course of action, I suggest that every living creature on this thing be shot and spaced, in that order. One of my men found something in a hold down here. It's some sort of blasphemous shrine. Like an animal's leavings! I've already shot three of these slugs for trying to stop its dismantling, but I hoped for further guidance."

[The Grue]

Silus' eyes meets the tattooed man; at his nod, the Auger Master steps closer, cutlass in hand, and wipes it clean of sticky gore on the shirt of the rating next to him.

"These lot don't seem to be goin' anywhere soon, Sister, if'n you and Mister Holt think that 'shrine' might deserve a good cleansing bath of Promethium." He sneaks a glance at the tattooed man to acknowledge his attention before continuing. "The men and I can see to things here 'til we decide for sure what to do with the prisoners."

[Librarilen]

Regia nods curtly, happy to both save face and leave the rest of the crew to interpret scriptures in a way more conducive to their current situation. She'll save her fuel supply for the heresies discovered below.

"Of course. I'll leave this in your most-capable hands. Mr Holt?" with surprising grace for one encased in thick armor, the woman heads after the profane shrine with brisk requests for the shortest possible route on her combead.

[Thragka]

Jack had kept quiet, arms folded, as his peers discussed what to do with the meek and wretched before them. He looked torn, now, as the Sister made for the door.

"Eh ... will you be needing any assistance, Sister? Or shall I ... keep an eye on this crowd?"

[Q'telun]

Lucius nods hesitantly. "The bridge is yours, Mister Silus. See if you can't convince the other pirates of our defeat. Mister Solar, if you feel that you can aid us below, you're welcome to join. Otherwise, your guns would be a welcome addition to the security of the bridge."

With that, he leaves the bridge behind the Sister, thanking the Emperor once more that she's on his side.

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge
As Silus draws nearer to the tattooed man, the captive strains to lean closer. He speaks quickly and clearly the moment the Master of Augurs is within earshot. "If you keep me alive and away from the flamer bitch, then I'll lead you to the main salvage Galder was working towards. I'm no fool; I know what's going to happen when your two friends get back, and I don't intend to die here. Save me, and you profit. Kill me with the rest of them", jerking his head towards his 'comrades', "and you'll be lucky to get away with anything before the other ships arrive."

"That's what you all want, right? A bigger cut than Onésime got? I can provide that, in spades." He keeps his eyes locked on Silus while the pirates closest to him redouble their efforts, attempting to throw their lot in with him.

The Raider's Hold
Pilas was as good as her word: something blasphemous and strange met Lucius and Regia's eyes the moment they entered the hold. In the far right corner from the door a grisly collection of bones and skin squats, seeming to exude a palpable aura of menace and ill intent. At first seeming to be a misshapen pile, patterns present themselves the longer a brave eye roams over it; strips of treated skin bear unwholesome and angular marks scattered at random, daubed in blood and filth; long leg bones have been lashed together with dried gut to form the frame of a crude seat; and dismembered arms (some with freshly rotting flesh attached) serve to prop up a figure in the midst of it all, a mummified humanoid body with empty sockets and a yawning, toothless maw. And everywhere--beneath the corpse's feet, supporting the frame, piled against the corner of the hold--are human skulls. Each has had a whole forcefully opened into the forehead with some blunt object, giving the blood-stained skulls the appearance of a third eye.

The ratings are keeping a safe distance from it at present, nervously watching the entrance to the hold and trying not to allow their eyes to stray back to the macabre idol. The Marine who contacted you salutes, jaw tight. "Praise the Emperor that you've arrived. Every moment spent near this thing courts damnation. I had thought it should be reported before it was destroyed, Officers."

[Librarilen]

A vicious Aquila of warding slices into the air beneath Regia's gauntlet as she studies the scene before them with a practiced air of what can only be described as rarified hatred. Truly, the Emperor gives His servants no finer tool in dealing with heresy than an urge towards Wrath.

"Truly? Then you are either blessedly loyal, or else tragically at fault, risking these men's souls. Every moment spent in this heretical presence is one spent in dire peril. I will attend to each of you personally in the aft hangar chapel when we return to the Malheuruse, to be sure your remaining here is a matter of devout duty, and not blasphemous curiosity. Now, stand aside and observe in obedience."

The Sister considers the heft of her fuel supply and the size of the object to be purged, brief calculations running through her head as she strides toward the throne, determined in her course. "Mr. Holt, do you have anything more substantial than a krak grenade on your person? I would prefer to subject this banality to a proper expression of His Holy Fury before consigning it to the blessed Flame."

[Q'telun]

Lucius pauses his recitation of the Litany of Profanity Under Your Breath So the Sister of Battle Does Not Hear. It had always been a source of great comfort in times of tribulation. "Unfortunately, Sister, I did not. I felt it unwise to use anything more potent than a frag grenade within the confines of these bulkheads. We can contact the Malheureuse and ask for supplies, if you wish."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius continues his carousing until the last of the amasec runs dry. He stares dejectedly at the empty crystal glass and mentally files a note that one of the things they needed to purchase on a supply run would be more alcohol... any alcohol really. He then turns his attention back to the situation at hand, and takes a deep breath before replying... it would do no good for morale to have their captain drunkenly rambling over the vox. "Ahem, sorry for the momentary disruption in communication. How many of the enemy crew has survived?"

[The Grue]

The Raider's Bridge

Silus considers the raider's words. "And if you know where this prize is, and it'd be so easy for us to take, what stopped Galder from runnin' off with it 'fore we got here?" He leans closer, putting himself almost nose-to-metallic-nose with the man. "This wouldn't be some half-arsed scheme to lead us into an ambush, would it?"

At Gaius' crackling call comes through the vox-speakers, Silus stands back straight and speaks into his caster unit. "Koretsky here Cap, on the raider's bridge. Galder's dead, an' most of the senior officers ta boot. The men rounded up eight of the survivin' highest-ranked ones and brought 'em here. Still gettin' a head count on the exact number of survivors, but I'd guess it's not a lot."

[Thragka]

Jack had hung close to Silus as Regia lead the others on their expedition from the bridge, and positioned himself to overhear the tattooed man speak. He chuckled at the Master of Augurs's response.

"You're in no position to barter, lad," he said. "If you've got a prize to sell, you give us the information, right now. Tell us exactly what you're talking about, don't be dealing in games and riddles. And after, if it's as good as you say, then we'll remember to be grateful to you. If you've done us a service."

[Librarilen]

"No matter then. Time is of the essence." Regia assured as she adjusted her flamer once again. "We will deal with this as best we can now, and see if our devotions are sufficient. Hail the bridge and inform them of our situation, Mr. Holt. They should be prepared to send a lance at this location if our efforts fail."

Dropping into a steep kneel, Regia fearlessly took her eyes off the profane furniture and began the Rite of Ignition once more, whilst mentally focused on her Order's Litany.

The Fire that burns swiftest burns brightest / but the Flame that burns longest cannot be denied...

Any rolls needed against heresy or for holy insight, boss? Else my fire is gonna fly when expositorally appropriate.

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge
"It's not that it's...easy...to take, but it's the only thing of value I have." Sweat beads on the brow of the tattooed man, lending a faint sheen to his greyish skin. "There's something on the transport that we'd found only a few days ago. Salvage efforts started under Galder, but we needed some of Mara's brain boys to decouple all the interesting bits. It's..." He trails off again, swallowing noisily as Jack's words sink in. "It's a beamer. You know, one of those devices that shunts you from place to place in a blink? There's one right onboard the wreck, still in one piece, as far as anyone can tell. They're like myth. Galder said that bringing it to Woluun would make us all rich as Governors; we sacrificed eight men at his order to please whatever led us here."

"Since you attacked us, our ship had to pull away before properly disconnecting salvage lines and our 'walks, but some men are probably still alive in there. We always bring generators for power and cyklers for air to big finds, so you'd probably face some opposition if anyone's still holding out...but the thing is priceless! I can lead you to it as directly as I know how in exchange for keeping me alive. Maybe setting me free, to boot. That's what I have to offer you."

His eyes have a disquieting desperation to them as he peers up at Jack and Silus, expression frozen in a rictus of fear. "They'll kill me. I don't want to die." The cool demeanour has completely evaporated, leaving behind a frightened PDF deserter in its wake.

The Raider's Hold
The Rite of Ignition is finished at speed, the ratings finish heaping raw fuel and crude alcohol seized from the pirates. The helpful crew practically hold their breath as Regia finally subjects the blasphemous construction to a flaming promethium bath; shifting uneasily, many of them draw away to the walls or even the exit to the hold rather than remain near the thing. And who could blame them? The event makes for a hideous backdrop as the clinging accelerants worm their way into cracked bones and slip obligingly into the open sockets of the skulls, leaving tongues of fire to dance within the hollow places and lap at remnants of dried blood and old marrow. Though many watching are on a razor's edge of wariness, tense and expecting the worst, nothing untoward seems to occur. Only at one moment do hearts leap and muscles tense: the mummified human(?) upon the makeshift throne shifts and tumbles forward as the frame collapses, one withered hand 'reaching' towards the Sister's position as its empty eyes accuse her. Simply a shift in the pile. Surely that was all.

The blaze finally consumes the shrine without trouble, happily belching soot and cheerfully breaking the silence with the sounds of its heinous fuel cracking under the heat. The lights above flicker once or twice ("The smoke", Pilas mutters) as it begins to die down, many long minutes having passed since Regia pulled the trigger. Leg bones and shattered skulls lie like so much blackened kindling as the last yellow-orange flames spend lick up what little is left to burn. Everything is charred black and the horror dulled. Or is it? As the ratings move to gather around the two Command Crew, a skeletal arm crumbles to reveal something gleaming in the charnel pile. The faint shine of metal.

Gaius' Response
Someone cuts in on the vox line almost immediately after Silus finishes, directing his report to the Captain. "The Augurman is right on the Thrones, Acting-Captain Gaius", a stern voice interjects. "An exact count is difficult, but perhaps less than two thousand men. Maybe three if we're to be generous. The macrobatteries and the lance opened a great deal of the ship to hard vaccuum, and apparently their own captain flushed the air out of the gun decks to halt Master Lucius' fire. Even if they had twice that number, the combat damage to this vessel means that they'd be of no threat to us if set adrift. It would take a dedicated shipyard and some well-trained hands to make this heap voidworthy again."

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods,"Any survivors are to be cataloged and brought back to the ship. Any who possess special skills will be impressed, while the remainder will be left to the mercy of the Emperor."

[Q'telun]

Lucius motions for the crew to get out and stand guard at the door. With his mouth covered, he leans forward to peer at the metal in the pile of disintegrating bones.

[Librarilen]

Regia's interminable prayers leave the strong heart in her chest thudding violently as she and Lucius approach the ashheap, as assuredly as they might in battle itself. This -is- another battle, after all, a spiritual one. Mindful of danger and trusting in the Emperor, she reaches down to extract the contents hidden at the pile's heart.

[Thragka]

Jack's eyebrows raised. He whistled, low and slow. He looked at Silus.

"Reckon that's probably worth eyeballin'. Least to figure out if it's legit."

He looked back at the tattooed man. His expression was intense, a calculating look on his face, a hint of empathy. "Nobody wants to die. Maybe we can put that off another day, by working together."

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge
Their prisoner relaxes all at once, a puppet with its strings cut. Wiry shoulders shift as he sighs with relief. "Praise be to the Cold-Blooded. I'll do everything it is that you ask--no real choice," he muses, "but better than being butchered."

"...Am I going to be cut loose?" Hopeful. Perhaps too quick to ask.

The Raider's Hold
The ratings take Lucius' order without a shred of hesitation, happy to pass the burden of discovery and understanding any potential horrors to those higher up the chain than themselves. After all, Imperial servants have the value of willful ignorance deeply ingrained from a young age; is it not said that "an open mind is like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded"? So it is that only the Gunnery Officer and the Sororitas witness the weapon's recovery from the bone pile. Tucked beneath charred bones and the ashes left by mummified skin, a worn blade of pitted steel has been revealed by the fire and Regia's exploratory fingers. Its slightly tapering blade is nicked by heavy use along both edges, discoloured patches mottling the metal all the way to its primitive hilt, where no crossguard or basket protects the grip. No part of it is left in good condition, either from its previous owners or the recent fire it survived; in fact, what isn't rusted or stained is ashy and marked by flame. How did it catch the light?

Now it lies dully in Regia's power armoured grip, with a heft noticeable despite her augmented strength. No sinister aura, no eldritch markings, no sudden calls to unspeakable acts. Perhaps it was an offering to the seated figure, or once a sacrificial tool. In any case, without extensive care, its days as a tool of war have ended.

[Thragka]

Amusement burst over Jack's face. "Hohoho, you're a cheeky one alright. Heh. Ah, no, lad," he said, looking to the Master of Augurs for confirmation. "No, I don't think we'll be doing that yet. Let's see how this little endeavour plays out first. What's your name, cutter?"

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge
"Fernes, Guv. Not that it matters much." The man does his level best not to let the disappointment show, already wane lips thinning ever more as he shifts against his bonds. Jack's small chuckle clearly smarts. "Can't be expected to lead you around with my hands tied though."

[Q'telun]

Lucius eyes Regia warily. "Sister, is it safe?"

[Thragka]

"Sure you can," said Jack, the smile artificially frozen on his face. "On your feet, Fernes." He prodded the man forwards, forcing him to stumble. "One foot in front of the other. We'll pick you up, if you fall down."

[LeSwordfish]

Talia had remained on the bridge of the Malheurese as the battle continued. She had no real role in this kind of combat, and instead spent the time pacing fitfully. As Regia and Jack slaughtered their way through the bridge, she had picked up Silas's encoded message, stared blankly at it for a few minutes, and then thrown it down again. As the reports came in, of their victory over... someone... she had become steadily more restless, eventually stepping out of her chair, irritably demanding a vox-horn from one of the bridge crew, and opening a channel to the commanders in general.

"This is Talia," she said, her bravado breaking before the end of the sentence. "What's going on? Is everyone alright. I mean... status report."

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse
The crew has been only too happy to leave Talia to her own devices during the combat, and remained busy with post-combat reports and system checks afterwards. The moment she ceases her pacing, however, a vox horn is found for her while the ratings withdraw to a respectful distance to let her use it. It didn't pay to stay too close to a Psyker anyway.

Which made the feeling of a...presence at her left shoulder all the stranger as she opens her communications. Something shifts in the corner of her eye, a bony figure in drab colours. A bony figure of drab colours, on a proper look--Visaeus, his washed out features fixed with a hungering expression and brown robes stained with oil from his labours. His green eyes pick over the other psyker's expression as if looking for something specific, tilting his head as he leans on a console slightly-too-near to Talia for comfort. The mutant hasn't interrupted her, but he's clearly making an unnervingly silent bid for her attention.

The Raider's Bridge
Fernes does as he's commanded, though the rating behind him enthusiastically helps him to his feet with the tip of a boot. Muttering invective under his breath and swaying a little as he gets his balance, the pirate staggers forward, only to wobble a little farther than intended as Jack also gives him a 'helpful' prod in the right direction. "So be it." The line of other captives redouble their efforts to join his lot, the specifics of it all quickly being lost in an irritating white noise of sobbing and empty threats.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius sighs, the counting of sheep and cattle would have to wait. "Somebody check to see if we have any more shuttles. I'm heading over to the raider to see whats left for myself."

[Librarilen]

"Safe enough, but I've no need for a trinket once-tainted by such foulness. I would say we leave it beside the reactors once we let them send this misbegotten ship to its ruin. Let's be done with it and get these men back to work." Regia suggests, prodding distastefully at the weapon before offering it to her fellow member of the command crew. She's happy enough to simply let it remain here otherwise. "Bridge? This is Sister Regia. The taint has been cleansed and we are ready for further duty as the situation demands. We will return to you if there is nothing else to be done below," she reports to the remainder of the crew.

[Vexing]

The Raider's Bridge (Galder's Quarters)
Within moments of Gaius' arrival, the crew help locate and open Galder's living space, a ratty little partition near to the entrance of the bridge. The cramped box of a room stinks of sweat and filth, dirty clothing and soiled gear scattered about the floor in a veritable sea of refuse; worse still are the 'trophies' the pirate has taken, rows of fingerbone charms hung on the walls alongside skull plates with etched kill counts. An uncomfortable place even for a cursory search.

However, hunting through the detritus does turn up items of interest other than grisly collections. Another well-oiled handcannon with plenty (perhaps excessive) man-stopper rounds ready for quick-loading; cases of Imperial Guard issued Frenzon tucked beneath a loose section of wall plating; and, impressively, an ornately gilded arms coffer which hisses open at the warmth of a human finger, revealing robes woven from some golden cloth that flows like water and is marked with impressive iconography of wheeling eagles and sunbursts. Tellingly, the clothes are not in Galder's size. Perhaps they're trophies from the wreck.

While the vestments (for they SEEM to be ceremonial in nature) would easily be worth several thousand Thrones to an interested buyer, they'd likely be just as impressive an investment in one's appearance. A trio of ratings cheerfully help Gaius' transfer the finds back to the Guncutter, though the senior among them curses that the pirate failed to keep any personal records.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius looks over the treasure they have re-appropriated in the name of the Emperor and his eyes glaze over as he calculates the wealth it all would be worth... as well as how much amasec he could buy. Nevertheless he searches the room once more before turning to sit on the throne in the bridge. He then opens a private channel with his vox,"If my command crew would do me the pleasure of coming to this heathen bridge, I think it's time we take inventory of our spoils fully."

so first I'm using my Evaluate skill to determine the exact value of our pirate booty [roll0] 38 (Int)+10 (Evaluate skill)

then just Searching using... Perception I imagine? [roll1] 33 (Per)

[LeSwordfish]

Talia paused, frozen with hesitation before following Gaius. She didn't want to travel across to the other ship... but nor did she wish to be left alone with Visaeus. She drew herself up to her full height, attempting to address him with the gravitas that a member of the command crew would probably recieve.

"Visaeus. Can it wait?"

OOC
Sorry for fudging the timing a bit - Visaeus' answer will determine if Talia goes with Gaius or not.

[Q'telun]

Lucius takes the sword gingerly. Who knows, it may prove useful to have at a later date. "Shall we join the Lord Captain then, before he drinks the entirety of the amasec rations?"

[Librarilen]

"I certainly hope that's not the case. For his sake." Regia murmurs to Lucius as they turn back down the corridor for their return trip to the bridge.

A drunken captain is an incompetent one. And Regia despises incompetence.

"Hangovers, as I understand it, do not mix well with high-stakes command situations." she adds as a far-off afterthought, just in case for some strange reason or another, Lucius thought she was making an oblique threat towards their Lord Captain, perish the thought.

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse
"It can, if it must." The mutant leader doesn't bat an eye as Talia asserts her authority, likely aware of just how uncomfortable he'd made her; instead, he takes a step forward before continuing to speak. "I will await your return. There's something I wish to discuss with you, something you are uniquely positioned to understand and...assist me with, if you would. I will be outside your quarters", he adds, timing those last words with his exit as shuffling footsteps take him away from Talia. When Gaius leaves in the Guncutter, his Astropath is there to join him.

No worries; time can be fairly flexible out of combat. Talia will be on the bridge with the rest for the loot tallying and Gaius' meeting.

The Raider's Bridge
As Regia and Lucius return to the bridge, the first thing that meets their gaze is a gaggle of ratings conferring about the booty seized from the Raider. Now that the preliminary reports have come back and teams have examined the other holds, all that remains is to catalog the spoils.

The ship itself is practically a hulk. While a voidship of any size is a valuable asset and well worth the Thrones to invest in its repair, a crippled ship with untrustworthy crew is worth little more than a millstone around the neck of the Malheureuse. However, the vessel's limited holds contain several tonnes of scrap iron, salvaged ceramite plating, and enough plundered wiring to catch the interest of even the most lax Tech-Priest; augmenting this windfall are decoupled cogitation banks, air cycklers and water purifiers. Apparently the standing orders for the pirates compelled them to strip out useful equipment from the wreck first, in order to better equip salvage efforts overall and supply the orbital station in this system with back-ups of vital systems. All in all, the equipment would make a tidy profit at a market in Footfall or in a more civilized sector, like Calixis or Askellon, but is nothing to 'write home about'. The ratings pass along a last tidbit of information 'volunteered' by some of the cowards dragged to the bridge: items of clear luxury value or containing precious metals was always picked up as quickly as possible by small craft from the orbital, where it would be taken and catalogued by Mala.

Finally, enough food and water has been seized to allow for two months worth of operations--at full rations, no less!

Galder's Quarters
Gaius' dedicated searching turns up one final item of interest, though he may wish he had passed it over. Concealed in a false panel behind one of the skull trophies he finds a small amulet made of wrought iron--an eight-pointed star, jagged and spiked. Though he wasn't in the Inquisition's service for long, even cursory experience with the Emperor's Left Hand allows him to recognize the foul mark for what it is: proof that Galder willingly trafficked with unwholesome powers, and a chilling argument against trusting his subdued crew. Strange that it was hidden with such care...

Fortunately, Gaius' find goes unnoticed by the ratings working alongside him, though it went without saying that the other officers would need to be informed immediately. As soon as he could lay ahold of amasec to calm the nerves.

[ChaosArchon]

When he sees the symbol, Gaius pales and makes the sign of the Aquila to ward off its evil. He hides the cursed amulet and waits upon the bridge after he sends his message to his command crew.

[LeSwordfish]

"But." Talia said, trying to look commanding in front of the man who had brought the news about the food. "Is it clean? Is it untainted?"

"If you don't know the answer to that then... take me to some of it."

[Vexing]

The Raider
The crewman so singled out drops his eyes away from Talia's 'gaze' as quickly as he's able. "Smells like food, looks like food. Water seems clean enough too. Not a proper quartermaster myself, so I can't speak on whether it's infected or gone a little to rot...the boys and I will lead you to where these wretches were stowing the lot of it."

He's as good as his word; as quickly as he's able, he leads the wane psyker to two small, chilled holds containing truly peculiar viands. Thick rectangular slabs of some greyish, fleshy plant(?) matter are stacked twice the height of man in crude pallets, jockeying for space with twisted ropes of poorly salted, bloody meat laid out like steel cord on a repair deck; the pirates diet appears to consist almost entirely of these two items, alongside stale tasting water. Everything has been more or less shoved into these two holds without regard for proper storage, leaving the faint scent of spoiling food curling in Talia's nostrils as she searches in the dimly lit space.

Still, it is food of some description. "It doesn't look half as appetizing as corpse starch", her guide admits quietly, "but better than starving. What's the word, Lady Seeress?"

[LeSwordfish]

Talia frowned at the supplies, though it was not visible behind her low hood, and opened her mind's eye to let the curls of the empyrean wash over her.

Psyniscience vs 71: can Talia see anything warp-wise wrong with the food? 1d100]

[Vexing]

The Raider
Reaching out to investigate the strength of the Warp leaves an iron tang in Talia's mouth and a faint clicking in her ears. While there isn't any presence in the hold to account for such feelings, the scent of blood grows much stronger as her mind's eye lingers on the twisted ropes of meat. Not strictly tainted, but evidently not completely safe; something has left a powerful impression on the food. It tastes like suffering.

The thick slabs of spongey something, on the other hand, pass inspection. Peculiar, but unmarked.

[Q'telun]

Lucius salutes Gaius as he steps onto the bridge. If you could really call this place on the ship that.

"Lord Captain. No signs of heresy, at least not according to the Esteemed Sister. The ship is yours to do with as you please."

[Librarilen]

Regia ignored the gaggle of captives which seemed a bit more.... vibrant... than when she had left them, and greets their nominal leader with one hand still bent into the Aquila, as it has been since they left that black place.

"Rats breed in shadows. Though the taint of Heresy provides no direct threat, the luxury of assuming it has not infected any other corners of the ship is foolhardy. If we intended to keep this near-hulk I would be concerned for our safety without ecclesiarchical support. As it is, I believe we can trust the void to leave whatever foulness remains frozen and dead upon our departure."

Which is slightly different from Lucius's summary, and as such, is not redundant.

[LeSwordfish]

"What is this food?" Talia asked, reaching out to touch the ropes of meat. "Something is... wrong with it."

[Thragka]

"Cap'n," said Jack, nodding obeisance. "Not much to report from my end, 'cept some intel from one of our captives. 'Pparently there's something real shiny on the wreck. A 'beamer', y'know, one o' them telly-porters." He paused briefly, for dramatic effect, and even raised his eyebrows after a moment. "Galder's crew were trying to salvage it, but, 'ccording to our helpful young fellow, they wanted some technical help from Mara's cogheads to get it working.

"The prisoner wants to trade his freedom for info to help us overcome the remaining crew working on the beamer, eksetra. I had him clapped in irons with the rest of 'em. Didn't want him thinking he was the one in the position to bargain. But I can go get him for you or ... rough him up, or whatever, if you like." He shrugged. What a posh toff might want to do with a clever prisoner was completely unknown to Jack Solar, but it didn't sound like anything Gaius asked him - sorry, ordered him to do next would much surprise him.

[Vexing]

The Raider's Hold
"...Don't rightly know, m'Lady." A frown, the rating mouthing 'wrong?' in confusion. "It's a little on the bloody side, but that probably means it's fresh. They must have a port of call around that planet the bridge crew passed word about, right? Maybe they took on supplies recently. Mystery meat never hurt an enlisted man before!" He reaches out to pinch at one of the ropes, tugging gently on a flimsy, translucent casing that seems to be holding the mess together; Talia can hear more than see the tongue rasp over his lips as he does. "Guess it's strange that they bothered to mash it all up. 'Pirate sausage', m'Lady?" A chuckle chases his comments out and rings across the hold.

The way its said puts an uncomfortable image into Talia's head, a nauseating thought. Perhaps the rating's designation is more right than he would dare believe.

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods and greets his command crew as they arrive on the bridge. After each give them their reports he sighs and sends away any other ratings from the room. "Well we have a problem because there is indeed a sign of heresy of the highest order. I found this amulet while searching the captain's quarters." He takes out the eight-pointed star and then looks to Regia,"Sister I assume you too recognize what this is?"

[Thragka]

Jack winced - a slightly odd reaction, perhaps, to the presence of heresy. As if this was really just a ****-up of the highest order, a paramount embuggerance, rather than a sign of spiritual and eschatological doom. He said nothing, though - just stood there in silence. He as attentive and listening, though in actual fact he looked disinterested and bored.

[LeSwordfish]

Trying not to retch at the possible origin of the food, Talia muttered something about speaking to the captain and beat a hasty retreat.

She reached the captain's meeting just before the symbol was revealed, and made the sign of the aquila. "We should destroy that. We shouldnt let anything from this ship aboard without checking it."

[Librarilen]

"I am not surprised." Regia sighs, striding toward Gaius. Her own Aquila cutting harshly in the air as she grasps the foul icon in her gauntlet, squeezing with all her strength. "Onésime's foulness has, I assume, escaped your memories? A rotten shrine to Heresy, made of bloody twisted flesh, was constructed in the nether holds of our recent prey. And he frequented this place, made bargains with these traitors? Of course he would bring its darkness with him. This place hides from the eye of the Emperor, huddles in shadow, scuttling like vermin from His Light. We are surrounded by men and women so befouled against humanity that they betray each other as readily as they did the Imperium."

The woman's eyes flash: she stares at Gaius, her words leveled for his benefit, perhaps for his alone. "Our destruction of Onésime was an unimaginable service to the Emperor. Every place our ship has traveled under his watch must be so-tainted. With your permission I will complete a proper purge of the whole ship, beginning with the Captain's quarters. If we are to continue our travel in confidence - now that we are better-stocked of supplies and perhaps crew? - we can tend to more important matters than mere survival."

Then she drops the proverbial hammer: "For all we know, Onésime was once as good a man as any of us. Heresy is subtle and malicious. We are all equal to the Emperor's justice and judgment despite our position. I wish to assure you, Captain, while this may have surprised you-" -she opens her gauntlet to consider the condition of the foul many-pointed star- "-I am watching over all of us. Pray none show signs of such taint. We will deal with them the same way we did the former Captain."

[Vexing]

The Bleeding Edge, Bridge
With that warning ringing in the Command Crew's ears, salvage efforts pick back up in earnest while all necessary steps for Lucius' plan are put into action. In under an hour the Malheureuse's minor internal is repaired, the crippled pirate vessel is loosed from its moorings, and the communication relay on the bridge is brought back online. Crew not otherwise employed assist in moving Galder's defeated men to holds on their own benighted vessel, using them as makeshift brigs while their ultimate fate is determined. Only a handful of higher 'officers' (the largest bullies to be found in their number), Jack Solar and Lucius' prisoner, and a pathetic wretch selected as a mouthpiece for the scheme escape such treatment. The hope was, between all of them, they could manage to provide a convincing enough lie to cover for the battle.

The broadcast is opened immediately after the relays repaired: "...This is Marn, First Officer of the Bleeding Edge. Our vox was damaged in the scrap with Onésime's ship, but we won out--the Malheureuse is crippled. We're going to return to salvage."

"Vox-Operator Tacis. Why isn't Captain Galder making this report? The distress broadcasts we were receiving said your vessel was heavily damaged, and that boarding was commencing." The response is openly suspicious when it returns, the operator on the other vox humming quietly to himself. The echoing quality on it sets the teeth on edge. "Mistress Vahn already has the Jackal on the way, and the other ships are being prepared. So there's no fighting to be had?"

The underfed-looking pirate elected to lie glances back at your gathered group, nervously moistening her thin lips. "Galder took the fight to the Malheureuse's bridge and caught a sword with his neck. Good riddance. New captain's being sorted out as we speak." Panic lighting her eyes, she takes another look back to the Command Crew for their input.

Without another plan, Q'telun's is up first. Deceiving the pirate's could mean valuable time to salvage the wreck, formulate a battle plan, or strike out for another area in the system.

[LeSwordfish]

"Well, she's not wrong." Talia muttered, stifling a nervous laugh. She looked to Gaius. "Are the foodstores loaded?"

[ChaosArchon]

Gaius nods,"I believe so, as well as what loot the ratings could locate. Before we leave, I think we should prep this ship to explode. It will wipe away its heresy, as well as potentially injure its compatriots as they come to its assistance."

[Librarilen]

Regia waves a hand dismissively. "Why do we not just consign it to the Warp? I do not know if we have time enough to prepare such complicated vengeance when they will soon be upon us."

[Vexing]

The Malheureuse, Bridge
"Tacis, take that tone with me and we'll have another fight. If you're that eager to pick over everything, trek out here yourself with supplies for repair. Marn out." Shivering with fear, Marn disables the vox and is taken away by your men for more questioning, leaving you all to your discussion.

Regia's input leads to a review amongst the Command Crew, soon joined by a few Enginseers not actively overseeing salvage or repair. The red-robed priests offered only token resistance to the idea of setting the Raider adrift in the Empyrean void; acutely aware of how dire the situation was becoming with every wasted moment, practicality and expedience overtook veneration and religious awe for the time being. They agree that it stands a greater chance of success than rigging a plasma drive to fail, secure your permission on how to arm the trigger for jump, and immediately depart the bridge to begin their labours. Everything afterwards seems like a blur: the pirates were locked in their own holds, with only two pirates, Marn and Fernes (Jack's informant) spared and imprisoned; the Bleeding Edge set for jump with care; and the last supplies secured aboard the Malheureuse. The pirate vessel and your prisoners are left hanging limply in space near the ruined transport while your own ship relocates deeper into the asteroid belt.

Now all that is left to do is...wait. The Malheureuse moves to silent running, following protocols laid down by Onésime in what feels like another age. Hovering in the dark, hours pass in relative silence as the adrenaline from your battle completely seeps away. In that long delay, one of your petty officers requests permission to enter the bridge--with new three faces in tow, hands bound, stripped of equipment and somewhat grimy from their recent struggles. The trio is made up of a brunette woman of fierce countenance, a blonde man with extensive bionic implantation, and a pale, rotund behemoth with a heavy oilcloth tied none-too-comfortably around his head. The last figure seems to be the focus of your officer's concern, hand ready to draw his laspistol even as he addresses the Command Crew.

"Captain Gaius, I apologize for not making a full report earlier, but it's been a mess trying to get word to the bridge. Jensen, Petty Officer Second-Class, with three persons of interest seized from our enemy. This," the burly man offers Gaius a slim dataslate, "was found in possession of our half-mechanical man here. A rating had brought it to him after he was secured during the fighting; he's literate, and claims to be an Enginseer imprisoned aboard the enemy vessel. None of our own techpriests were available to interrogate him yet to confirm since they were busy with their project."

"This woman says she assisted our boys during the boarding action and was rounded up as per procedure. Her effects were confiscated, including a hand incinerator and robes bearing the Aquila." Jensen glances at Regia curiously before continuing. "I have witnesses who'll swear to her actions against the pirates, but the decision to release her remains with you, Sirs and Sister. Willfully provided information during her interrogation and demanded to be taken to the Captain for review."

"And we have...this one. He was found in what seemed to be private quarters aboard their ship, but came without struggle. He's..." A nervous swallow cuts the man's train of thought, so he gestures loosely towards the hulking figure. "Claims he's a Navigator. We've taken the necessary precautions and wrapped up whatever's under there on his head, but if he's telling the truth then we're required by Naval Code to release and accommodate him", a slight pause, "until such a time as his House can be contacted for retrieval. He answers most any question but which House he belongs to." Jensen's fingers still rest uneasily on the butt of his pistol, bald head gleaming in the pale light of cogitator screens. "Onésime's code called for any 'peculiar persons' to be brought to the bridge immediately after questioning and processing", he adds. "If there's been a change in custom, I can return these three to their assigned cells."

Feel free to introduce your characters or question each other (in good fun), but I'll have another post up by tonight regardless to 'interrupt' the proceedings and force a decision on the Malheureuse's next destination. This should mark the beginning of a regular posting schedule again--I'm looking forward to it!

[Toxic Mind]

Lydia takes the first opportunity to speak up. "I am no pirate. Those God-Emperor forsaken bastards took me from my ship and stuffed me in the brig for their dark masters, I have no doubt. I don't know who you are, and frankly, it doesn't matter to me. You aren't with the pirates, and the Sister here believes that your cause is righteous."

She looks at her pendant with longing. "If you give me back my weapons and my mother's pendant I am yours, until such time as you stray from His Light. I will assist you in bringing the Light of the Emperor to those who require it, and keep you and yours safe, body and soul, with my words and my weapons."