Sea of Stars - IC II

[rax]

After Macharius' speech, Hannabel rustles up a dirt bike and heads back out onto the race course, searching for where the Veluminary riders fell. Once she locates the leader, she stops and watches the corpse silently for a moment, before kneeling down and taking the woman's hand in her own.

"You rode a good race, sister. May you ride free and clear in the hereafter. Emperor protect you and guide you," she murmurs. Then she dusts herself off, shoots an unkind look at the open sky, and rides back to the capital to find somewhere cool and dark to get a stiff drink.

[Leon]

++Now that this frivolity is done maybe we can get to the collecting some Ambulls++

[Destro_Yersul]

With the race concluded, a brief closing ceremony was held at the finish line, with what passed for the planet's selection of dignitaries. Max Stone and the other interceptors had to be retrieved from the course, but once all the surviving clanlords were present, Macharius was declared High Clanlord and overall ruler. The other clans were charged with choosing new leaders, in preparation for the upcoming year - though the actions of the Rings had fractured the Immortans even further, and the once-united clan was in danger of breaking into half a dozen subfactions. None would have a leader as forceful as Lukas Moore had been, and a significant percentage of them had expressed interest in signing on with Starclan Absalom, partially thanks to Anika's efforts at negotiation.

After the ceremony, Max and Bruce approached Macharius together. "Nice speech," Max began, "though you'll have to accept my word that I'll follow you. Blasted leg doesn't bend much."

Bruce, without the handicap of an uncooperative augmetic leg, knelt briefly. "Lot of work to do around here, now more than ever. I think the Smokers will toe the line, for now. Even without the Immortans holding them back, they won't be able to stand against a coalition. We can probably snap up a few of the Immortan holdings in the chaos, consolidate and absorb a few remnants..."

Max nodded. "Biggest hurdle will be the next few months. I think the promise of trade and growth will be a good incentive."

---

With the Election over, Noctis kept his promise of opening up trade. The Fury Incandescent also arrived, finally catching up with the much fatser Sting. Conveniently, this placed the ship's brig at their disposal for the transportation of workers, either volunteered or press-ganged. There was plenty of old mining equipment for sale, once the Vulkanites had opened their vaults, even with planning to leave some for restarting the old excavations.

Hannabel spent a good amount of the time exploring the city's various bars. There were lots to choose from - drinking and gambling seemed to be the two main recreational pastimes, apart from driving. Driving would probably drop off, if Macharius got everyone put back to work.

Ravia supervised the loading of a few specific crates. Negotiations with the Vulkanites had gone well, though there were things they were still reluctant to talk about. Kennoch had also talked to them, though he'd not had much success in trying to buy anything new. The Vulkanites were in the same sorry state as the rest of the planet when it came to imports - a situation that House Absalom was positioned to rectify, next time they were able to gain an audience with the Mechanicus proper. Instead, the Navigator spent time preparing the ship for its next voyage. Winterscale's party beckoned...

[Haval]

To Ravia, 'Ambulls? Do you need them alive? That might take some preparation.'

Before leaving Viatrames Anika will investigate some of the bars herself with an eye to making connections with some of the locals. While the clan leaders seemed trustworthy up to a point, she would like the possibility of an independent source of news on whatever might be happening on the planet behind their backs. If she wasn't here herself she would have somewhere to send people who worked for the dynasty.

On the Sting, after making sure their new recruits had quarters she will find someone among the crew to keep an eye on them and to act on other business as needed.

For Winterscale's party she's fairly sure she can get away with as little preparation as possible unless the others needed her for something.

Spoiler

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Charm to talk to barmen on Viatrames probably.
vs. Fel 47
(1d100)[92]

Inquiry to find someone below decks who might act on Anika's behalf
vs. Fel 47 (+10 for Etiquette as she's looking for someone on the crew and she's command staff?)
(1d100)[71]

Might be better off making an acquisition roll for the second thing?

[Leon]

++It is preferable to have live subjects, much more information can be obtained from a living sample++
++Maybe if we get a big one as well it would make for a impressive gift to Winterscale++
++At a minimum, three would be a good start++

[Haval]

++It is preferable to have live subjects, much more information can be obtained from a living sample++
++Maybe if we get a big one as well it would make for a impressive gift to Winterscale++
++At a minimum, three would be a good start++

'Well, it might be fun if we can make sure it's properly restrained. I'll see if I can find anyone who knows what they're doing.'

Spoiler: ooc

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Acquisition rolls in the ooc

[Kaptin Keen]

Felidae considers - briefly - making good on her claim that she'd wrestle an ambull, then decides she's really not all that interested.

Instead, she decides to tour the city. Surely, there are bars where scruffy, weather-beaten, leathery archeotech prospectors meet to swap tall tales, get drunk and try to sell their latest batch of junk to unwary star travellers. Of course, Felidae doesn't possess much in the form of social graces, or knowledge of archeotech (other than, potentially, having seen it when it was still new). But on the other hand she's tough as nails, sharp as flint, and quite persistent when push comes to shove.

So maybe a form of fist diplomacy will prevail? Sure, it didn't when she tried the same back on Footfall - but surely, the dice don't come up snake-eyes twice in a row.

[PotatoGolem]

Macharius reclines on a couch in his chambers, sipping amasec. He'd had an emotional reunion with the Praetorians when he returned alive and unharmed. This was the first time in years they'd let him out of their sight entirely, when one of the five was further than ten paces away. The first time since the fall of the house, in fact.

-----------------------------

Macharius Absalom, eighth of the name and heir to House Absalom, was in a towering fury. The entire family was being assembled for a grand military triumph celebrating their recent victories over House Denaire. The end of the war was in sight, thanks to recent gains by Absalom troops, and the beleaguered house was going all-out to celebrate. And he wouldn't be there! Some stupid treaty with the Ecclesiarchy mandated the presence of the Absalom heir for an idiotic ceremony every fifty years two systems away. He'd tried everything to get out of it. His father's seneschal, Jens Madele, had done her best, entreating Lord Absalom for weeks to have his heir present for such a symbolically important moment. The whole command staff had attempted to intercede, to no avail. Lord Absalom would not be budged from his blind devotion to the Ecclesiarchy, and now Macharius was stuck on some backwater world listening to this Father Ornstein blather on about the Emperor. Fifty of the Praetorian Guard accompanied him, wasted on this nonsense. And all the while, his siblings would be playing politics, seeking to supplant him. One of them must have planned this. The monumental injustice of it all! The-

Alarm sirens blared. In the distance, explosions sounded. A fool in Ecclesiarchal robes ran in, face red. "We're under attack! Raider ships! The system defense forces are holding for now, but boarders have-" Macharius cuts him off. Your system forces will do for now, until our house ships can arrive. You there- he points at the nearest Praetorian -vox the house fleet. At least today won't be entirely tedious.

Minutes later, the Praetorian returns. His face is completely ashen. "Lord Absalom. The house fleet won't be coming to our rescue. House Denaire has launched an attack. A reserve fleet, striking while Absalom is distracted. We thought them defeated; it appears we were wrong. Jens Madele has been manipulating reports for months, hiding the extent of their resources. Your lord father is dead, along with most of the house. The remaining Praetorians are fighting to save what remain, but it looks grim. We must flee. We will get you to safety."

True to his word, the Praetorians fought their way to the raider ship that had boarded the station. Of the fifty, five were left when the bridge was clear. Macharius stood before the command throne, still wet with the blood of its former captain. "The Manticore's Sting is yours, my lord. Not much of a ship, but she'll get us out of here. Reports are in. You are all that remains of your family. Thank the Emperor you were here when the attack came." Thank the Emperor? Macharius thought. If it were not for the Ecclesiarchy, for the service of the God-Emperor, I would be dead. He stood in silence for some time, a petulant youth wrestling with the enormity of what had happened. Thank you. And thank you for saving my life... He looks up at the man to whom he owed his life and that of his line. He didn't even know his name. "Almagor, Lord-Captain. Honored to serve."

[Leon]

On Ambuls
++Well three small Ambuls in better than no Ambul++
++Size doesn't matter for what i need anyway, was just hoping for a gift-able specimen++
++This will give me something new to work on to and from the party at the very least.++

Spoiler: Destro

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Ravia noticing the discrepancy between manifests and the insistence of the lesser adepts that nothing is missing will seek out Noctus if he is available or the next nearest senor adept she can to elaborate on theses missing items

[Destro_Yersul]

Spoiler: Ravia Only

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If it was possible for a techpriest to look guilty, the overall effect might have been similar to how Noctus responded when Ravia cornered him about the discrepancies. He initially tried to insist that there were none, but when pressed admitted that one or two items had been withheld. They were, he informed her, holy relics of his sect, and could not be allowed to leave the world. Nobody outside of the Temple knew of them, or the sanctum in which they were kept, and Noctus wanted to keep it that way.

---

+++ Episode 6 +++

With the last of the goods stowed, and the holds of the Fury burgeoning with new workers, volunteers and press-ganged conscripts alike. The volunteers were given better accomodations where possible, and were allowed more freedom aboard the ship. The ship broke anchor before the Sting, and set course for Port Davis. The supplies and workers would be delivered, and the capabilities of the colony expanded as a result. For the rest of them, there was a gathering to attend. The trip to Viatrames had been short, their goals accomplished with efficiency, and there was still plenty of time in which to get to Winterscale's gala.

This proved to be fortunate.

The first part of the trip went well. Kennoch reported that the trip would only take a few weeks, and was confident he could push the warp drives and get them there even faster. There were some minor difficulties locating the beacon of the Astronomicon, but once he had it, the shining light of the Emperor held firm. The Manticore's Sting, flagship of the Absalom dynsaty, broke anchor and set sail for the outer reaches of the system, leaving behind her a planet in better functioning shape than it had found. The coalition of the INterceptors and Rusters had assumed power on Macharius' authority, and promised to see the world built up from a lawless dustball over the next year. Spirits were high even as the translation alarms sounded, and the ship folded itself into the Immaterium.

They made the trip in two jumps. For the first leg, the warp was calm. Midway through the second leg, though, Kennoch felt stirrings within the warp. The sea of souls bubbled and frothed, colours that shouldn't be dancing on the edge of the Navigator's vision. Something was coming; a tempest the likes of which voidfarers whisper about in hushed tones, and even the most seasoned hope to never see. An ethereal wind whipped through the vessel, stirring dust and causing ancient tapestries to flap in a phantom breeze. The hell shook as a lance of energy cracked across the bow, glancing off the gellar field and dissipating into the warp. Then, without further warning, the storm was upon them.

On the bridge, with the shutters closed, they felt the onset of the storm as a sudden boom, and a shuddering in the hull, as emergency klaxons blared to life. Down in engineering, the hum of the Gellar field rose in pitch, the generators whining as they fought to maintain the envelope. Across the ship, bulkheads slammed down, alarms wailed, and bleary-eyed ratings tumbled from their bunks and ran for their posts. It was worst in the Nevigator's tower, where Kennoch, warp eye locked open and weeping blood, stared into the heart of the tempest. He could sense them out there, the bulging promise of possibilities, of an endless fleet of Shrikes, tattered and ragged, proud and unbowed, desperately clinging to being... The vox speakers across the ship crackled to life, and Kennoch felt he could hear, on the faintest edge of notice, singing...

[Blarghy]

Echo started with high levels of confidence. He could practically feel the Emperor's hand on his shoulder when they raced to Viatrames; none of the Warp's terrors caught him by surprise, and even in spite of some minor detours, he'd led the crew in nearly record time. Now they were headed toward Winterscale's Realm, arguably the best-charted region of the Expanse. Kennoch was sharper than ever, and while the Warp was never truly safe, he was already starting to think about the party to come.

Even when the storm hit, Kennoch couldn't help but see another chance to prove his skill. This was how legends were born. He felt a thrill of excitement as he gripped the armrests of his Station, cords and wires hooked to his skull. Was it even just his own pride? Perhaps the machine spirit of the Manticore's Sting pushed him forward too, eager for yet another adventure.

And then she whispered to him over the vox, and in the span of a second, all that changed.

"No," Echo gasped, hardly audible. The other voices trapped inside him tore forth: "No. No. No. No. No! No!" They rose louder, more frantic, even after he tried to shut his jaws: "No! No! No! No! No!" They stole his very breath for their own. The voices pulled Kennoch's air from his lungs until he felt dizzy from the loss, and the fear of what had come for him. He spoke a captain's authoritative "No!" and felt the hand of shame push his shoulders down and bend his spine. He spoke a wise old woman's "No!" with heartache in her cry, and his human eyes began to leak.

I...I can't! Not again! I'm not ready yet--not just yet! I need more time...I need to...get away!

"No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!"

In a desperate bid to escape, Kennoch sent the Sting into a curved dive, intended to swing them through the green ethereal hellscape and make a break for the gale's periphery. If he could at least break free of the heart of the storm, work his way to the fringes, then perhaps he had a chance. It was partly a calculation from years of study and experience, and partly a hunted animal's blind run for safety.

Spoiler

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Navigation (Warp) (76): (1d100)[36]

[Haval]

Anika is in her quarters when the alarms started. She'd never heard it do that before. Over the vox, 'I take it that's a bad sign. Would someone like to give me the jist of what just happened?' She knows enough to arm herself just in case the gellar field started to play up. For all the good that might do.

[Kaptin Keen]

Felidae was running through meditation-exercises when suddenly everything went to hell. One moment she was self-conditioning muscle memory, response patterns and battlefield movement - all with her eyes closed, and while assembling and disassembling her rifle .... the next, lights were flashing, claxons blaring, bullwarks slamming shut.

She switched on her vox, listened to the general chatter, and asked simply: Hi Anika ... Hey Mach - are we under attack?

[Haval]

Anika is going to go look for the nearest group of armsmen. To Felidae, 'Did we ever talk about what happens to a ship when it gets into trouble in the Warp? If nothing actually tries to kill you before we get out of here consider it a plus.'

She'll issue some orders to any crew who might be listening, 'Someone see if the Navigator needs a medicae.' To Ravia, 'Magos, tell me if you need any assistance?'

[PotatoGolem]

Macharius takes to the all-hands vox. Crew! The Warp assails us. It believes us weak, fearful. But we shall endure. For what is the Warp but a pale shadow compared to the all-encompassing light of the God-Emperor? He is mightier than any mirage of the Immaterium. Have faith in Him of Terra, and we shall overcome this. Sing! Sing the praises of the Master of Mankind! With holy hymn we cast out the shadow. In His radiance we are shielded. By His grace we endure. For the Emperor and Absalom!

Macharius girds himself in his golden armor, trusting its sacred wards to aid him. He turns to the command vox. Felidae, prepare for combat. Magos, keep our Gellar Field strong. Anika, see what you can do to help the Magos. Echo, are you well? Get us out of here.

Spoiler: OOC

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Command (1d100)[84] vs 122 to rouse the crew in prayer.

[Kaptin Keen]

With immediacy, Lord Commander! If we assume an attack, where do you want me - engines, shields, bridge? Say the word, and consider me on my way.

Power armor does not truly lend itself to meditation, so Felidae's words must be weighed somewhat against the realities of getting ready. She will armor up, grab stormbolter, grenades and her eviscerator. No one ever won a fight by coming ill prepared.

[Blarghy]

On one of the spire's middle floors, above the servants' bunks but beneath Kennoch's quarters, and in turn beneath the upper chamber where he now worked his dangerous craft, the Rings began emerging from their rooms. Lorl was unusually subdued; for once, she wasn't looking forward to a fight. Her forearm still had a medical patch over two fresh brands, marking her kills on Viatrames. That earlier confidence was all but gone; when Zelle saw her in the hallway, they made eye contact, sharing wordless fear.

Kip and Kimmet practically kicked open their door a moment later. Kimmet, in the lead, had his shotgun ready. Kip used him as a human shield, laspistol aimed over the other man's shoulder. Like the ladies, they'd hastily put on their voidsuits. The armor was nice, but reliable air was better, at a time like this.

The four of them hurried to a central meeting room, where Isund already waited. He'd been watching Echo's new pet. The desert lizard had its own pen, comfortable and stocked with treats, but all the sudden racket--and perhaps it also sensed they were somewhere truly unnatural--had the beast croaking fearfully and spraying acid-blood from its eyes, scarring the floor and nearest wall. Isund managed his anxiety better, but when he looked at his fellow assassins, he was just as haunted by the possibilities ahead of them.

None of the five had experienced a full Warp-incursion before. Not even during the long trek from Calixis, during which--for reasons they didn't understand at the time--Echo chose to make a series of small jumps from system to system, spending minimal time in the Warp rather than risking a continuous, but probably much faster, voyage. They were killers virtually trained from the cradle, born to travel the stars, ready to fight and die for their Navis, but this...this could be a category of its own.

Still, they knew in theory how to respond. Shotguns loaded and in hand, they ran up several flights of stairs to the top of the spire, ordering civilians to flee as they passed. Isund's words were harsh, and his glare was downright murderous as he cleared out Kennoch's common servants. And for good reason: if any of them fell prey to the Warp's influence, the Rings would cut them down without hesitation.

The ninth floor, above Echo's apartment complex, was basically one huge vaulted chamber, though much of it was devoted to the arcane machinery that fed the Navigator's Station. The door was sealed. Again, for good reason: inside was an open Warp-eye. Echo couldn't hold back and spare his bodyguards even if he wanted to. The Sting's original Navigator might already be present, along with perhaps any blind assistants Echo had inherited along with the ship, but for anyone else, entering now was suicide.

Isund tapped his microbead. "Request medicae to the eighth floor of the Navigator's tower, on standby. Eighth floor. Only on standby." Even if their lord was hurt, they couldn't do much about it just yet, but it seemed prudent to have help nearby and prepared. For now, the Rings could only wait and keep their weapons raised. They were only partially worried about dangers trying to break into the chamber and kill Kennoch. More likely was that something unspeakable might try to break out.

[rax]

Hannabel remains at her post on the bridge, supervising the crew there. "You heard the Lord Captain, you miserable lagabouts! Keep faith with the Emperor an' we'll get through this. In the meantime, keep the Sting steady and one hand on yer pistols. Anything comes in here that doesn't belong, we shoot it dead, whether it's a daemon from Hell, yer baby sister or a flying pasta monster come to bless you with 'is noodly appendage! Got that?!"

OOC: I assume Hannabel would have her armour on (BC xenos mesh can be worn under pretty much anything) and her helm of psychic protectiveness at hand. Plus her guns, of course.

[Destro_Yersul]

Slowly at first, then gaining in strength, the voices of the crew across the ship raised in song. Following the orders of preachers and confessors, they sang hymns to the Emperor, and prayed for deliverance. The internal vox-relays carried the songs across the ship, from stem to stern, as every voidsman and rating aboard picked up the hymn. Some were off-key, some didn't know the words, but they sang. They were not alone. What Echo had heard before grew louder, until it was fighting Macharius' crew for dominance of the airwaves. Another singer, or singers - it was hard to tell if there was one voice, or many, or many copies of the same voice. It was a cacaphony of song, a child's lullaby, repeating itself over and over and over.

As the horrible lullaby grew louder, a series of fluctuations in the gellar fields grew more pronounced. Ravia fought to contain them, diverting power from nonessential systems to the generators. Luminators across the ship flickered and died, as the Magos redirected all available power to maintaining the field against the storm. The generators groaned and sparked, pushed to the limits of safety just keeping the storm away. As Echo frantically directed the ship to turn, diving the Manticore's Sting down and away from the worst of the tempest, the task became easier. Runes flickered urgently on the displays, growing less in intensity, but never vanishing entirely. Every few moments the field would shift and bulge inwards, as the beasts outside fought to overcome the ship's defenses.

What was worse, the storm seemed to be following the ship. The worst of the tempest abruptly changed course as the Sting dove, immaterial currents roiling down after them. In Kennoch's chamber, the pipes carrying nutrient fluid to the Navigation throne started to shake, then burst. One after another they went, filling the room with foul-smelling steam. Phantom wind whipped around the Navigator's head, carrying with it the scent of corruption. The Navigator Secundus, now subordinate to Kennoch, struggled to approach the throne. Kennoch was sure he was saying something, but he couldn't hear it over the churning of the win, and the infernal lullaby. He could tell the ship was slowly pulling ahead of the storm, her engines driving them as though the damned themselves were chasing her. They had won the first round, but they weren't clear yet.

[rax]

"That's my girl," Hannabel mutters to the Sting, patting the console in front of her fondly. "You feel that, men? We're pulling away! Ain't nothing can catch the Manticore's Sting. Give praise to Him on Earth and say a little prayer for the Sting while you're at it!"

[Blarghy]

Promising start or not, this young mutant didn't have the luxury of relief, especially as he tried not to gag on the putrid mist. Kennoch also didn't dare to vox the rest of the command crew, not to offer reassurances, not to give an update, not even to answer his captain's question. He feared what might come out of his own mouth. Instead, he clenched his teeth so hard that he thought they might crack to pieces. Sweat poured down his hairless skin, adding to the stink of the room, and although he was almost feverish, the Navigator Primaris shivered as he listened to the lullaby.

Echo turned his remaining human eye and pict-lens briefly on the other Navis. They couldn't help him now, but, he at least felt a sliver of comfort to know that someone could theoretically step in and take his place if he collapsed under the strain. Whether or not his replacement could do any good by that point, only the Emperor could say. For now, they'd sink or swim by Kennoch's skill. Thousands and thousands of souls were in his pale, slender hands. Was he up to the task?

I...musssst...notttt...failll! There is no vox! There is no song! There is no storm! There is only the Sting and myself. There is only speed! Now, old girl--how fast can we fly?

He straightened out the ship's trajectory, falling into a straight path to maximize their velocity. Kennoch didn't hold his terror back from the machine spirit, in the hopes that it might squeeze another few drops of power from the engines. Did the Manticore's Sting want to become like the Terminus, floating alone in the dead of space for thousands of years, full of skeletons and screaming ghosts? Because if not, she'd better run.

Spoiler

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Navigation (Warp) (76): (1d100)[3]

[Haval]

'..I shall fear no evil...' Anika will quietly join in with the words of the hymn to herself even though she's not quite sure if it'd help. Only an idiot didn't fear the warp. She'd have to put her trust in Echo and Ravia to get them out of this.

The lullaby was getting a little hard to take. 'I wish they would shut up.'

[Destro_Yersul]

The Manticore's Sting was, at her heart, a predator. It was not in her nature to be prey, to be hunted. That was something that only happened to others. Echo could feel the ship's spirit, the pulsing heart of her reactors, the thrum of the warp engines, the whining strain of the gellar fields. The ship responded to his touch, dropping into a smooth straight line, an opening the Navigator had sensed appearing in the thrashing tendrils of the storm as they pulled further away. The Sting was a predator, and when she really got going, she could fly. The engines roared, burning hot as the machine spirits poured will and power into making good their escape. Kennoch felt the storm's anger, its fury at their escape, but there was little question of it now. The ship was too fast, and his guidance at the helm had been true. The ship would live to hunt another day. Her turrets turned, tracking on their own to face the rear of the ship. Energy built in the sunsear lasers, and a volley of blazing light struck at the heart of the warp storm behind them. A stricken bellow, of pain and rage, echoed through the warp, and the gellar fields flared more strongly.

Ravia borrowed power from wherever she could find it, forcing the generators to work at maximum capacity. Slowly, the gellar envelope pushed outwards, fighting back against the warp. Relays across the ship began to go dead, burning out from the sheer volume of power being forced through them. For a brief, heart-stopping second, power usage by the gellar generators spiked, the envelope bulging inwards under a last desperate push by the predators without, and shrill alarms sounded as power to the void shields and arboretum sputtered and died, plunging the decks into darkness. Lights failed across the ship, red emergency luminators snapping on moments later, and still the crew sang, their voices defiant against the creeping chill of the thing that whispered through the vox.

As the ship pulled away from the storm at last, reaching an area of the immaterium that was calmer, if not exactly safe, the lullaby faded to a whisper, then ceased entirely, the vox speakers and grills subsiding to crackling silence.

Spoiler: Hannabel Only

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In the dim half light of the emergency luminators, Hannabel thought she caught a glimpse of... something. Something tall and stately, and vaguely feminine, ghosting amongst the crew as though searching. It was faint, indistinct, and she couldn't be sure it was there at all. Then it was gone, flitting off through a bulkhead.

[Blarghy]

With a pained, rigid expression stretched across his face, like a skull's wide grin, Kennoch clung to the Navigator's throne and invested all his willpower into maintaining their course and screaming speed. He felt a thrill of complex, intertwined emotions as they tore free of the awful storm. The giddiness of defying fate, living to fight another day--it was almost enough to make him giggle like a madman, were he not on the edge of exhaustion.

Not today! Ha-ha!

But of course, the ship was in worse shape than him. They needed to exit the Warp altogether, return to the Materium for repairs--and true safety. Kennoch summoned his energy again for one final burst. He forced his aching jaws apart, licked his lips, and addressed the crew in a dry, weary croak.

"All hands all hands all hands, prepare for emergency translation prepare emergency emergency." Even his echoes sounded tired.

Making the jump between dimensions was difficult and typically better-prepared than this, however. Who knew where in the Expanse they'd reappear? It had to be safer than the Warp, but that didn't mean it'd be safe...

[rax]

"Void shields are down!" Hannabel reports to Macharius. "If anything's out there waiting for us when we get back in the black, we're sitting ducks. Suggest we immediately go to silent running until we can get our bearings, Lord Captain."

Spoiler: Destro only

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Is that you, girl? Lost something? Hannabel muses to herself, fondly patting the control panels in front of her. We'll find it together, then...

[Haval]

'I take it that means we're not going to die? Well done everyone.' An emergency translation was obviously better then the alternative. 'Are we sure we'll still be in the Expanse?'

[Destro_Yersul]

The Manticore's Sting fell from the warp, tumbling back into the materium just ahead of the dangerous warp currents. In the Navigator's chambers, Kennoch felt the warp predators circling just on the edge of perception, bellowing in frustration, before the storm swept past and they dispersed. On Hannabel's suggestion, the non-vital systems were shut down completely, while Ravia coordinated repair teams. The sensors were brought online first, and proximity alerts started screaming immediately.

They had come out dangerously close to a debris field. With the void shields down, impact with one of the great asteroids had the potential to do horrific damage to the vessel's armour, and the smaller debris would scour the surface and damage the delicate exterior components. In the distance behind them, the sensors had picked up an inhabited planet, but identifying which one it was would have to wait until the immediate crisis had been resolved.

[PotatoGolem]

Macharius let out a deep breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in. He immediately switches to the all-crew vox.The Emperor protects! Voidsmen of Absalom, by our faith we are saved! Never forget, the horrors of the warp are as naught before the Immortal Emperor. He switches back to the command vox. Masterfully done, Echo. You have my thanks, and the thanks of all aboard. Now, Magos, we turn to you to get this ship repaired as quickly as possible. I have utmost faith in your talents.

Spoiler: OOC

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Inspiring Leader on Ravia.

[Blarghy]

He switches back to the command vox. Masterfully done, Echo. You have my thanks, and the thanks of all aboard.

Despite the anxious thoughts clamoring around in his skull, Kennoch couldn't help but smile at this validation from his captain. He'd craved this sort of recognition since childhood; was it not a Navigator's core purpose? His true loyalty had to remain to his own clan, but out in the void, this counted more than the approval of some distant Novator.

"Happy to serve happy, Lord Commander Lord Commander Lord Commander."

'Are we sure we'll still be in the Expanse?'

"I am sure I am of nothing nothing. We should be prepared we we should for an inconvenient location for inconvenient."

But what Echo was sure of, was that he'd earned a short rest. His job was done, Hannabel didn't need his help, and they didn't appear to be in immediate danger, so, the Navis figured he had time to wash off the residue of liquid nutrition that coated his skin. The Rings entered and peeled him off the Navigator's throne, then helped him downstairs and into the bath.

Alone except for Mr. Wah Dell, a scrub brush, and a big glass of liquor, he began to collect himself. Kennoch's familiar shared his concerns. The golden monkey lumbered to the side of the big copper tub and stared at Kennoch with wide eyes.

"...Yes yes yes," he confirmed grimly. "I had hoped I had...well well well. Clearly clearly, I was wrong I was." A pause, a stout drink, and then a sideways glance at his familiar. "I know know," he murmured. Another pause, in which Mr. Wah Dell leaned closer and gripped the tub with three different hands. "I know I I I!" Echo repeated. Another pause. "...Because I'll fix it fix because I'll."

He shook his head with a frown, took another drink, and leaned back until the bubbles touched his chin. The young mutant ran his thumb across his glass, watching the light play through the swishing alcohol. His jaw tightened and relaxed, then squeezed again. Finally, Kennoch sighed. "I just just...need a little need more time time more time."

Soon enough, the Navigator and his entourage made their way to the bridge. Obscured again by his custom void-suit, Echo stood out of the way with his familiar by his side and his bodyguards a few steps behind. They made sure not to distract Hannabel and her crew from their delicate work; however, these void born seemed quietly impressed with her skill. A few of the Rings nodded and mumbled to themselves as she guided them through the debris field. For his part, Echo reached out and touched his glove to the wall. He still dreamed of the Terminus and her eventual glory, but he had to admit that Hannabel's baby was quite capable.

"The Sting the Sting Sting Sting truly is impressive truly impressive."

[Leon]

++On it++

Ravia will round up the support/materials needed to effect repairs and make her way to the shield generatorum