Nimina glances aside with an odd coyness under the gaze of the augmented individual before glancing back at him to see his attention on the traders. For all her bravado she's not used to the social arena.
She swallows her nervousness and takes a closer look at the exotic foods, she reaches to try some brain-spider but looks to Castmiire first, she doesn't want to show him up by trying the food before he does...
Tyboris did not mind the mistake in his introduction, he preffered to keep a lower profile, which is difficult for a Magos and man of his size. Adding a title such as First Officer would have been unnecessary. Perhaps he might blend more easily and converse more freely as Chief Enginseer.
He makes his way around and checks for any Mechanicus brothers of importance and merely tries to blend in, hoping the Orks might be a bigger distraction. He does not try to engage in conversation, but will be polite if anyone approaches him.
Iota will gather information passively. But a tall whitehaired man in a rust red robe with metal here and there does not blend in too well so he grabs a bite from everything and moves through the crowd and talks with those that have interesting xenos tech.
The warp thing and the brain matter is stored for later inspection.
While doing so he sets up his remembrance implant to record all sound and links it up to his internal cogitator to filter for ambient conversations to be stored for later use. A simple pre-sorting is set for the topics "oracle" "xenos-tech" "rogue trader" and "profit".
He will drift towards the woman in the jade green dress unless the conversations don't permit it. If he does not find a conversation around there then he'll just use the excuse of inspecting her bodyguards power armor again since he has already established that he is interested in those.
Gaius entered with a flourish becoming his station. His first stop was the delicacies and epicurean delights. Sampling a few, and finding them to his liking, he made small talk with a few of the other guests. He found his eye drawn to the woman in green and began thinking of other hungers.
He sauntered toward the woman and her companion, finding a glass of amasec along the way, and introduced himself with a slight bow.
"My ladies, may I be so bold as to present myself. I am Gaius of the house Valerii, and who may I say I have the pleasure to be speaking to?"
"Iota,is this food fit for biologicals to consume?"
If the tech priest says yes, Artorius will sample a few dishes then make his way over to the same group as Gaius.
"Leave it to you Uncle to find the two most beautiful women in the room immediately. Forgive me ladies, I am Artorius Von Castmirre, of the Castmirre dynasty, of which house Valerii is a small cadet branch."
Emilio glances at the dishes. He picks up a piece of the cutlery, and failing to figure out how to use it on the crabs, he picks up a drink and watches Gaius. He's at it again, isn't he? Hearing what Artorius says, Emilio wrinkles his nose. He might need help.
Iota seems to take a moment to notice the question while he is setting up his sorting algorithm. He returns to the dishes and reevaluates the brain and the warp monstrosity, trying to figure out if he has seen the supplier before or if he has seen anything similar enough to draw comparisons
"A precise answer to this would require at least some of my tools. A preleminary report would only place the snake in a potentialy dangerous subgroup however"
Thinking of some warp creatures that are similar enough but unable to find one that seems logicaly related to it he tries a different Method. He uses his Remembrance implant and fast-forwards through the images of the crowd since they entered, using his internal cogitator to count(if any) unaugmented looking humans eating from the snake
"I cannot pinpoint the origin at this time but it seems it is already well received by a significant portion of the unaugmented among the room thus I estimate the chance of it being dangerous at less than 1.3%"
"While I cannot pinpoint the creature at this time I would recommend against eating it. A seizable portion of those who have eaten from it show signs of discomfort"
Iota then tunes his Auger Array to the lifesigns of the ones he pinpointed to feel ill after eating it[ and monitoring them for fluctuations
"Currently the sample pool is too small to draw any conclusion, having also exhausted my recollection of similar creatures i will see to the bottom of this myself"
With that he takes a bite from the part he took from the snake
Despite his relative lack of social acumen, thanks to the strict and formal military culture of Kurdran III, Wraxus is used to the occasional need to adopt the formal role of a military officer and glad hand with the masses. Stowing his 'active duty kit' (including his armoured greatcoat, helm, autogun, and assault stubber), he dons the dress uniform of Kurdran III's aerial elite: a short black double-breasted military jacket with brushed nickel buttons, pale grey details, and tails. Beneath it lies a black silk dress shirt and the only articles of colour for the uniform - a crimson red vest and tie, though only the knot of the tie is visible above the coat's neckline. Several braided chains of an undetermined metal hang diagonally across his chest, and on his belt are visible both his power sword and his Tigrus pattern bolt pistol. In a boot he also secures a small mono-dagger, and his armsman stub pistol is concealed on his back left hip.
-------
Having noted the aggressively brutal warcraft, Wraxus keeps himself on guard as he moves about the gala, keeping an eye for anyone who might fit his mind's description of the owner of such a vessel. A pirate or raider, or worse, one who has given in to the lure of the Dark Powers. The nature of this dinner has changed considerably indeed.
As the opportunity presents itself, he will consult both Nimina and Iota, informing them of the background the the 3rd vessel's design and its possible ties to chaos.
As Hexa gobbles down the crabs, he feels them trying to pinch onto his asophagus, or whatever orks have in it's place, as he lets out a small cough. He thumps his chest hard a couple of times, letting out a grunt or two, letting out a resounding thud, as the crabs slowly, but painfully go down. A couple of people surrounding him seem fairly amazed, as one even grabs one, shoving it down his throat, then starts coughing intently, buckling down in two. "Oh! That's part of the experience, right?", another asks Hexa, with a lot more respect and a lot less fear than he's used 'umies replying to him.
Numina reaches over to the table, the brain thing looking horribly disgusting, even for her. However, a few nobles notice her resounding interest in the dishes. "How peculiar... How are they?", they ask, interest half mixed with terror.
Tyboris walks over to two Mechanicus members, and is immediately enraptured by their conversation, as they exchange information on Force Fields. The conversation has little information regarding the party, but he's nonetheless listening with surprising interest.
Wraxus' gaze drifts away in the room, as he identifies someone, and his intuition kicks in. A man stands in a darker corner. His face is almost completely replaced by a mechanical implant, and the still intact parts are hidden by a large, dripping hat. A vicious looking pistol, covered in spikes stands to his side, as he seems to be discussing something quietly, yet intently with another man, whose teeth appear to be filed down to points. He makes his way there, and stands next to someone appearing to be an Adept, casually browsing his data slate, carefully overhearing the conversation.
The two men split, the one with the filed teeth's glance landing onto Wraxus as he moves past, with a crooked grin.
Iota quickly notices that nobody attempts to eat the snake, and few people appear to be sick just by looking at its, frankly, impossible appearance. He ponders for a while, as his internal cogitator whirrs through his endless Xeno databases, then pings it as a Deep Warp Eel, a creature routinely found in some numbers attached to a Hull of a ship after a Gellar Field flicker. While generally only harmful to the people sent out to clear it, it is nonetheless a being of the Warp, and as such, not generally fit for human consumption.
As the two Rogue Traders approach the two ladies, they seem to notice your approach. As you close by, you notice that the one in the green dress has some minor battle scars on her face, adding to her mystery. You've got a feeling that those are just some of the more attractive ones left, as surgery has removed a major part of them. The blonde nods courteously, and waits for the other to start the conversation, which she does.
"Oh, I have heard of both your dynasties.", she starts the conversation, extending a hand forward, expecting it to be kissed. "I am Lady Sun Lee, Matriarch of House Makao. I wouldn't have expected you to have ventured to the Expanse? I believe you haven't been here in, do correct me, seven generations?", she asks with a disarming smile. The other almost imperceptively raises an eyebrow. "Madame Charlabelle Armelan, Bearer of the Warrant for House Armelan.", she replies courtly. Her demeanor appears somewhat stiffer than the usual Rogue Trader's, however well within polite standards.
Lady Sun Lee turns towards Artorius, taking a step to the side as not to leave Gaius without a dialogue partner. "So tell me, Lord Castmirre, what has brought you on Footfall? If you excuse my assumptions, I sincerely doubt it's the food.", she puts a well-controlled smirk on her face, her brown eyes staring deep into Artorius' own.
Gaius notices a strange weapon attached to Madame Charlabelle's side, as she gestures towards the table. "Have you sampled the Vostroyan?", she asks, gesturing towards an unidentified bottle, as a servitor appears, fetches it and two glasses, then returns, his table-like hand extended forward. "What do you think of the host, Lord Gaius? I'm somewhat reserved, but I wanted to get a more... seasoned man's opinion on the matter.", she asks, pouring herself a drink and tossing it down with a single motion, pouring Gaius one as well.
Rogue Traders you've met, left to right.
Admiral Bastille (so you've heard), Lady Sun Lee, Some Dude You Haven't Met, and the guy Wraxus overheard.
Two dudes you haven't met, Madame Charlabelle, and Jeremiah Blitz.
Well too late to back down now, people are watching Nimina, ever eager to not show herself up in front of complete strangers picks the most vile looking thing she can from the selection... it takes a moment to decide what that is.. and settles upon the brain creature.
Slicing off a small - tender looking piece, she'll give it a taste.
Before going on to the bar and try to make the brute drunk and talking, Hexa replys - somewhat surprised at the sudden openness of the humans: "Eh? Yeah, 'ood stuff." Some flying sparks from Glados reminds him of the correct gothic pronunciations. Yeah, Yeah me 'now Glados ... Hmmpf.
"It is exquisite. Such a strong food! It struggles even after being cracked and swallowed. My respect for its willpower!" Looking at the hummie struggling to swollow it he starts laughing in his loud manner. To strong for you, eh? Guess its for the tough ones only. "
Zoggit also join in the laughter
"Harharhar! Humies at least be tryin to fight it!"
-Posted with Wayfinder
After that analysis it would be quite illogical to eat from it, however he does see an opportunity to test the nerve of those present just a little so he keeps the eel part in his hand and looking at it.
"Ah yes, deep warp eel. I haven't seen those since my time at on the border. Quite dangerous when alive and quite inadvisable to ingest. However seeing what happens when done would make for quite an interesting experiment" with that he puts on a slightly deranged grin and starts slowly scanning the crowd, looking from one person to the next as if looking for for a test subject and pausing on random people just for effect.
While doing this little act he is actually checking the cogitator database for hints on the brains origins and looking for the reaction of the augmented brute that seems to be the host of this party without focusing his vision on him.
Emilio is dressed in a long, dark brown trench coat, worn over his Enforcer carapace armor. His groxwhip is coiled and attached to his hip,beneath his trench coat. A pair of manacles and a medkit resides on the other side of his hip.
....
Emilio walks up o the Admiral and bows.
Greetings Admiral. He holds out his hand to shake.
Emilio, Arch Militant aboard the Indomitable Will.
Gaius took the offered glass with a smile, "A pleasure to meet you, Madame Charlabelle Armelan. No, the Vostroyan is new to me, as with much else here. I noticed such lovely company and found myself drawn in too fast to take in anything else." His blue eyes sparkled. "I'm not entirely sure what to think of our host, though playing warrant holders against one another can be a very dangerous game. I wonder just what his intentions are, if it's just profit then I find him boorish. If it's entertainment, then perhaps he is a kindred spirit." He paused a moment, what he didn't say would fill volumes.
He eyed his companion, "It would be a shame to be at such a gala with a beautiful woman and not dance some, care to join me?" He extended a hand and delivered a disarming grin.
As Nimina bites into the brain, a gathering of people surrounds her, their curiosities peaked. The taste is... not that great, but not the worst thing you've had, by a long shot. The room's colours seem to dull, except for the purple and the green, and you can't help but notice how... squishy most humans look. There's some desire deep inside of you to start shouting harder, as that obviously makes you more of a leader. Your tongue feels numb, too.
"Oh, of course...", a young noble says to Hexa, clearly impressed. "Is strength valued with... your type of xenos, sir?", the man asks, clearly never seen an ork before. "We can tell you more about Footfall, I imagine. It is where the unexplored meets the unstuck in the past.", he says.
Iota's experiment seems quite odd to those around him, and most seem confused by his words. However, it is obvious that they're not to tell a Tech-Priest, and a Magos at that, how to have fun. Tanthus appears to dart from clique to clique, and talking. A couple of times, you see him raise his mechanical finger towards his mouth, as if to tell someone to keep quiet.
Admiral Bastille takes a long look at Emilio, then takes the hand. "Hm, yes? What is the Indomitable Will?", he asks in a somewhat grumpy and condescending tone, as his companions appear to scatter around the room. "I assume you came here for a reason? Spill it out, boy, I don't have all day." It is hard to tell if he's actually disinterested, or that's his usual manner of conversation.
As Gaius drinks, the Vostroyan drink appears to have a strong hint of Prometheum, almost too strong to be tolerable. Madame Armelan's lips curl in a small smile, as she puts her hand in his. "You flatter me, Lord-Captain. As for the warrant holders, my personal opinion is that he's simply hoping for something to happen, so he can pick through the remains. He's been liege for quite a long time, I remember my mother saying." As the offer of a dance is introduced, she pauses for a bit, then places her hand in his with a small smile. "Let's. So you're quite the fan of entertainment, I take it? It's what it drives you in this world?", she asks, accompanying Gaius towards the dance floor, as the music appears to flawlessly shift from a slower, relaxed music to one fit for quick dancing. "Let's see if you can keep up dancing and being sharp-witted at the same time, Lord-Captain."
"I found out that an entire sector of beautiful women had been hidden from me, how could I avoid such a place. With you here it seems the reports I received downplayed how beautiful at least some of those women are."
He also smiles when the lady mentions the food. "I think our host is trying to impress us with his ability to procure rare items. As with most such displays it comes across as desperate and uncultured. Still there are rumours that our host has something interesting for sale."
" Ya heard dad Zoggit boy? Tis hummie wanna know if da orks 'value' strength! Wanna 'now 'ow Orks fink about strength? Com wif Hexa to da bar oca dere and I will tell ya about 'Might Makes Right', an ya be a good boy an tell me all ya 'now 'bout footfall eh?"
With that he grabs the tiny human and steers him towards the nearest bar, grabs himself and the noble something strong and starts talking to the man between double and triple drinks about basic Ork culture and some half truth, half over exaggerated old war stories of his clan.
Then after the third - or sixth? - drink he waves for the other man to start. "Nows yar turn, boy. I'm done talkin fer 'now. More drinkin fer me while yar talking, eh? "
Glados, record da talkin of da hummie for lata, understood? Maybe da hummi tells somfing of worth for da boss or some other good kno'wotz!
Nim looks around the room, trying to orient herself as the colour leaches from near-everything. "Should have started with something lighter, don't think I can taste anythin' else now.. She'll take a look around and see who seems most colourful nearby.
Tyboris listens intently to the conversation regarding forcefields and offers up some of his own opinions and experiences with ancient patterns.
FB Lore Arceotech (51) vs 4dos
After getting their attention with juicy tidbits of information he staggers his spill of knowledge in exchange for details of their stations and positions on footfall or a rival dynasty. Should either be familiar with Emerald Green transport, he would inquire more in exchange for his in depth knowledge of the current conversatiion.
" Ya heard dad Zoggit boy? Tis hummie wanna know if da orks 'value' strength! Wanna 'now 'ow Orks fink about strength? Com wif Hexa to da bar oca dere and I will tell ya about 'Might Makes Right', an ya be a good boy an tell me all ya 'now 'bout footfall eh?"
"Dis humie getin da skooling tuday! we teech him gud bout da tough and da strong!" he laughs with Hexa as they tag along to the bar, ready for the teaching of who makes the rules
Iota's cogitator whirs, and as he attempts to filter the frequencies, he notices a well-concealed signal, seemingly random information. He almost dismisses it at first, yet he notes a small similarity to Eldar communications techniques, though the signal is distinguisingly Imperial.
++++++205.550b.1.4.552.I-V-L+++++++
Location: Footfall, 4554.8515.rt4d.
Auction Bid: Accepted.
Bid Amount: 10,000 homo sapiens, 3% difference in value acceptable.
Location: 332.5.332 (Obsidian Emporial)
Deadline for Arrival: 23.445 Standard Hours.
--------------------------------------
A lady wearing the most... courtesanish make-up you've seen is still the most colourful person you see. She appears to be raising the most hilariously overplucked eyebrow at you. You feel like either drinking or fighting, or possibly plundering something, but you're not sure how much more-so than usual.
[spoiler=Tyboris]
The techpriests stop, pausing for what you imagine as 153% mean increase in the time required to process the information you provided. One nods, then adds. "I commend your knowledge on the matter, Magos. What did you think of the #f42a42 coloured shuttle outside? It seems badly provided for, considering the relevancy of the pattern for the Omnissiah?", he asks. The other interjects. "Perhaps. Yet, it does show the proficiency of its tech-priests. The blonde one's finances, while seemingly at severely sub-optimal capacity, have probably been factors of magnitude higher."
The young man seems thoroughly impressed by your tale. ("Really? But I thought grootoxes are... much biggerer!") As he's urged to tell his story, he clears his throat. "Uh, right. I'm the Third Deputy Assistant of the esteemed Lord-Admiral's Seneschal's Right Hand's Assistant. It's quite the position for someone who's 25, I'm told." He leans in conspirationally, clearly already slightly tipsy, and not used to the concept of aliens, let alone drinking side by side with them. "Well, we're expanding our fleet. My boss said that the Admiral personally stormed one of the new raiders with his retinue, and shot the captain, then asked which of the pirates want to follow him. They all agreed, and he had them killed, because he doesn't want anyone with wavering loyalty." He shudders. "I'd like to be the assistant of the Seneschal one day, too, but if you're sitting through that every other day... Then again, I can take the bloodshed!", he replies, his weak chin rising in the air, and the several hairs consisting of his beard gleam dramatically in the bright room.
Madame Charlabelle appears to be either quite a bit more nimble than you, or at least more experienced in dancing, for she takes lead not halfway though the dance. She smiles. "Quite satisfactory, Lord-Captain.", she replies, as they head back to the table. "I must say, last time I danced with Sarvus Trask. He made no less than seventeen attempts to crush my feet with his thunderous boots.", she shares, reaching for a drink. She samples it, winces barely noticeably, then puts it down, sighing. "Alright, at least they could've warmed it up. So, I assume you're here for the Foretelling? If you haven't considered it a... gratitude of sorts. For not ruining my shoes, at the least, they are..." She stops. "At any rate. I'll be expecting you there, Lord-Captain. And remember, you must always thread the knife's edge between business and pleasure. Unless business is pleasure, or pleasure is business." She sends a wink, then taps on her earring, and starts whispering as she walks out.
At the end of the night, Tanthus Moross is carried to the centre of the floor, which rises slowly, slightly resembling a cathedral's stairs. Some have left already, and the general mood is significantly more tiresome than a usual Scintillan party. Tanthus rises, then steps down from the palanquin, revealing himself to be nearly 8 feet tall, with the build of a man standing in heavy power armour. He taps his throat and his voice seems to start booming from every corner of the room.
"I must thank you, for helping me spread joy to our esteemed guests, the bearers of the Warrant. With that, I must leave you, for taking care of this miraculous place of freedom and opportunity almost makes me wish the God-Emperor had made the day at least 8 hours longer." A small chuckle is heard from the attendees. "As a gracious host, I've opened the entire place to yourself. to be enjoyed as you wish. With that, I must beg my leave, lieges.", he winked at the crowd, bowing down. "Farewell, and shall you desire anything, Tanthus Moross is your humble servant."
As the evening finally ends, Hexa emits a low growl and seems to be eager to leave.
"Zoggit, meet me at da cages on da morning... Wanna punch somefing 'od an 'ard. Fis 'as sucha 'aste of 'ime. I didnt evn got drunk from da hummi stuff! Weak as wada...an who drinks da wada?!"
A frizzle of electricity from glados shakes the greenskin and he hit himself hard on the head. "Eh?! Whadda want now? Stupid thing! Eh? Ah groxxit well..." With that he turns to Gaius (assuming there out of earshot of the other guests already. "Boss, Zoggy an me talked to da weakling hummi. Hes some slave of da admirals slave ... So something like his dog. Or even the flee of da dog, ya know? Anyay, he said that da admiral is bloody expanding da fleed with raidin da raidas an excutin them if ey wanna join him, bublin about chanfin loyaliti an stuff. Whatever dad men's, Glados thought it impprdand fer yet ta know it."
Iota will do several things at once with this information.
First of all he sets a timer in his cogitator to count down towards the deadline set in the message and saves all received messages in his internal cogitator.
Next he'll finish the crazy magos act - preferably by finding someone with open mouth and shoving the snake part right in - preferably not someone who openly works for the other RTs - and recording the reaction with his Remembrance implant.
If no opportunity to do that appears he'll just `absentmindedly` put it in someones hand without looking to act like he lost interest - he still has the first sample.
At the same time he's already trying to lock on to the signal and find its origin and its intended receiver. His first guess for the origin is the xenostech vessel and the intended receiver Tanthus Moross so unless the data he receives says otherwise he'll move close to Morros before he leaves, then towards the xenotech vessel.
To actually narrow it down he narrows the reception angle until the reception becomes weaker, then moves the reception cone a bit to where it becomes stronger again.
With his active mind working on locking on his cogitator works on the information contained
- Working through maps, looking for the location "Obsidian Emporial"
- mapping the location coordinates on a map of footfall or trying to find a suitable coordinate system if the notation of the coordinates is not known to him
- Finding references to the designation "205.550b.1.4.552.I-V-L" in the data he pulled from the archives earlier. If he does not find it there he will eventually take the time to connect to the footfall network and work through the information there.
- Both the designation and the location might also refer to docking locations, especialy the part about `rt4d` might be a designation for docking location for the 4th rogue trader that arrived. He'll try to find any data about it.
He will make a detour to get close to Tyboris and Von Castmirre
Slate Content:
++++++205.550b.1.4.552.I-V-L+++++++
Location: Footfall, 4554.8515.rt4d.
Auction Bid: Accepted.
Bid Amount: 10,000 homo sapiens, 3% difference in value acceptable.
Location: 332.5.332 (Obsidian Emporial)
Deadline for Arrival: 23.362 Standard Hours.
--------------------------------------
Note: Deadline for Arrival is reduced by the amount of time he took to move through the crowd. I assumed 5 Minutes which is 0.083 hours
"Hah! Humie tink he kan do da fightin! Maybe we shuld go outside an see if he kan? Wat you tink Driva?" Zoggit grins at the intoxicated human. He was a big talker. But he heard when humans get drunk they tend to do that. But who was he to argue with the boy's bravado?
-Posted with Wayfinder
Nim saunters towards the colourful lady, her vibrancy somewhat retained over the muted colours her meal has caused. With utmost confidence in herself she says "How about we find somewhere more private to blow off some steam", perhaps a little louder than was intended.
Nim's still not sure whether she she wants to drink, fight or... plunder, and she's not into girls as a rule, but everyone else just seems so... pale in comparison.
Iota finds the location of both the Obsidian Emporial, which most of the people are already aware of, and of a docking station, set aside for Rogue Traders. Few of those exist on Footfall, and far between.
The courtesan-looking woman sends a smile at Nimina, then holds out her hand. "Hm. Thought nobody would ask!", she exclaims, waving away with her fan towards the crowd. She is of a visible age of late 40's, yet quite well maintained.
---------------------------------------------------------------
As the party quickly approaches its quiet, uneventful demise (except for someone jumping into a pool, full of poor quality amasec, and being set on fire afterwards), you consider leaving, as time is drawing short. Most of the people identified as Rogue Traders have left, except for a man, who identified himself as Sarvus Trask, who has promptly passed out in a plate, surrounded by bottles, as two tired bodyguards quietly checking their chronos next to him.
Gaius smiled thinking of Charlabelle, "Here's hoping that she and I can mix business and pleasure." he murmured before turning his head to one side as if listening to someone and giving a slight shiver.
He gathered his staff around him, "We'll need something to bid with. I have a few rare tomes in my library, perhaps some rare experience we could offer, or some information is always good but limited in value by who seeks it. Thoughts?"
Knowledge is indeed a valuable currency, but the value depends on one's desire for such knowledge...Without knowing what is of value and to whom, it makes for a volatile exchange rate. Perhaps favor in the future or immediate support in a current endeavor could be more easily measured in our short time frame.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Nim finds somewhere secluded to enjoy her time with her companion.
She returns a short time later, looking flushed with a a trace of either lipstick or blood on her lips. Hopefully the adrenaline running through her system will clear whatever alien toxins are affecting her.
After watching von Castmirres puzzles expression for a moment Iota clarifies: "This is a transmission I intercepted here at the party. While that is it for facts I estimate 83.21 percent chance that this is the real intend behind the party. I would recommend negotiating a bid of our own."
After leaving the party he adds: "Human life is the topmost abundant resource available. I estimate this bid as inside the lower 20% of accepted bid value. It should be possible to outbid it with an equal number of servitors. I fear that others show better appreciations for value however. My suggestions would be to offer the recently discovered coordinates. Based on the value of the information gained we can still simply colonize them first without invalidating the bid."
The crew gathers among the bridge of the ships, as the time draws closer. The date of the bidding is tonight, as much as a night can be in Footfall, where the gloom light of Furibundis is everpresent.
The location of the place, already known to you, in the deepest of deepest reaches of Footfall, a place used for deals of the shady kind for as long as anyone can remember. It is now the time for final preparations for the event, and to coordinate what an offer can be made.
Khalid, everpresent, clears his throat as he approaches. "Masters! I did get briefed on the affair. Very exotic, yes." He runs a hand across his chin, then hands off a data-slate. "I've gathered some information about the, khm, Witches in the meanwhile, and about their deals. While usually they favour the more... esoteric bids and payments, I've amassed a list of some of the Dynasties' less... prospectable assets, in the event that you don't come up with anything, milords." He sends a wide, toothless smile. "And do be careful there, milords. There's been quite a lot of your ancestors injured in the depths of Footfall!"
"Eh if 'ey wanna 'ave hummies, we culd just g'ive em da intel on da otha tradas, or Waaagh! 'eir ships an sell da crew to da stick-'figurs an keep da lootz fer ourselvs, eh? Long time no smashin! Its 'bout time fer da 'ood ol' fight, damn it!"
The big Ork seems to be nervous and distracted, clearly his Xeno blood is boiling with fury and battle-lust and his advice is ill-tempered and colored by his desire for battle.
"What do we know of these 'Witches?' Are they Xenos, Heretics, simply flamboyant?"
"I isz wif Hexa on dis! We needed to be stompin da bad guyz. Not sit a look at all da fryl tings of humiez and stik men..." je growls in unison with Hexa, this was getting old and boring real fast
-Posted with Wayfinder
Tyboris listens intently, unable to offer up much more advice at the moment...When the Orks lust for blood, part of Tyboris finds their offer appealing, but remains more neutral as first Officer, As a last resort, the use of force shall remain an option, but we can not afford to make more enemies than is worth it. We must round up our assets, count our Thrones and be prepared to make a reasonable offer.
As the crews make their way in the deep reaches of Footfall, you notice the false glitter of the highest levels fade away over time. As you move down and down, the place starts rusting, the smell of human (and not only) lives cramped together starts assailing your senses, the drips of water start unnerving you further and further.
As you reach the level, you follow the clear instructions, reaching the street of the Obsidian Emporium. You pass a massive doorway of pitch black stone, the few cracks serving only to underline the darkness of the material, as you stand in front of what appears to be the doors of a ship's bridge, made of adamantium. Two hideous mutants stand on each side of the door, as they lower their bloodshot eyes down on you, and give you an outwards glance. The two on the inside look at each other, then open the doors inside.
The chambers beyond are dark, the high ceiling shrouded in darkness, as steam and mist coalesces around the metal walls. A swarm of servo-skulls hovers left and right, the only light in the room the dripping candles on top of them, smelling oddly disturbing. The hall is littered with all manner of technological junk, none of it of any worth. The place is already crowded, with all manner of men and women, from ragged beggars to Free Chartists. Moving forward, the crews see a lectern, yet unoccupied, and place themselves on the few remaining spaces. As you sit down, you hear a scratching noise behind you, as the two mutants shut the gates, and stand in front of them.
Silence befalls the room, as a shriveled figure starts walking towards the lectern. As he climbs the stairs, a passing light from a servo-skull lightens his face to reveal a horrifying mask of sockets and lights. As he finally stands up, a dense cluster of cables lowers from the ceiling, each and every one connecting to some point on his body. His head now haloed by a mass of pulsating tubes, the Intercessor is lifted into the air, to be carried by the cables to the pinnacle of the lectern, where he settles in with an animal grunt.
Drawing back the ragged fabric covering his arms, the Intercessor reveals that his limbs are mechanical, constructed of rusted iron. His left arm terminates in an oversized gavel, which he brings sharply down upon the lectern. With the resounding report of hammer on worm-eaten wood, the auction begins.
The instant the crack of the hammer fills the Obsidian Emporial, the crowd erupts into a raucous cacophony. Over the noise, a merchant-factor standing next to you shouts, “Ten thousand thrones!” The crowd goes silent, and all look first to the factor, and then to the Intercessor. After a brief moment filled with tension, the Intercessor shakes his head slowly, and the crowd begin yelling again.
Zoggit looks around
"So many humies in here. Wonda wat wud happen if da fightin started? Small an squishy. Maybe fall... wat you say Hexa?" he nudges his fellow Ork in the ribs
-Posted with Wayfinder
Nim tries to evaluate the bigger threats in the room, in case a fight does break out. This place seems unruly to say the least.
As they enter the giant room, Hexas eyes wanders around the place with something like awe. Sometimes he will stop in front of an especially large and obscure piece of junk and eyes it with unhidden interest. As Zoggit beats him in the rips, he answers with an absentminded voice coming from a far distance.
"Naah, wud be borin fightin. Most wud wet em ratha then put up a good smashin. Wadda place eh? Luks like da big dent of da big mek of da klanz me was in once..."
My Lord Captain I have stated my suggestion. Your holy position at the top of the hierarchy ordains the decision to be yours but a shot not taken has 0% chance of hitting. I suggest you improve this chance by going ahead.
As the gavel hits once more, to establish order, a familiar man rises from his seating - Lord-Admiral Bastille the Seventh. He sends a fleeting gaze at the merchant as the gates shut down once more, then looks at the Intercessor.
"My dynasty's bid is...", he pauses for a brief moment, before clearing his throat. "The coordinates of the Thirteenth Station of Passage!"
The Intercessor rises once more, raised by the cables, then is sat down, as he slams the Gavel once more. "The bid... is accepted!", he shouts, his voice amplified by the voxes around the room. The people start murmuring, some in interest, some in disgust.
"We can't all afford bids of that manner.", mutters a fancily dressed noble to his retinue. A haggard, teethless woman next to him grins with her empty mouth, then replies to the man in a raspy voice. "It's not about the money, my dear boy. Thrones are not what the Witches want. They want goods of a more... esoteric and fascinating nature."
Clanging of power armour is heard as another figure stands. Lady Sun Lee stares at the Intercessor, as her voice fills the room. "A bottle of Triple-distilled, half-a-millenium old bottle of Brain Leaf Essence.", she says, as the Intercessor slams the gavel once more. "The bid is... Accepted.", he says, the voice even more enthusiastic than last time.
A couple of more bids are offered and rejected, among which a saint's thigh-bone, a hereditary title, and a stake in one of the most profitable charters in the Expanse and the Sector. What the witches seem to want is quite inscrutable to you, yet it seems that the more esoteric and exotic, the better.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Talk Ta da mirror boy. Ol' Hexa got da suprise in da poketz."
With that, the green Ork rises, clears his throat and yells:
With that he sits back down, still laughing and enjoying the look of all those faces starring at him.