In Krade's Offices
Iacton suddenly stands up and dashes over to Johnny, attempting to push the shotgun away from the vidcorder and anything else that's important before he has a chance to shoot it.
I will look for where I need to swipe the card. I will also check on Quincus's breathing.
Johnnie pulls the trigger until the shotgun is empty shredding useless furnishing and other sundry items but luckily not the vidcorder.
"Do you not see?! It must be stopped! Make it stop!"
"There it goes again!"
Johnnie quickly draws his handcannon....
"Rico! Get a hold of yourself!" Iacton slaps Rico across the face.
"Rico stand down! Holster your weapon! NOW!"
Johnnie snaps of his insane posturing, handcannon still in hand.
"What would you have me do?! That vile thing must cease!"
Johnnie snaps of his insane posturing, handcannon still in hand.
"What would you have me do?! That vile thing must cease!"
"No, the thing that was recorded must cease to be. Destroying the vidcorder would only destroy what little evidence we have. Now sit down before you destroy any more valuables."
Johnnie stops, seeing the wisdom in Iacton's words. He calmly takes a seat, holstering his weapon. He looks away from the recording and pulls out his flask of amasec and takes a long swig.
"Take the items we are going to take, and let us get out of here. Rico, your shooting might of closed our window of leaving. Iacton, check to see if we are clear."
The explosion of Johnnie's shotgun firing rattles the vast window, destroys one of the guest chairs in a spectacular eruption of debris and splintered wood, and shreds loose documents so that they are still fluttering to the floor when Uriah insists upon your expedient departure.
A stunned silence then settles over the room.
Johnnie quickdraws his handcannon and takes cover.
"Everyone down!"
I take cover. Where did the shot come from?
Awareness=
Ivaanov's vox silences, the recording of the recent shotgun blast he replayed to express his displeasure over.
The tech-priest stumbles forward to the desk to grasp the copy of the Corpus Presidium Calixis containing the hidden pict-corder, pulling it to his chest like a mother would her endangered child. Even with his wide, circular goggles, the look of utter contempt and derision on his face when he turns to Rico is evident. He looks at him like he is a diseased animal that needs to be put down.
His vox squeals with a sound not unlike horrified gasp when he speaks.
"Are you mad?"
"Why would you presume to discharge a firearm under these circumstances? You could have irreparably damaged this blessed, pristine, perfectly maintained vessel of the Omnissiah's holy artifice with your recklessness! The images generated, no matter how abhorrent are no fault of the machine. Had you damaged or destroyed it, the remaining footage I have managed to extract showing the individual who removed the corrupted mirror may have been lost, and with it our only logical recourse for finding where it has gone!"
Spire #16 sub-basement maintenance accessway number 232
Savalos checks Quincus' breathing with one hand, holding it beneath her nostrils and examining the rapid but steady rise and fall of her chest. Druuther looks at him apprehensively, protectively clutching his mistress to his shoulder until he recognizes what Savalos is trying to accomplish.
Her breathing seems labored, but good, at least for now.
Returning to the fungoid encrusted door, you easily pull the plastic housing open, actually yanking it off of its failing hinges in the process. Beneath is a metallic slot-input for an access card. A label once appeared above the reader, but the paper has frayed and become illegible with age and exposure to the moisture of the tunnel.
"Rico, you will see things the likes of which you could not even imagine while in our Master's service. You must maintain your composure against the worst the enemies of our Master and the God-emperor will send at us. Pray to the Emperor for strengh and protection when you need it."
As I am saying this, I am scanning for the shooter.
I take cover. Where did the shot come from?
Awareness=1d100
Relieved, you realize that the sound of the shotgun blast was Ivaanov repeating the noise through his vox-recorder as an exclamatory sound to get Juan's attention.
I take cover. Where did the shot come from
Leaving the others to bicker, Iacton heads to the door to see if the coast is clear.
Leaving the others to bicker, Iacton heads to the door to see if the coast is clear.
1d100;1d100
Iacton moves to the office suite's door, listening for any sounds of trouble as he does so. Placing his ear to the closed door, his worst fear is confirmed. Through the heavy door he can hear the steady blare of an alarm. Most likely a facilities or fire alarm activated by the discharge of the weapon. Judicium security will not be far behind the building's enginnering technicians. Given the location of the alarm and what has transpired here of late, not far at all.
"Blast. Unless you want to meet our security force, I suggest we leave." Iacton then opens the door, ready to lead the others out.
"As I said let us move it."
I will follow Iacton out.
"Don't worry Druuther. There is still alot of fight left in her." Trying to put the worried Ogryn, and myself at ease.
I turn and look at the panel. I follow the instructions Quincus gave me to open the door back when she handed me the passcard. "This access panel had better work."
In Krade's Offices
Stepping out into the corridor with the others, Ivaanov hastily makes his way to a small, lacquered-wood panel bearing the ubiquitous aquila symbol and an inset security keypad across the hall from Krade's office.
"I concur with your supposition, Iacton. Perhaps there is something that I can accomplish to impede our impending pursuers."
The tech-priest's hands move faster than the eye can follow, tapping in a multi-digit code to first release the lock on the door. It opens with a faint, pressurized hiss, and Ivaanov slides down a truncated, nested, duralloy sheath encasing his finger, revealing an electrograft beneath. It sparks for a moment when he slides it into the data point on the alarm panel, and his eyes suddenly go unfocused behind his goggles.
Ivaanov's vox spews an extended screed of binary chatter for a moment, and he then withdraws the electrograft.
"I have re-routed the alarm signal to erroneously indicate a fire in the secondary vox-line conduit one level directly above us."
"Nevertheless, I recommend we make all due haste via whatever escape contingency you have planned."
"Rico, You know the way, take the point."
Spire #16 sub-basement maintenance accessway number 232
Savalos slides the yellowing plastic access card through the grit-filled reader and is rewarded with a small puff of spores from one of the nearby fungal growths. Coughing and turning his head away from the cloud, he steps back.
Nothing happens.
He is about to slide the card again when there is agonized 'clunk' sound from deep within the bulkhead door. It is followed by a low, grinding sound of exhausted servos, and a rectangular rift appears around the door in the clinging mats of fungus. The ancient hydraulics of the door finally engage, and it slowly swings inward, opening into a wider space beyond, dimly lit by a flickering green glow.
Savalos smiles when he hears the faint sound of far-off, shouted voices carried from somewhere beyond the door. They are arguing about the position of a poorly parked rickshaw in the pidgin, street-slang Low Gothic dialect of Orcut VII's Underhive.
For Savalos, it feels good to be home.
"There we go Sunshine fresh air. As soon as we find you a proper bed. You'll be sleeping like a Spire Princess in no time." I'm not sure if she can hear my words, but figure it would help put Druuther at ease. "Keep close Druuther; the Grey Way can get crowded at times. Just need to get my bearings so we can find us a Doc." I lead the way into the Underhive. Wondering how much has changed of the world I left behind.
"Rico, You know the way, take the point."
"Taking point."
Johnnie leads with the barrel of his now reloaded shotgun pointed in front.
Arbites Judicium Spire #17
Johnnie takes the lead without hesitation, Iacton, Uriah, and Ivaanov all following closely behind, making haste a priority as they escape through the richly appointed corridor leading to Krade’s suite. The group passes the disabled auto-scribing servitor once again, and Johnnie rests his shotgun against the wall near it just long enough to punch Quincus’ code into the tiny panel again. The hatch opens with pneumatic hiss, and a floor of red light spills out from the maintenance servitor tunnel connecting Spire #17 to Spire #16.
It is no cooler than before in the humid, oppressively hot, pipe-like tunnel, and it takes a few moments before the tech-priest can hoist himself up and inside, the weight of his potentia coil hindering him somewhat. Just before Ivaanov closes the hatch to the skybridge, the main lift at the far end of the corridor you have just left opens, and an Arbites Judicium security detail pours through, voxes crackling with urgent transmissions. You all breathlessly watch for a moment, as one of the arbitrators holds his hand up, before rapidly circling the same hand in signal to the others and pointing at the ceiling. They just as quickly board the lift again, leaving two of their number behind in the corridor outside of Krade's unlit offices. It appears that Ivaanov’s ruse has worked, at least for now.
Pressing on, the four of you quickly make your way along the length of the skybridge, the windowless confines giving no hint as to how many thousands of levels you are above Oremor’s surface. When you finally reach the far side, Johnnie releases the hatch, and peers out with just his head to find the corridor beyond mercifully vacant as well. Stepping down, he surveys the hallway, awaiting the others.
Ivaanov looks at Rico's shotgun with distaste, and hisses through his vox.
"Although I understand the necessity for our clandestine departure, what purpose would it serve to engage in a gun battle with elements of my patron's security forces. Are you not an arbitrator yourself, Juan Rico?"
Ruminating on this a moment, Ivaanov speaks again.
"I must posit that there is an additional threat that has yet to surface, is this correct?"
"We were attacked before we entered the shuttle we were taking to land on this planet. They knew we were coming and wanted to stop us. We suspect they are expecting us and will attack us again."
"We were attacked before we entered the shuttle we were taking to land on this planet. They knew we were coming and wanted to stop us. We suspect they are expecting us and will attack us again."
"A satisfactory explanation that would justify the use of lethal force under these circumstances. Thanks you for clarifying this, Uriah, each small parcel of data contributes to comprehending the overarching patterns."
Ivaanov pulls a compact laspistol from within his robes, his other hand keeping the camera-rigged copy of the 'Corpus Presidium Calixis' held close to his chest. He follows the others past more darkened suites and soon everyone is aboard the maintenance lift that Quincus specified a few hours ago in Halleon's offices.
Johnnie quickly taps the access code into the panel, and the elevator rumbles into motion.
Orcut VII Underhive
"There we go Sunshine fresh air. As soon as we find you a proper bed. You'll be sleeping like a Spire Princess in no time." I'm not sure if she can hear my words, but figure it would help put Druuther at ease. "Keep close Druuther; the Grey Way can get crowded at times. Just need to get my bearings so we can find us a Doc." I lead the way into the Underhive. Wondering how much has changed of the world I left behind.
Stepping through the long-sealed bulkhead, the ogryn crouching as he steps through the doorway and Kalaziel fluttering behind, you find yourself in a narrow alleyway in what seems to be a densely populated hab-block, deep in Orcut VII's Underhive. The huge door swings closed behind you on a delayed egress timer, slamming shut on Storage Accessway #232, and you realize why it likely never has been plundered before. Like the rest of the alley, the entire door's face on this side has been covered with a layer of recycled waste-slurry stucco that used to allow it to blend into the walls.
Looking at the now obvious cracks in the stone, Savalos rightly assumes it won't stay undetected for much longer.
The other wall in the alleyway is rife with exotic sigils, whorls, and cartoonish art in a variety of vibrant, glow-in-the-dark pigments. Looking them over, Savalos tries to make sense of the various gang-tags, adverts, and profane graffiti.
The five foot wide alley conspicuously dead-ends in a fifteen foot stack of mouldering trash and fungoid-infested waste-bins to your left, and continues off to the right, climbing a short flight of five or so hewn-stone steps to what appears to be a wider alley beyond.
The "fresh air" you promised Quincus is a curious bouquet of rotting refuse and the greasy smells of fried tepic stalk and estuary onions from what can only be a nearby vendor's stall. Your stomach growls. Looking overhead, you see the black void of whatever Underhive layer sits above this one, dangling gantries, corroding I-beams, and matted layers of curtain fungi draped over the crumbling infrastructure high above. The lighting here is piss-poor, with only Druuther's hand-held lamp revealing your surroundings.
"Ahh thats some sweet smelling onions. Always good eating. Might have to get one later. You too Sunshine if your appetite is up for it." Still trying to keep morale up as I examine the gang markings scrawled on the walls. "Lets keep our wits about us. The human predators are deadlier than the wolves." I lead the way out of the alley, and reload my duct sweeper.
Ivaanov looks at Rico's shotgun with distaste, and hisses through his vox.
"Although I understand the necessity for our clandestine departure, what purpose would it serve to engage in a gun battle with elements of my patron's security forces. Are you not an arbitrator yourself, Juan Rico?"
Ruminating on this a moment, Ivaanov speaks again.
"I must posit that there is an additional threat that has yet to surface, is this correct?"
"Shoot first, ask questions later."
I lead the way out of the alley, and reload my duct sweeper.
Ah. Memories. The complicated iconography on the alley-wall might as well be an atlas, directory, and warning sign all combined into one for the wealth of information you are able to decipher, even after these years away from home.
The propellant-cannister paint slang writ in neon green and shadowed with black that covers the eye level of the alley in Orcut VII Underhive cant describes your location clearly, and in an exacting detail that would make an orbiting geo-positioning satellite envious.
Welcome Kin!/Broparvalos' Alley/Leftways is Deadways, Keep 'er Blokked Bloke/Vaxus Underhive/Low, Low, Level 'Tuppence Guess Sez -119 Or So, Friend/Orcut VII, But Ye Knew That 'Un, Us'm Hope T'least!
The good news, is that you are only three or four kilometers from the Grey Way and the Gear Box.
The bad news is scrawled or stenciled nearby, however.
Your eyes scan, to an oblique warning, scratched out from the very stucco itself, perhaps by a serrated knife or jagged stone-saw blade,
Hack, Hack, Hack, the 'Viscerator's Back!
And finally a revelation: almost entirely defaced, chiseled away, is a stenciled symbol depicting a stylized duct wolf maw from which sprout three churning claws, equidistant from one another and seemingly rending the air. Beside it, larger and more pronounced is a vibrant yellow serpent-like creature, spiraling in on itself before the tail finally comes full circle and pierces the serpent's eye, continuing out the other side. Something is scrawled quickly in cheap glow-pen on the textured wall.
Duct Puppies Run Back To The Tubes/Yellobouros Run This Stack Now!/Fair Warnin' Given/Best Be Heeded!
After digesting this information, Savalos moves to the end of the alley to find a "wide thoroughfare" (little more than three meters wide, for that matter, what would be considered a narrow alley, Uphive) filled on either side with burnt-out shopfronts and empty, defaced and abandoned hab-foyers that serve as squatting ground for all manner of dregs, obscura-users, and velocipede cart peddlers jostling for the limited space to hawk their wares. Right outside of the alleyway, at the top of the steps, a velocipede pulled canopy-cab rickshaw is blocking the way for an oversized, knobby-wheeled cargo truck that is trying to pass through to make a delivery to what can only be a better side of Vaxus Ductside District. The driver is screaming charming invective about the rickshaw driver's parentage and blaring his air horn. The rickshaw driver has dismounted, and is screeching back at the truck driver while waving his hands dismissively. He seems to have been collecting some scrap metal from the roadway for later 'resale'.
Arbites Judicium Spire #16, Maintenance Lift Theta-Five
As the lift ponderously begins its descent hundreds of levels down-Hive, Iacton begins to realize that for all intents and purposes he, Ivaanov, and these Inquisitorial acolytes are now fugitives from Arbites justice. The sudden disappearance of he and the tech-priest will only raise all manner of questions, coupled with the thefts and vandalism to High Arbiter Krade's offices, they are little more than suspects now. Although he does not doubt the power that could be brought to bear by these agents of the Holy Ordos, as Uriah stated, the amount of time wasted in explaining the truth behind his master's bizarre disappearance would most likely eliminate any chance of rescuing him before the worst occurred.
Iacton never thought before that the weight of a single feather could feel like such a burden.
So many questions now. So many doubts. Some part of him new that the figure in the mirror could only be one being.
The Prisoner.
As I make out the scrawl. My demeanor changes and I noticeably frown. I cock my shotgun. Looking to Druuther. "If shots start flying you take Sunshine and run. It'll be my skin they want not yours."
I know I am on borrowed time. Once my furs or my tat's are seen. The snitches will run to inform the gang that now controls this block. I carefully look at the truck. "Lets see if we can catch a lift. I am sure he would be willing to trade a ride for you moving the rickshaw out of the way Druuther." When it seems Druuther catchs my drift I head toward the truck.
Arbites Judicium Spire #16, Maintenance Lift Theta-Five
Alone with his own dark thoughts, Uriah watches the glowing, red-lit level indicator rapidly descending.
453
The primary objective in the mission briefing was now unattainable with Krade's kidnapping.
124
Some other faction planetside was aware of their presence on the Void Needle and had used considerable resources to attempt to exterminate himself and the other acolytes before they even could begin their inquiries. Hell, before they even made planetfall!
-14
The objects found in Krade's offices. The feather. Proscribed artifacts. The painting of Ahmazzi. The hololith from the hidden pict-corder. That horrific being and his minions. Malleus. Heresy.
-31
'ding!'
Nothing had gone according to plan.
Everything was falling apart at the seams.
What Now?
What Now?!
After that disturbing episode, Johnnie's paranoia heightens his feel of his surroundings.
Arbites Judicium Spire #16, Maintenance Lift Theta-Five
The lift door closes.
Rico realizes he has been yelling since the office, but it doesn't matter to him right now. Nothing does. The mirror. Those things!
All of these years the hard-boiled Arbites Investigator, and now, now the facade was beginning to crack. Why now? He felt like he was riding the razor's edge again, slipping down the side, hands cut to ribbons for want of hanging on. Clenching his hand around the shotgun, he tries to get a hold of himself and focus his thoughts.
He had seen the signs in Krade's offices. They were obvious to one such as he, the patterns always were. Some called it a gift. He knew what he thought of such a gift. Seeing the places between things, the nuances no one else could grasp, the connections that all seemed so disparate, yet, were in the end so closely connected.
The others did not know the truth of his reaction. Why he had snapped after all this time.
He did though.
The feather. The damnable feather.
How had he found it?
Why did he possess it?
After that disturbing episode, Johnnie's paranoia heightens his feel of his surroundings.
Johnnie notices the red-lit floor display curiously flicker for a moment. Perhaps nothing. He had a hunch though. It would wait until they reached Accessway #232. He hoped.
Johnnie cradles his weapon like a babe, making it very difficult to be disarmed. He realizes that in these close quarters more than likely that an attack would be in melee range.
What has Krade got to do with the Eviscerator? What is my subconscious telling me? Could it be? I wonder....
Orcut VII Underhive
I carefully look at the truck. "Lets see if we can catch a lift. I am sure he would be willing to trade a ride for you moving the rickshaw out of the way Druuther." When it seems Druuther catchs my drift I head toward the truck.
Keeping his shotgun discretely at his side, but at the ready, Savalos moves into the roadway and approaches the velocipede-powered rickshaw with the natty canvas canopy. His intention is to move the decrepit thing out of the way of the truck in hopes of earning the driver's gratitude, but as he draws closer, Druuther striding along behind him under Quincus' weight, the rickshaw driver turns from his newfound treasure to amble up to the acolyte with an awkward, lurching gait.
In the decaying light of the flickering arc-sodium lamps, Savalos can see into the hooded cowl of the rickshaw driver's dirty gray cloak. He is a 'twist', a mutie, this much is obvious by his sallow, yellowish skin and grotesque, almost tendril like nodules of extra flesh that dangle from his chin like some parody of a beard. His eyes are wide and bulging, goggling at you as if he is in a perpetual state of surprise or excitement. He licks his thin lips in anticipation, and you see that his tongue is as gray as his filthy clothing.
"Greets on ye, stranjur-fren! I'spect ye be wannin'me servis?"
As if to emphasize that the truck driver does not appreciate the rickshaw driver continuing to delay him with his sales pitch, he palms the horn again with a thunderous 'honk'. Some of the indigens are beginning to take notice.
Spire #16 sub-basement maintenance accessway number 232
A final 'ding' rouses everyone in the lift from their reveries, and the unsettling feeling of the high-speed elevator coming to rest in the shaft adds to your unease.
When the door opens, the sanitary neutrality of the lift's smell is erased by the odor of rank mildew and rotting fungal blooms. A long, wide corridor, carved from slate-gray ferrocrete, and illuminated by the ghastly emerald light of Gothic-era glow-globes is revealed.
Numerous chambers flank the corridor to either side, heaped with the misbegotten leavings of centuries of Judicium bureaucracy, kept secure by grated metal doorways that resemble feudal portcullises. The accessway extends as far in the distance as your eyes can see in the flickering half-light. Monolithic, rust-caked pipes and elaborate beam bracings with strutted support structures fill your view of the ceiling seven or eight meters overhead.
There is no sign of the others.
Sometimes, it pays to be paying attention.
"Ello gents." Looking at the Twist and the Truck Driver. "Me and my companions are looking for a lift over to the Grey Way. Time being kinda of important." I figure it's obvious to both of them that they can smell the fresh blood on Quincus, and the stain of it seeping though.
Looking at the Twist. "So if we help you load up some scrap into the Rickshaw. Would you be kind enough to move it to the side for the vehicle to pass by?" I am pretty sure the truck driver will catch the hint. I signal Druuther to set Quincus into the back of the truck.
Looking at the Twist. "So if we help you load up some scrap into the Rickshaw. Would you be kind enough to move it to the side for the vehicle to pass by?" I am pretty sure the truck driver will catch the hint. I signal Druuther to set Quincus into the back of the truck.
The rickshaw driver looks the ogryn over with his enormous eyes, lingering on Quincus' still form for a second before looking back your way with a gaze that reminds you of a pair of foglamps cutting through a black void. He licks his lips again, his interest picqued.
"Nah-no, stranjur-fren, a fiver of Empthrone and Stroinigli willa cart ye, hisself, see-some?"
The twist points to his oversized rickshaw. It is large enough to be considered almost a small carriage. It could just about accommodate the huge ogryn, yourself, and Quincus if you laid her prone on the contraption's inner bench.
"Fair coin, it is, 'specially when ye are wat ye is (he points at your fur-lined jacket), all up smellin' like to a three-legga in Yellobouros turf. Lorry driva, up'n'here is off to deliver to Upend o' Vaxus Dist...be rompin' right through the snakey's burrows heart."
He looks you up and down.
"You death-wishin' or just frontin' prodigal sonnish on Stronigli?"
The horn blares again.
I have my laspistol in hand before the door opens.
"I'll be paying ya fair coin if you make good speed. Lets move before he stirs the whole block looking this way. I would be passing good word of your fair dealings to others as well." I motion for Druuther to put Quincus inside the Rickshaw." I don't have the time to haggle proper. I don't want to explain to Johnnie that he lost his Ex because I was trying to save a couple coins. And I definately don't want to be caught in a fire fight in another gangs turf.
I hand the five thrones to the Twist.
Iacton rests his hand on his sword, ready to draw it on a moment's notice. "Don't worry. These tunnels have been abandoned for centuries. Now come, the exit's this way." He then takes the lead.