"We can definitely spare a microbead and having someone who has a good grasp of the local customs and power systems would be a good idea. After we get our hands on a scholar I think we should introduce ourselves to the local nobility, they're the only ones who'll have the resources to get us the quantity of supplies we need. While you were talking I put together a list of supplies that we should be looking out for"
Lax extends his dataslate to Garm.
A scholar
A Map
Local clothing/Armour (for disguises)
Horses
A supply food and metal (for repairs)
Grenades
A fuel for the shuttle
A list of the names and location of the local nobility
General knowledge of the political landscape
General knowledge of the local history (what's with everyone speaking Eldar?)
Knowledge of any deposits of natural resources
Knowledge of the local flora and fauna
Garm glances over the list.
"This seems reasonable, but time-consuming. I have great incentive to find scholars to work this out. I desire a bed to heal, not wring words out of locals with varying degrees of respect to visitors."
"Then put thine focus on scholars to take'th care of translation, and leave yon other s$&$e for later" Illorn will say.
" Once we have'th them then we can'st all attempt to find supplies"
"That's probably for the best. The rest of the list is just me toying with the idea of setting up a xeno trade gig here. As for the scholar the usual going price for their services is about this much".
Lax jots down a few figures on the dataslate and show's it to everyone
Garm looks at the dataslate, and points to some of the figures.
"What about appealing to their egos? Scholars love the sound of their names being praised."
He goes on in that vein for a short time, and seems to know at least something of bartering for services.
Garm looks forward to seeing if this scholar lives up to his wage.
While waiting at one point, he turns to Gizzard, making conversation with perhaps other motives.
"Gizzard, what is your story? How did you come to be on the Hymn?"
"Ah well captain... that's probably not of much interest to you. I suppose like we can go into. The short answer is it involves a much younger man, his ego and a person of authority. Then an unfortunate number of gunshots and about twenty years of f~+@ing this and f$~$ing that. To be honest I'm not much for speaking novels. How about yourself? You don't really look the captain type. Like you look fairly approachable for a man o' command. ... Wait, f+~@, you were asking about me. Well Sir sorry for the digression. I was born on a Basilikon Astra vessel called Red Dawn. The cult is a great place to learn but it's a sorry f$~*ing place to have notions. Notions about what like? I don't even remember my twenties. So now I'm old and a fairly intense reddish shade of grey. Not as old Illorn mind you but then like deaths probably too f~@%ing afraid to take him. "
Gizzard will continue the short answer until stopped.
"No I said fire bomb, you know WHOSH" Lax mimes the gesture to an exasperated sales man who's trying to offer him a drink.
Garm is amused with Gizzard's colourful description. And even more amused at the thought of how Illorn may respond.
With a wry smile, he replies to Gizzard.
"Aye, I suppose I do not look like a captain. No uniform, no trimmed beard, no baton or cutlass. But captain I am, and when I ask a question, it is because I want an answer. I was a carnosaur-hunting jungle savage, then a fighting pit-slave of the Druchii. Then a fool of a slaver traded with them, paying with many slaves for me and this lash. I shot him with his own bolt pistols. And after *hasty* negotiations, ended up in the Imperium.
"So, did they deserve it?" , he asks with a knowing look.
Gizzard responses to Garm with all the sincerity he can muster.
"Would that he/they may have deserved it? That's a difficult question and one I'm fair too sober to answer properly. Sure do the old have any right to interpret the intentions of his twenty year old self with notions?"
Gizzard stares through Garm either unsettled by his past or the very organic nature of everything in the room.
"I think he did but I don't think I had any right to deal with it. Young men do fairly stupid things though."
Garm shrugs.
"You are trying to be honest with me, which is all I truly wanted to see. The dead are still dead. So why the Hymn? Does the prospect of battle and danger appeal to you? Loot? The dark of the void?"
The conversation is both interesting to Garm, and helps take his mind off his sore wounds.
"The Hymn happened to be there when I was in port. I was freelance at that point and you know yourself. Work is work."
The Ship and other holdings
-You have five operational shuttles total.
-Ammo the crew have scrounged together more ammo though have had to use up steady supplies keeping various interlopers off your hull. Overall is is a net increase of seven.
-Food your crew have scrounged up increases your supply by seven though it gets harder each day.
-Personal ammo, you each can add two clips (and grenades if you have a supply) to your current inventory.
-Your outpost in the former ork hamlet has expanded to be able to house thirty individuals. They have fended off local wildlife and inhabitants so far. In one curious report a few orks herded a swarm of orklings towards the settlement seemingly observing and not engaging in the conflict retreating as the last of the orklings were slaughtered.
-Your master of augurs has still been having great trouble adjusting to the planet. One curious thing is that the augurs for detecting warp phenomenon have detected various bizarre disturbances after they have been recalibrated. The greatest disturbances at at the poles of the planet.
-Gizzards flights have show a large ocean to the west. A continent to the southwest proves a challenge and has to be aborted after large lizard creatures moved to intercept him. The continent to the east which includes Lyonesse, the League of the West and presumably Remas, seems to be the most densely populated areas.
-Your lone navigator is improving in health and has regained conscious though is understandably upset at the current situation and the death of his kin.
-The Astropatic Choirmaster continues to send out distress signals but has received no response or even general communications. Strain as he might he has only uncovered fragments of messages carried by the tides of the warp.
-Some of your crew have begun to chart the night's sky but have yet to find anything familiar. They are still observing hoping to spot any local celestial bodies.
Lax will spend the two weeks learning Reikspiel from the scholar. He'll also ask the Tech Priest to if they can manufacture more ammo and what supplies they need to do so.
The Tech Priest will inform him that they can currently produce small amounts of solid projectie ammo as well as charge packs. Bolt weapons would be far more laborious. Other types of ammo would depend on their nature, plasma cannisters can not be produced with the current infracture and the infrastructure likely wouldn't be possible to fabricate no matter now much time.
Garm will also learn Reikspiel under the tutelage of the scholar, using the Druchii tongue as a go-between as necessary.
Garm will ask the tech-priests about grenades, especially krak grenades.
Frag, Krak and Smoke grenades could be produced but it would be slow, particularly krak. Meltabombs would be impossible.
Garm wants frag and krak grenades. If the tech-priests have to prioritise, he wants the latter more.
Lax fidgeted with his dataslate.
"Alright you can do this ..... you've done worse, fought Orks, Giants and .... those that shall not be named.
Lax gulped nervously and rapped on the door to Garm quaters.
Garm paces in his quarters. Which given the size of the place, leaves a considerable loop to cover. A close observer might hear him muttering phrases in a language still not quite familiar to him.
When the knock comes, he turns towards the door and in a raised voice declares:
"Kommen in!"
Lax skitters in, his fingers tapping rapidly on the Dataslate.
"Hello Sir, Captain Sir I've been thinking about this planet, that is um if your not busy, that were sitting on a xeno trade gold mine. Ork, Eldar, Giant and whatever these um Dwarves are" Lax stumbled, twisting the slate.
"We ah already know one buyer for xeno's, that ah Magos that ordered the aa Rak'gol, but what if we supplemented the order with more exotic goods, such as the Ors, Eldar and... you already know. But anyway long story short, I think that we can conquer this planet. I mean it will take some doing but we can do it, we have the edge.
Here I have it all on this slate"
He turns the dataslate the right way up and proffers it to Garm.
1. Show off Military might (Chaos seems the best stage for this but Orks could work if we get them to attack a big city).
2. Use Military might to get allies (Human forces seem like the best bet).
3. Identify greatest threat (probably Dark Eldar).
4. Uses Allies as cannon fodder to destroy threat.
5. Profit.
Garm grips the dataslate, just a smidgen too tightly, but does read it swiftly before handing it hand to Lax.
With a grin.
"Lax, more of this. We hold a council meeting this day! And *you* get to describe this to them as well!"
Garm sends messengers to the rest of the council, still grinning.
Lax goes deathly pale.
"Oh that's, that's great, in that case I'd like to invite Gizzard. He know's the land best"
Garm soundly claps Lax on the back, his good humour and high spirits clearly visible.
"A wise choice! And a word of advice. Try not to be afeared of Illorn when speaking. He does get irked when you ramble nonsense to him. But I am sure you will be fine."
Garm moves off to give commands to his servants.
Later, in the meeting room
Garm waits with a plate of cooked fish for the others to arrive. He wants to feed more before the meeting.
Lax stand awkwardly in the center of the room, fiddling with his dataslate. He gives the same speak that he gave Garm and hurriedly sits down.
Eventually Illorn will speak, having remained silent during Lax's presentation. "Ballsy, boy, but there art three things to consider." He holds up one finger. "Besting yon Rak'Ghol in battle and bringing them afore yon Metal Lord is one matter. Becoming a slave trader art another entirely and sits ill with me." A second finger joins the first "We hath power at a point between Garm, myself, thou and P0D, should'st he 'ere stir his arse from this ship again. We hath neither the food, water, weapons nor men-at-arms to conquer en-masse. And lastly.." Illorn takes a long swig from his tankard, an odd look on his face "There be'eth no point in conquering a world whose doom art upon it."
Garm thinks upon what Illorn has said, stays silent for a few moments, and then speaks again.
"Illorn, your points are honed. But there is room between the points. We cannot simply charge our men on an open battlefield against an entire world and hope to win. What we can do, and the Imperium and other Rogue Traders have done, is play the peoples of divided world against each other. Use our advantages such as mobility and machines to put puppets in charge of nations and then combine those nations' strength with our own. It has been done before."
He pauses, and looks straight at Illorn.
"On your other points. Someone, someones, or *something* will rule the people on this world. What matter to them if they were born elsewhere? And as for doom, what makes you so certain of that? Especially when we are now here?"
Lax takes a deep breath and clutches his data slate.
"Illorn you are completely correct, we are lacking in man power and supplies.
Which is why in the first two steps of my plan we secure strong alliances, which we will need regardless of what we decide. We are currently stranded here with no clear way out and we've been attached by raiders that circle us like vultures.
We need to make a display of strength, to show them that we're not the easy pickings that they think we are"
"Aye, Lax. I am healed, and I will not idly wait for death in this wrecked ship. Our resources will only dwindle if we remain here isolated. We must use them while we still can."
Whilst waiting for Garm and Lax to finish Illorn fished out his long smoking pipe. Packing it with something small and crumbling, he continues talking once everyoneis quiet, pipe in hand.
"Barbarians from the north, daemons dancing on thine heels. Madness and blood rising, fell whispers on the wind." Striking a match he brings the pipe to his lips, holding the match over the packed material and inhaling to draw the flame down into the chamber. Slowly drawing on the pipe now that its lit, he flicks his wrist once to put out the match. Smoke curling around his face he continues "'tis all too familiar to the stories I hath been told of Aródean before its Dusk. And from what I hath seen, these kingdoms hath not a tenth of the defences of mine homeworld." With an especially deep pull, the material in his pipe glows brightly, like dying embers in a fire being blown upon. "This world is dead. It hath just not realised it yet."
Garm tosses the dataslate over to in front of Illorn. And stares at him, his temper starting to bubble beneath the surface.
"Read that. Read it well. And then tell me that we have no chance. That we should resign ourselves to muttering with despair and waiting for our *doom*."
Garm then sits back, his arms folded and his eyes still locked on Illorn.
Illorn ignores the dataslate, not shying away from Garms stare "Do not make the folly of mistaking me, lad." he says softly, his own temper stoked at Garms words. "I intend to die on mine feet and gutting the fool or daemon that did the deed. But if this world doth face the same threat as Aródean, then unless it hath some hidden strength, it is merely a still kicking corpse." He waves a hand dismissively at the dataslate. "Thou hath best start thinking bigger than "Profit" if thou wish'eth to survive."
His gaze still unchanged, Garm replies.
"At least you're talking as you should - of killing. Unless there is help coming for us through the void, we will have little choice about whether to fight, so we had best make a plan to do it on our terms. Should we find a way to *win*, I do indeed intend to profit by it. But we have to find that way. Alliances are an option, and we have the means to impress and cow those who have not yet seen our full strength. It is better than assuming we are beaten before we even make effort."
"I said that this world wert dead. I said naught about ourselves." Illorn growls back. There is a somewhat disturbing expression somwhere between a grin and a tooth-filled snarl on his face, made the worse for the pipe-smoke seeping out from behind his teeth.
Garm cocks his head ever so slightly, though not turning his gaze from Illorn, past the growing cloud of pipe-smoke.
"Explain your meaning. And your intent.", he says bluntly and not a little impatiently.
"'tis as like thou and the rest of the crew shalt be dead from thine span of years before the final assault come'eth. Even if thou wert not, thou hast the means to travel far swifter than any army, and stay ahead of them till thou hast lived out thine years." Illorn leans back into his chair, pipe smoke obscuring his features.
"Of all those in this room, 'tis I alone who could'st live long enough to see that day. As for mine intent?" He stands up slowly, placing a hand upon the back of the chair and taking a deep pull from his pipe "It be simply that thou understand'eth exactly what come'eth, with no false illusion or pretensions hardening thine wicks afore they art even wet."
Garm is not mollified as such, but he believes he better sees Illorn's meaning. His posture relaxes very slightly.
"That makes more sense, after you explained yourself. And the vision of endlessly fleeing marauding armies frustrates me. I would rather find a way to make them suffer and die. Lax, for all his fears, at least has written the bones of a plan. I would see flesh and hard hide wrapped around it. You have campaigned, and I would know your thoughts on how to do so."
Illorn barks something that could be construed as a laugh "What does thou need to do to avert this worlds doom? Simplicity itself! Unite all yon kingdoms under thy rule, amass an army this world hath never thought possible and march to the Gate of Hell from whence these daemons flow and plug it fast with their rotting carcasses!" His tone on the surface is sarcastic, but there seems to be a current of another emotion running through it as well. His look towards Garm is....expectant? Curious?
As he talks to Garm on what needs to be done, its obvious Illorn wants him to say something, is almost willing him too, but refuses to force it upon him. Its almost as if Illorn is...testing Garm?
Lax frowns unable to read Illorns expression.
"Illorn are you reading off my plan? Because that's literally steps 3 and 4"
Illorn will finally pick up the dataslate and thumb through it. He seems surprised when it stops scrolling "This art not a plan. 'tis vague notions! I see now what Garm mean'eth by wrapping it in hide and leather, though...."[/b] Illorn glances at Garm when he says the last "Thou hast a queer way of talking at times, lad." Seemingly oblivious to the sheer hypocrisy of the statement he turns back to Lax "Also, there be'eth no doubt who our greatest enemy be. The daemons, and their lick-spittle, cox-comb cowering worshipers." Illorn turns back to Garm again "But it matters not what the boy or I say. What sayeth thee, Garm?"
Garm is about to reply, as Lax speaks up. He gives it until Illorn retorts to say what he is going to say.
Looking Illorn straight in the eye, and placing the flats of his palms on the table, he speaks, his patience straining.
"You may scoff at the notion Illorn, but why in the hells not? Why can we not do it? Just because the locals can not does not condemn *us* to failure! I say we do it! Secure this ship properly, so the locals see it as a place of awe and fear, not a bloody heap of metal to steal! Then start forming alliances - or conquering those who will not bend! The daemons and their slaves will not give up, and we have to do at least as much to win!"
He is left breathing more heavily than usual, clearly emotive.
"Aye lad!" Illorn bursts out, unable to restrain himself any longer. He slams his hand hard onto the table, laughing joyously. "That's they way! If any of yon wickless nobles in Aródean hath that spirit the may hath won!" Illorn stands up, leaving the pipe lying on the table and facing Garm, eyes almost aflame "If thou seekest to yoke these kingdoms to thine will, to gather them up into a force to cleanse yon daemons from this world and send them screaming back to the Void, then I shalt follow thee to Hell itself and back!" Illorn throws back his head and howls as he finishes his declaration, the sound reverberating off the metal walls of the ship. Whipping his head back to face Garm, eyes wild and mouth wide in that half snarl half smile again, he extends his hand towards Garm.
For a moment, Garm is befuddled.
Is this one of Illorn's japes? Wait, no, *this* was his meaning all along?
And then, Garm grins, standing up and putting his hand forward to grasp Illorn's in a tight warrior's grip.
You may goad, Illorn, but it is always to purpose! I would see us win and them die!"
After a moment, he stands up fully and says:
"We must make a tighter plan. As I said, I wish this ship secure. Repairs to the hull, if only to seal entryways, are a must. Are there any suitable materials locally?"
Garm is clearly more fired up than you normally see him, and rarely so outside of mortal combat.
"Well we're in the middle of an ocean so I going to say no but we still haven't visited these Dwarves yet so they might have something. By the way those Demons you spoke of, those wouldn't be anything like those um, undead creatures we fought earlier, would they?" Lax pleaded growing visible paler.
Garm turns to Lax, a serious expression on his face.
"So nothing suitable has been found on the nearby islands then? So be it. We have yet to deal with these dwarves. As for daemons, I believe Illorn is the man to ask about those."
Illorn looks to Lax, still grinning "Oh nay Lax. The Daemons art so much worse!"
As Illorn speaks all colour drains from Lax's face.
He turns to Garm.
"Well you, you um .... oh throne of the god emperor how can they be worse, ... you see sir we require vast quantities of ... plasteel and the facilities to manufacture that are something we would have noticed, especially on the scale that we need, though I can speak to the tech priests about out turret defense network. Though it might be worth speaking to our scholar first"