"A new wind stirs the warp and blows into the Malfian. With it come those destined to be the doom and the salvation of the fools who know only the corpse-god." - Torestus 2:2-3
Kurse. The last place anybody in the galaxy would want to be. A dead end in a place that does not know the yoke of the Imperium, but has little else to offer. Crater scarred and desolate, the seas of Kurse boil, and the pathetic life forms still on the planet's surface live brief and meaningless lives. Predator mutants hunt the wasteland, and cannibalistic tribes of scavenger creatures rise and fall. Of all the places in the Screaming Vortex, Kurse may not be the worst, but it certainly isn't anywhere anyone would want to stay for long.
Luckily for you, you got off that rock - only to find yourself on another rock, or asteroid called Belphagion. When the Dark Magi of Forge Kastir retrofitted some of the asteroids around Kurse for use as observation and reconnaissance posts, they did not anticipate these hab-platforms would become inhabited by outcasts from all over the galaxy, both human and xenos. As long as the proper offering is made to the Dark Magi, they leave well enough alone. So these platforms have become chaotic and ramshackle places, with the rudimentary structure of civilization - you can trade things, you can get a good stiff drink (just don't ask what's in it) in one of the blade-taverns, and you can find a temporary thrill in one of the pleasure-houses or by betting on combatants in the arena.
However, after several weeks aboard Belphagion, all of you are quite past the point of wanting to stay any longer. This hollowed out rock is no place to plot revenge or conquest, and that is certainly on your mind as you meet near a familiar blade-tavern known by the locals as "The Broken Aquila," since a damaged plasteel Imperial aquila hangs over the arched entrance. Various offal and stains unceremoniously decorate it.
A Chaos Space Marine Sorcerer sits down. His armor covered in mold, but not from misuse or neglect. His force staff toped with the symbol of Nurgle the Lord of All. His voice jovial and his spirits high. When he removes his helmet there is a smile upon his face.
[ooc]Do we know each other already?[ooc]
As the Nurgle-touched astartes enters the bar, an abhuman - something called an "ogryn" on Imperial worlds - holds up an enormous, misshapen hand. As he speaks, his words are distorted by a single huge tusk protruding from his lower jaw. He has small eyes and a snout like a pig.
"You know rule! No guns! Knife OK."
As if to accentuate the brute's point, a spite-engine uncoils from the ceiling - a glance up reveals dozens of the sentient machines coiling around each other like a nest of serpents - and looks you over with five beady black eyes. It hisses, oily ichor dripping from iron mandibles.
Feustus shrugs then deposits his guns.
"May I hang onto my staff?"
An average built man walks in silently. He wears red robes bereft of iconography, and anyone who can see into the darkness surrounding his face will see it is utterly still, looking more like a mannequin or corpse than living person. A mechandendrite peeks up at the spite-engine and down into the locker where he deposits his lasgun, and he goes to join the sorcerer.
Feustus and Hephaest make their way to a table. A bartender - scratch that, some kind of servitor with multiple coiled metal appendages asks in a high-pitched mechanical voice that is almost comical...
"What are ye havin'..TCH TCH ye havin'?"
A dataslate flips up out of the things chest and scans through the hundreds of drinks, much too quickly for you to discern what any of them are.
The blade-tavern is about half-full - some regulars you recognize, some you do not.
An older human sits at a large round table, usually used for games of chance and cards. There is a large mound of...tentacles and eyes seated nearby, an uneasy looking woman in a tattered uniform of some sort (with various mechanical augmentations), a figure dressed in black with goggles and a mask, and a woman wearing an Imperial Guard uniform with a massive pink gash running the entire length of her face on the left side. The right side of her face is quite attractive, by human standards. None of the other players seem to be faring very well - a large pile of writs, parchment, and other items lie directly in front of the older man.
He looks up and sees the astartes traitor and the heretek. The man has white sideburns and white hair, and his face is hard and leathery. His right eye is milky white and shows signs of plasma scarring. He smiles crookedly and shouts:
"Come join us. You look as though you have valuables to lose." He chuckles slightly, still smiling crookedly "This lot is almost out. Just a friendly game of Spiked Circle to pass the time. Might even be worth your while. If you have associates arriving, they are welcome to join us."
Samsun enters the bar with pride. Here in this place he is free to display himself without much worry. The Dark Magi of this place welcome brothers like himself, but unfortunately there has been little here to interest him. He deposits his bolter for safe keeping but doesn't relinquish his "staff." With the power-field disabled, it looks like a staff of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but it has been "upgraded" or defiled in the eyes of devoted Tech-priest. To the Dark Tech-priest on Belphagion, his clear sign of disdain for the Ommnissiah was more than welcome.
Wearing robes covering armor that's seen battle over the centuries and 2 whirling mechandrites underneath the robe that seems to stretch over the large figured marine and the unseen shape of his mechanicus implants. While preparing for whatever upcoming mission awaits him, he's neglected to take care of himself as well as he should. Instead of eating or showering he spends his time constantly pouring over notes, artifacts, and whatever else he can get his hands on of interest.
He stands tall, not too muscular, but fit and agile. He easily moves through the bar's patrons, but most step out of his way, more in fear of the unknown than actual fear of Samsun. Underneath his robes polished chains enveloping the power armor, as if they're restraining what's inside, usually carrying most of what he owns, he does have a growing collection of tools that can be used for different jobs. Today is what he spends every day preparing for. Spreading Chaos. Scavenging. Hoarding. Creating. While unaligned to any one god, it's as though he's out to prove something, beckoning their gaze without humbling himself at their feet.
Samsun see’s his companions at a table of chance and decides he’ll join them. He doesn’t say anything, as he’s sure they know he’s already here. He moves through the bar, orders nothing and stands beside the table. He thinks for a moment, delving into his mind and perfect memory, trying to recognize the man at the table and if he knows anything about him or where he is usually seen.
"Sure, why not? It sounds like a great way to pass the time" Chuckles "And maybe we can see who the gods favor right now."
Surely,if there are any gods, they have better to do than favor men in a game of chance. I shall watch, unless there is more than currency to be wagered.
Where are the others? Or are we all that remain?
Karthuus returned to the watering hole. He had been there before, how many times he could no longer say. He deposited his bolt pistol by the door, and the full-sized bolter moments later.
He cut as imposing a figure as any marine, fully armored in modern type VII power armor. The imperial eagle had been crudely shorn off, and replaced with a faceless armor plate that only roughly integrated into the whole.
His eyes surveyed the place for a long moment, trying to place regulars, new arrivals and potential hazards. Things never fully become "quiet" in these parts, but there had been a lull of activity in his own life. Something would soon occur to speed him along, he was sure of it.
"I will join," Hephaest intones. His face is completely still as he speaks, and his voice is flat and somewhat distorted, like it's built through spliced recordings.
He will play conservatively, studying the results of his opponents to gain a measure of those around him. Certainly none could match his information processing, so an opponent with good predictions may indicate a talent of foresight, and an opponent with results that are statistically improbable may indicate a degree of probability manipulation. Either result may also indicate a cheat, who would have to be lucky to not get killed in this establishment.
Zurias strides into the bar and stops at the door, hands on his hips looking around...he nods once, then removes the phoenician-style helmet from his light power armor. His face is beautiful, but his eyes are devoid of anything resembling warm emotion. Cruel green orbs scan the crowd expectantly, then satified that there are no immediate rivals present, he relinquishes a stub revolver, but keeps a neural whip near at hand. His power armor is painted in hues of purple and pink, and as he passes by, you smell some sort of perfume, musky and scented with sandalwood.
He strides purposefully to the bar and orders some sort of crimson drink served in a fluted glass.
How unsurprising to find you lot frittering away your valuables at cards...@the companions.
When the dealer motions that a seat is open Zurias holds up his hand... no dear, I know a bad bargain when I see one...I keep my eyes open for a "sure thing" though. As he says this a casually glances at the other players, finally stopping at the scarred woman. He flashes a bemused and knowing smirk and arches his eyebrow.
Zurias' entrance brought a smile to the parched lips of Karthuus, and he moved besides the unmodified man. A bold statement to make. Especially since some might consider this a sacrament, casting their fortune into the winds of fate. To gamble is to trust their personal fortune and good luck over the meager simplicities of statistics and "natural law".
He kept up the charade for a moment longer, then cracked up laughing. Ah, preachers hogwash. Old habits never truly die, it seems.
By the Dark Prince, Karthuus, you do have a way about you! I received word of this meeting and came as quickly as I was able. Is this truly a Calling? Or...
Zurias' words sound jovial, but you cannot miss the mixture of suspicion and envy in his eyes. A stolen glance downward shows that Zurias is slowly tightening his grip on his whip...
You feel a slight pressure on the back of your mind...you know this is Thought Sending
If you allow it, or fail a WP test at +20 to your WP stat
Why are we here?
Karthuus smile turned a little more sardonic, as he replied to the psycker before him. I can speak but for myself. Truth be told, he did not feel like answering that particular question right away.
Something about the contact of minds still left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, and he was not quite happy with how casually the man before him meddled in the realms immaterial.
As the mans grasp on his neural whip tightened, his honed senses began accessing him as a threat. Yet he decided that openly accepting the challenge would serve nothing but eject him from the meeting. So instead, he turned ever so slightly to display the force sword he had stolen a little more openly.
By all means, speak then. It's not every day I am entertained by the inner workings of an Astartes mind
It is hard to determine if Zurias' tone is mocking or genuine amusement. What you can tell is his grip on the neural whip lessens to an open palm resting on the pommel of the weapon.
"My brothers calm." I stand up and assume the "Does someone need a hug?" stance.
Feustus...it's good to see you again. You're the most clever of us three...maybe you could answer my question. Why are we here?
Float my fluted glass over to my hand and sip delicately...
As Samsun looks over the table and listens to his companions go back and forth, he says The more important question is why are we still on this rock? I think the others had the right idea of leaving.
Why is a trivial question, the heretek drones. We are in this establishment because we walked here. We are on this object because we took craft here. We are still here because we have not left. The important questions and how and where. How shall we leave, and where shall it take us.
Well if we don't much care about the "why" I can start working this crowd for a berth off this benighted chunk of flotsam. Glancing around the room, Zurias tries to identify possible prospects. This may take some time, best make yourselves comfortable...
The old man stands up as you sit, and with his crooked smile still in place, mockingly bows. He glances sharply at the other players who seem to realize that their time playing Spiked Circle is done, and make room at the table for the new arrivals.
"So you look like you've spent enough time in the Vortex to know how Spiked Circle is played. Three rounds of wagers per hand. Of course, I shouldn't have to tell you what happens to cheaters. I'll deal first."
The cards are a blasphemous version of an Imperial tarot deck.
Samsun is the first player to wager, followed by Hephaest and Feustus. Corbin Worldsbane will wager last. He looks at you expectantly.
Such an interesting assortment of wealth...Augh! I must have it!
Zurias' face scrunches up in obvious distaste as he regards the dealer
I'm suddenly taken by the interesting assortment of your...players...at the table. Deal me in. I have this flak cloak.
As he sits down you cannot miss the covetous gleam in his eyes as they regard the pot.
It is already mine...all I must do is reach out my hand to take it! Shiny!
"If we are playing seriously, then I will just watch. I am willing to lend my brothers some ammunition if you think you can win me the Nurgle statue."
I will sit back and keep an eye out for cheating.
@Feustus: You feel an oily sort of pressure at the back of your mind. You know this is Thought Sending
Turning to look at the sender, Zurias has a very smug dirty smile on his face.
Samsun doesn't take the invitation to sit and join the game. He continues to stand and observe his companions.
I'm not familiar with this game. Good luck Zurias.
Good idea, looks to be fun, not sure what I coud do to assist, but I will if I can.
Thank...you...Samsun? It's odd isn't it? How cordiality is met with suspicion and/or confusion? Just a well, there are many who would use such sentimental twaddle to gain an edge on a rival.
Remember that Samsun, those who greet you with smiles and open arms sometimes conceal a dagger for your heart, and those you greet with smiles and open arms may well regard you as weak and seek to use you for their own ends.
Hrrmph...it appears my malcontent drink has wandered far afield again...
Ah there you are...come here you!
Karthuus raised a hand in rejection. His taste for gambling never quite developed, maybe a some lingering remnant of the marine he had once been. Still, he observed the game closely. Knowing who just played their cards as they fell and who actually played the table would potentially be valuable - and this kind of knowledge was best gathered without personal involvement.
Try as he might, though - he wasn't up to the task. He had hoped to find some tell or maybe even catch somebody cheating - but as far as he was able to determine, everyone played fairly and well
I need no edge but the ones I wield. As for simple human emotions and addictions, I placed those aside before your mother's mother was born. I am no stranger to betrayel or the petty quibbles of human society, but there must be some level of trust in those you choose to work with.
As Zurias begins to fetch his drink, a mechandrite slithers out from under Samsun's robes and fetches the cup, catching it in mid-air, with deft precision as not to spill the contents. He gently places it down for Zurias, within arm's reach.
Must you always show your hand? Trust me when I say, its better to keep your friend's close, and your enemies closer. You must carefully choose when to display your abilities, for if you're an open book, then others will read and predict your behavior...Much like gambling.
If you win those ignots, I can put them to good use for you.
Whatever, i spill it, crush it, or something else, doesn't seem too important, but if it matters enough, I'll leave it too the GM to decide
Oh you giant kidder. And here I thought all Astartes were bereft of humor! My enemies now have something new to fear from me when they see I command the Empyrian! They will think twice and more before confronting me.
And it brings me personal pleasure to exercise my skills. You cannot know the sublime joy inspired, when the caressing tendrils of the Warp wash over your body. A skill without practice becomes dulled and imprecise when unused. Yes?
I'm unused to kindness without an ulterior motive though. Your unbidden courtesy is most appreciated! Thank you.
I bet a bolter clip
I shall wager processed goods against raw materials, he says as he places down some unguents and gestures to the ingots.
My offer of the flak cloak still stands
Well, at least I made the deceive with a degree of success! Using that Inf point really worked in my favor! Yay me! Failed the "Notice the cheater" roll :P