"As always I deffer to your knowledge on these matters Khalid."
Wraxus remains seated toward the back of the private room, listening calmly but speaking not. Auctions... tribute... to salvage some wreck? Sounds like a scam to me, but such negotiations are not my perview. Still, there will likely be battle before the week is out, between any others vying for this right. Best to keep my eyes trained and my guard up... Wraxus takes stock of their agent on Footfall, as well as both Lord Captains' attitudes toward him.
Tyboris listens carefully, but can't recall anything of use to add to the conversation. He is intrigued by the prospect of a valuable salvage.
Nimina listens, only half understanding what they're talking about - she likes treasure but the man speaks almost in riddles.
Khalid smiles at the table, continuing to eat his soup loudly. "What I remember being said on the streets, centuries ago, mind you, is that thrones aren't as valuable as they are to the witches...", he says in between bites. "But thrones have value to others, and that's how commerce has worked for the past millenia and will continue until there are no humans left." He chuckles. "And maybe even afterwards, our two friends are proof of that."
"Da old geeza is rumblin about 'oring stuff 'gaun. But sometimes good looz is comin out of da rumblin, so lets jst 'ait 'ere."
"Ya, borin stuff. Maybe we gettin da fightin and da lootz. Or maybe.... day be comin heer?" he grins at Driva
-Posted with Wayfinder
Uncle laughs heartily, his face turning red at the orkz's comments, his four chins shaking vigorously. "It is for this particular reason I've called your esteemed dynasties to this colourific den, masters!", he says, then pauses, eliminating the remainders of his current plate in mere moments.
He wipes his chin and his mouth, then unbuttons his bright blue coat, buttons straining from the pressure. "Our worker bees, collecting the honey of information from the festering flowers of the underworld, are not the only ones that have learned about this most... peculiarly appetizing offer, lieges. I might not have even been the first to sample said rumours, to my gravest regret." He funnels in several large gulps from his goblet. "A few others have already heard of the opportunity that awaits. And as much as the light of their dynasty's candle holds no light to the blistering sun of yours, it'd be best to thread carefully.", he adds cautiously.
"Footfall's Liege, a man who, legally, is the Rogue Traders' humblest servant, has decided to hold a gathering, an informal affair, for I've gathered at least three more Warrant Bearers have arrived personally, and he surely would prefer to have things under his cold, red eyes." He shudders, his mass shaking. "I've come to inform you that the gala will be happening tomorrow night, and I've dutifully collected the invitations for you. And, if you'd forgive the insolence of this most humble of your subjigates, I would suggest that you... take the chance to put an ear to the ground about Footfall in the morning." He waves at the waiter.
"As this place is most deceiving."
Gaius reclined a moment, taking in Uncle's information. "Always good to know the competition, and good to know our host, the liege of Footfall, has such flexible loyalties." He thought a moment, "We should have an advantage in numbers against the other warrant holders, not many have a relationship as friendly as ours. Tonight, let's indulge and in the morning send our respective agents out to gather what information we can. Uncle, do we know if these other traders have already arrived and, if so, where they have set anchor?"
Scratching his belly button in what he perceives to be subtle manner, Uncle nods back. "Oh, his liegedom is a man as socially nimble as a snake, your Benevolent Lordship! Tanthus Moross, he's called, and he is a figure of power here. I believe that you'll see first hand, the thing that passes for high-class society in this station of splendor.", he chuckles, and his chins follow suit. His beady eyes glare on the people surrounding the table, stopping for a brief moment on Numina, as a barely perceivable eyebrow raises on his sweat-stained forehead. "If you would forgive my most dire insolence once more, milords, I would suggest against bringing... longarms to that event. A mere liege has no power to order you, yet it would be unwise to be... overdressed for the occasion. It's uncivil to go against the liege's humble requests."
He shakes his head thoroughly, picking up a tablecloth to wipe his brow in a nervous manner. "I am most sorry to inform you, that I, your most trusted to pick the sweet fruits of information from the twisted orchard of Footfall, have only a poor harvest this time around.", he remarks, taking upon himself to gorge onto a less metaphorical fruit, covered in a thick layer of honey and cinnamon.
"The only one I am certain of, is one Lord-Admiral Bastille the Seventh, a man who's reputation I know even less about, yet I've heard of his naval might. While his guile doubtlessly flickers in yours, milords, I am afraid his ship is quite formidable, from what my little pickers have told me."
Outside the 'Conference' room, Hexa starts to laugh in his exorbitant loud manner.
Zoggit, ya bring yar dress suit with ya? Da bosses 'ere invited for da formal dinna. Ya 'now, with fine plates an portions of food smalla then yar finga tips!
"Ah would hate to offend, d'ya think they could even tolerate my bein' there, or should I sit this one out." Nimina intentionally slips into the drawl of her homeworld, the fancy words of the 'uncle' starting to grate upon her, "I will of course attire and arm myself as my liege sees fit, and remain by his side and defend him naked and unarmed if it comes to it."
Emilio chuckles a tiny bit.
Probably won't come to that.
Although we should prepare for it.
Gaius thought for a few moments, "May have to consult my library on this Lord-Admiral, see if I have anything written about him. I suspect that while longarms are discouraged no offense will be taken with dress blades and discreet pistols?"
Artorius will give someone from his crew a +10 to their check. He has no relevant skills for the check.
Wraxus let's out a sigh from the back of the room. "Such little intelligence on the eve of walking into the lion's den... never bodes well. An impressive escort may set the tone that you mean business. Many eyes to keep you covered. And, should things turn less than civilized, we are available to restore order. And between now and then, we learn what we can regarding the origin and strengths of these other rogue traders."
From what you've heard soldiers and marines say, Admiral Bastille is a fairly competent void commander with an impressive ship. He's, however, bearing the reputation of a short temper and feeling of superiority, even by Rogue Trader standards, and there's lots of... theories about his succession to his family's warrant.
Hexa's successes:
The Admiral commands a small flotilla of warships, aboard his vessel, the Colossus. He's engaged in a small conflict with the Imperial Navy, and while he'd managed to get said conflict contained with judicious use of bribery and connections, he's no longer welcome in the Imperium, and is suspicious of Imperial Navy members. You've heard the man once said, "I'm not interested in making friends. I'm interested in making profits and servants."
Uncle sends Numina a smile, his teeth shining in gold and diamonds. "No, no, no, by all means! The natives of Footfall aren't as refined as most courts you'd see, despite their many wishes. No matter how they dress, a junk rat is a junk rat. And, of course pistols and swords are allowed, milord!" He bites into another fruit, sending juice running down his chins.
He turns to Wraxus. "Do forgive me if I sound patronising, milords, but I have to commend you on the wisdom of your senior staff.", he mentions to the bearers of Warrants. "Indeed, it would be ungainly to venture there, without the weapon of information sharpened and you armed to the teeth with it. I would, of course, lend all my guidance in the matter."
Listening to the conversation through the door, sparks suddenly starts to fly from the crude connections between 'Glados' and the brain of the Ork. The big green brute starts to curse and beat the red-painted holding until it stops spraying sparks. "Eh, stop that Glados, ya crazy squig droppin! I now 'ull 'ell tet I heard da name before. Lemme fink fer meself will ya? Bloody Grox balls of mud!"
"Ha, see Gladis! Me know that me know da guy! He was at da big smashin a few years before! Will tell da boss after he s finished with da fat man. Stupid grox, finking me wuld not rememba!"
"Oii, Boss, come 'ere fer a moment. Ya shuld 'now that da guy da fat one was rumblin about so long ... He had da smashin in da space with da navy some time and is now as welcomed as me an Zoggit ta da 'mperium! Oh, an 'e has da lotz of sips and a big ship calld da 'Collosos' or such. Hes known fer da saying of not makin da friends but slaves an lootz.
He sounds like a good ol' ork boss, eh? "
Iota is not one for being discreet either but he will contact the local AdMech about several things he's interested in.
- What Roguetrader ships have recently docked. Size, Class, requested repairs and repair materials and throwing in his rep as Xenologist what xenotech and xenos crewmen they brought.
- Acquiering the gellerfield parts for his project
- The relationship of the AdMech with this "Liege"
- Their archived data on this so called oracle
Since going to the town is not a good idea for an Ork - even in this town of madness - SkruwDriva will get back to the Intomitable Will and occupy the seat of the primary vox operator, connecting readout connectors to 'Glados'.
"Glados, nows yar time. Search fer da talkings about da 'Tathus Moross', dad shady figure of 'Admiral Bastille' or his flagship the 'Colossus' ... or anyfing else about 'rogue traders', da 'gala'-fing tomorrow. Na stop askin stupid questions, just do it you heap of scraps!"
Artorius will head to a fancy high society establishment of some kind and attempt to integrate himself with some local nobility, or at least what passes for nobility on an unwashed and backward world such as footfall.
just barely a success.
Iota resigns himself to just taking the information he seeks after long and fruitless talks with the local AdMech.
He jacks into the footfall network using his interface electoo and his combitool to access all open and not-so-open databases he can find.
He sifts through them rapidly by applying intuition on the data by using his good cortex implant as internal cogitator.
Criteria:
- Roguetrader activity this Year
- Roguetrader ship data this Month
- Oracle no date restricitons
- Information regarding Tanthus Moross no date restriction
- Information regarding Lord-Admiral Bastille the Seventh no date restriction
~ 5DoS
Back on the Will, Gaius remains in his library as a pair of armsmen and any senior staff who wished to attend look on. He is largely silent for sometime, drumming his fingers on the table while examining his books. "Not the information I was hoping for. Alright, let's try a different tack."
He taps his voxbead to link to his command channel, "Hexa to my quarters, I'll need a report. Emilio, Zoggit, grab a few armsmen and attend to some houses of ill repute, see if you can scrape up any information from the courtesans. Master Tyboris, I'd like you to see what the machine spirits can dredge up about the other warrant holders. Master of the Vox, give me a direct, encrypted line to my nephew."
Once the line was established with Artorius he began, "First, let's assume our competition know that we work together but not give them the satisfaction. We'll go in separately and act somewhat hostile to each other, if anyone asks there was some business deal that soured. See what we can tease out of them if they think we can be drawn away from one another. Second, let's see about coming at this from different angles. You've a more pious reputation than me, see about taking the high road and I'll take the low? Meet in the middle and squeeze the opposition."
Zoggit gives a weird sallute and does what the humie says. He go see da so called pretty ladies. Not sure why. But humies are strange to start with. So best play along.
"Zoggit is on it!" he gives him a wide toothy grin
-Posted with Wayfinder
Wraxus has little skill at information gathering, yet does know one source for reliable intel - the hangar bays. Or more specifically, the teams who work there, unloading cargo, doing minor repairs, refueling vessels, and the like. Hunting his way from the berths for major interstellar vessels to these lesser locales, Wraxus will talk with those crews, as well as any passing pilots, regarding activity in Footfall.
As he attempted to acquire information with the Ad-Mech, his vox-kit trembles, spurting out a stream of data.
"Please hold until a qualified Magos can respond to your query. Estimated waiting time is... SevEnteeN daYS, ThirTEEN hoURS, fifTY-fiVE minutes and THRee seconds." The channel then begins transmitting schematics for lasgun variants all over the Sectorum, which, while enjoyable, are quite useless.
Most of the information acquired from the Network is varying technical information, of little use to the Rogue Traders. New information encovered reveals that Admiral Bastille's ship is a cruiser in good repair, and is accompanied by two run-of-the-mill raiders.
The Mechanicus, funiily enough, doesn't classify the information as belonging to the captain, but rather to the chief Magos on board, of course. In addition, there is no information circulating regarding Rogue Traders in the main network. A couple of vessels of note is one that appears to be fielding xeno-tech, and another one, that has been identified as destroyed on two occasions.
Numina escorts the odd person left and right. A thing of interest is a thirty-second bar fight with two severely drunk and disorderly, and somewhat grabby voidsmen, after which the bartender offers drinks, free of charge.
Artorius makes his way to the most-widely advertised place for relaxation on Footfall, the famed Servants of the Throne. Inside, he is quickly escorted to the most exquisite room, and placed upon an impossibly soft couch, the leather made from the hide of an extinct species, and is left alone for a moment to wonder whether the columns in the room are made of gilded marble or marbled gold, a crystal glass of amasec placed in his hand. Soon, another person walks in, dressed in a rag-tag fashion, carrying a set of fine pistols on his hips. He jumps on a couch and grabs a decanter.
"You know what this place needs?", he asks, lighting up a foul smelling cigarette. "More statues. Of me, preferrably.", he says, chuckling, then stands up, extending a hand, covered in gaudy rings. "Jeremiah Blitz, Rogue Trader, Adventurer, Spawner of Bastards.", he says, offering the decanter. "Who's you?"
As the night approaches, the vox pings on both bridges. As the well-trained hand turns it on to transmit, the static-filled image resolves into a monstrous brute, a vaguely man-shaped creature consisting almost entirely of exquisitely crafted bionic augmentations. Even his face has been re-crafted into a stylised death’s head of chased silver, though the eyes remain disturbingly human. When he speaks, however, his voice is surprisingly soft.
“Greetings, honoured Rogue Traders. My name is Tanthus Moross, Liege of Footfall, and it gives me pleasure to welcome you here, amongst so many of your august companions. If you so desire, I have taken the liberty of sending two of the finest vehicles for you and your retinues.” With that, the man bows down, and turns off the comms.
Eyes off, ya twice accursed heathens!
"Vox master please inform the esteemed Liege of Footfall that we will make our own way to his palace." He turns to his head of security, "Something about this place doesn't make me feel comfortable using transport provided by someone else."
Emilio heads off with Zoggit for the night.
Iota focuses on the vessel that has been noted as destroyed twice before - this sounds to him like the kind of danger and resourcefulness a rogue trader would have to deal with
Iota means to build a portable geller field generator small enough to be deployed on a platform or even as a gun. The geller field would be very small but concentrated to account for the smaller energy source.
The field would extend outwards from the muzzle. Like shooting a concentrated beam of 'reality'
To be used for research purposes on daemons, warp phenomena and psykers - and because Iota would like to have something effective against them around if he encounters them again(Dark Voyage Background)
Honestly I don't have any expectations what happens if/when he get's to test this thing. It started as the idea for him to have a pet project to work on whenever he has time - something a tech priest would have.
So feel free to ignore it or use it as plot device of any kind if inspiration strikes. I'll use it to anoy ppl IC with technobabble at the very least ; )
Tyboris acknowledges the commands of the Captain, he had accompanied him back to the library to see if the ship contained any valuable information regarding the men in question.
Search (Untrained) Per 17 + Auger (20)?? vs Fail
Literacy 51 vs Fail
Being of little use among the library, his size unable to handle and search with ease, he wastes time on useless books that do not help the endeavor.
Once his orders are received, he attempts to search the ships cogitators for more information, using his MIU to access them.
Int 51 +10 MIU vs 4 DOS
In preparation for the the event, Tyboris selects his finest Mechanicus robes, slings his power axe over his back and does acquire 2 las pistols to tuck away.
As First Officer his duties are also to make sure the ship is well guarded during the party and that in any event resources are ready at a moments notice to aid the party at leave. He readies additional transport and men who to be stationed and full armed, all on stand by should the need arise. He assigns medics and some tech-priest as well to accompany them, preparing for any eventuality his paranoid mind could conjure. Lastly, he orders men stationed on the ground near the even and in the surrounding areas, all on the look out for deception or treachery. This many Rogue Traders together on such a backward world, presented too good an opportunity for deceit. He would not allow his crew to be caught off guard and the mission and Captain compromised.
Nimina kills time mostly, ensuring a transport and armsmen are prepped and ready to go, leaving her hellgun in the transport so it's to hand for later. She'll also check the combat servitors are ready, unless her lord-captain has any other plans for them.
After the vox, Nim licks her lips. "Well he looked deli... decidedly competent." Nim glances around the others, "transport is all ready to go, do you think the armor suitable, or should I find something with a short skirt?"
Blitz grins, taking another long sip of the amasec. "Right! Well, well, it seems this place has a Pair of Peers, right?", he chuckles, crashing back on the couch. "Tell you what, I'm dropping the ball here.", he says, putting his legs on the handrests and unbuttons his shirt. "Reckon you're here for the same fortune-telling mumbo-jumbo as I am. Didn't think anyone else is crazy enough to listen to that, but, heck. I didn't get where I am by playing it safe. All I'm gonna say, Artorius, is that we're here for the same thing, but I've got no plans of stabbing you in the back. No promises on stabbing you in the front, though!", he lets out a semi-drunken laugh, then puts his fingers in his mouth, whistling with an ear-piercing noise, and waves at two of the companions. "C'mon, ladies! Time's money!" He sends a look at Artorius. "Which one d'you want?"
On the bridge of the Victus Rex, the Vox-Master nods his augmented skull. "Message sent, lordship!", he replies in half a second.
A pilot comes next to Wraxus, letting out a crisp salute, and staring upwards in a strict manner, despite the fact that puts his head a foot and a half above Wraxus' own. "Sir! The lieges' transports are ready. Sir!", he says, saluting the void-master in the usual manner.
As preparations are made, Khalid appears, showing a toothless smile. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm far too old to go to parties, young masters!" He sends a nod at Tyboris. "I'll make sure your orders are followed to the letter, Magos." He pours himself a cup of foul smelling tea and sits on his ottoman.
Coordinates are quickly relayed to you by the Vox-Master. The short flight takes you over to see Footfall, the dim gray and yellow lights flickering in this den of vice and iniquity. The enourmous metal chains, famously holding the asteroids of Footfall together, are seen with greater detail, the shape of the station being one of a particularly vile looking virus.
The coordinates lead to a top of a spire, a mere needle in comparison to the great spires of Scintilla, as a humongous build of marble, resembling a cross between a lighthouse and a cathedral topping the spire. As the transports lower their altitude, it's clear that you're among the last to arrive, as various landers and mag-cars fill the space around the building. Most of them humble, even ramshackle for Rogue Trader standards, but each of them costing more than a thousand manufactorum workers can dream of earning throughout their entire lifetime.
The coordinates change to identify a more private landing pad, and a different sight is revealed. Three landers are seen, each of them vastly different than the other, with space for at least a dozen more clearly available. Upon landing, your eyes can clearly see the three:
The first one, a visibly archeotech machine, painted in radiant, jade green, two figures in power armour standing motionless in front of the doors;
The second, a respectable, reliable, and luxurious vessel;
The third stands out the most, a brutal and heavy vessel, seemingly more fitted for a War World, rather than a high-class party. Painted in black, with dark crimson stripes, and a twin-linked heavy bolter on top.
After a brief moment of Binary communication, Iota and Tyboris can't seem to agree on the jade speeder's origin and model, but they can notice the lost craftsmanship. The power armour is of a model, notoriously expensive to maintain, usually only requisitioned for personal guards or Rogue Traders.
Wraxus' well-trained eyes notice that the pattern of the brutal vehicle is one he'd been warned about in the Navy. The pattern had once been manufactured by a Forge World, lost to Chaos, and there have been precious few models remaining in Imperial control.
As Hexa finally manages to draw his eyes away from the dakka-ness of the black truck, he seems to glance over the seemingly boring craft, only to have a 'spine-tingla!' As Glados zooms in, he notices that the craft seems to be in a much worse state than it looks, and has had make-shift repairs done on it, and it having stitches upon stitches, parts being replaced.
As your craft finally lands, an immaculately ironed valet appears, seemingly out of nowhere. "Masters. Liege Tanthus Moross welcomes you to his gala. I am here to escort you, whenever you're ready." He bows down deeply, and moves courteously to the side, far out of earshot.
Wraxus don' need no roll. He da bestest wiv flyin' things!
Gaius emerges from the lander, his armsmen moving to take up guard stations by the off ramp. His attire is a faux navy uniform of the highest quality and his dress sword and pistol are holstered neatly on a hand-tooled leather belt fashioned from rare leather. He's adorned himself with a gold chain about his shoulder, sapphire earrings, and rings with inset diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. Mascara brings out his blue eyes and he appears to be wearing rouge to accentuate his cheekbones.
"Ehh, boss? Ya sure me shuld come alon? Last time me was fearin da 'ell out of the hummies in da town. I got da hummi cloths an all, but ... Hexa is not sure ifs enough, ya know? Wouldn't stay in da way of yar lootz-making an all."
The big ork looks down, in obvious discomfort at the outfit he is wearing: Something like six or seven good suits were stitched together by a skillful shipmen, his boots are shiny as never before and his head is topped with an old top hat that some helpful crewman found in an unused locker. Another helpful person created a white tie from a desk blanket and finally anyone got him a golden monocle on a chain on top of it all.
The only accessory of his own is a 'walking stick' of plain, blackened metal with an attached grip of white leather. A substitute chopper if it comes to the worst.
That Jade Green ship gives me concern, as do the men in ancient power armor guarding it. Clearly that Dynasty has significant resources and has come to do business...One way or another. He orders the men staying behind to keep him updated of the ships nearby and their escorts guarding them, wanting to know immediately if they move or take any action besides standing guard. The things I could learn from such a piece of Archeotech thinking of the ship as much as the power armors. As they exit, he checks to make sure his MIU is linked to the shuttles vox uplink with the ship, so he may maintain communications as a secondary precaution, while uploading layouts of the interior spine that he plans to construct with his auspex and relay back to the ship and men standing by to act should things go wrong. His paranoia, while perhaps to a level of some embarrassment to some goes without saying to those used to serving by his side. He scans each ship with his auspex for any unusual energy signatures and heat patterns indicating additional bodies inside the transports. Slowly working his way from the closest ship to the furthest:
Ship 3:Tech use for Auger: Int 51 +10 (61)vs
Internal Auger scans: Per 35+ 20 (55) vs
Ship 2: Tech use for Auger: Int 51 +10 (61)vs
Internal Auger scans: Per 35+ 20 (55) vs
Ship 1: Tech use for Auger: Int 51 +10 (61)vs
Internal Auger scans: Per 35+ 20 (55) vs
Nimina dresses up, though it's obvious she doesn't do so often. High boots, short skirt and tight-laced corset make her look more like she's expecting an entirely different type of party. Her blue and white hair and facial electoo's not doing anything to dissuade anyone of the notion, and her makeup is both light but overdone. Her lips too bright a shade of red and her eyeshadow too prominent and too blue, though no-one ever taught her the subtleties of foundation or blush.
It is not an entirely unattractive look, if you're into punk amazons...
She wears her blade and pistol fairly casually, in a style ready for use rather than for formal decoration. Her carapace vest and her hellgun will be to hand in the vehicle in case she needs them.
Nim fondles the hilt of her sword and nods at the armoured pair as she says "Think I'd fit in that power armour if I just took his head clean off? That comes under salvage rights, right?"
Before getting ready Iota compiles a report about his meager findings on the two suspicious ships and sends them to Tyboris as file and sends a tech acolyte to hand a copy each to Khalid and Von Castmirre
Iota is dressed in his best rust red Robe - the one inlaid with bronze circuitry which pulses with energy in specific intervals.
It transmit devotional texts praising the Omnissiah in binary if decoded using the correct intervals using pulsing=1 and not pulsing=0. The pulsing also creates a small electromagnetic field which when viewed through the right frequency filters forms an Image of an unspecific Xenos stealing a tech trinket from an icon of the Omnissiah.
He's wearing his light carapace breastplate underneath the closed robe. His Poweraxe is holstered a bit to his back so the cogwheel symbol on the blade seems to be its main attraction. He swapped out his Bolter for a suitably posh looking but otherwise run of the mill Laspistol, also holstered to look like a dress accessory rather than for use.
The laspistol is has a red-dot laser sight installed and both the pistol and the axe are fitted with dipol maglocks so they can be drawn easily despite seeming to be out of reach.
The short communication with Tyboris is a bit more heated for the benefit of anyone who might be listening in on them. He mocks him for not having his "two green test subjects" under control and claims that the suits of power armor would fall out of work within weeks under Tyboris maintenance regime.
He walks straight towards one of the guards and starts circling him at about an arms length, looking all over the interesting piece of tech.
"It would be a horrible crime to harm the suit in such a manner Nimina. Such a venerable relict is to be praised as gift from the Omnissiah and studied, not further desecrated. If you must then I believe this design might predate effective environmental sealing so it should be quite possible to get rid of the content without harming the relic"
While doing so he takes pictures using his remembrance implant and attempts to scan the suit using his internal augers.
I had to re-read how augurs work, damnit!
The power armour is about as ordinary (by human power armour standards!) The usual weak points are the power cell at the back, which is usually armoured itself.
The valet continues to remain motionless as the retinue approaches him, and he bows down. "If you would be so gracious as to follow me, please?", he says, leading the party inside. On the way, you notice the nearly thirty feet tall, ornate doors of the private entrance you're using.
As you make your way down through the vast corridors, you notice the walls covered in various works of art, ornate statues, and the occasional servitor darting around. The valet points to another tall ornate door, manned by two servitors, their skulls covered with golden masks and their artificial limbs shining.
"Pardon me, madam and sirs,", turns the valet towards you, his professionalism showing by the fact he only glanced over the orks for a fraction of a second.
"How do you prefer to be introduced? Any titles I should be aware of?", he asks curtly.
"'His Grace' should do for me, no need to rattle off my titles, we'll be here long into the night otherwise."
"Magos Explorator Xenologis should filter the requests for social interaction to those with acceptable levels of basic knowledge"
Said only after Von Castmirre was introduced of course.
"Rogue Trader Artorius Von Castmirre, Captain of the Victus Rex should suffice if we are keeping things brief. But keep in mind order of prescience I should be announced before that scoundrel Gaius"
"Uhmm..." The big Ork looks surprised as he is questioned for his name and title. He scratches his head and knocks a little bit against 'Glados' hull.
Glados ya box full of scrap, help me wif da stupid language of da hummies a bit, will ya! Cant have da boss get mad wif us, 'caise we insulted some stupid bag of s$~* on da party!
"I am Hexa'SkruwDriva. Master of Arms on board of the Indomitable Will of his grace LORD Gaius Valerius Metallus."
Some sparks sprouts from the connection with Glados and he adds: "And this is here is our Chief Bosun and good fellow Zoggit. Nice to meet you."
Buargh, Glados u sure this s how one 'sposed ta do it?! Disgushtin!
At Artorius's insult, Gaius pouts and holds a hand to his chest, "How you wound me nephew, but yes feel free to announce him first. Save the best for last." With that a grin creases his lips.
"Very well, milords and lady.", the valet simply answers with a bow. He snaps his fingers, and the two heavily gilded servitors open the massive gates in unison.
The sight to which you are treated is amazing, even by your experienced and expensive standards. A massive ballroom, easily the size of a small ship's bridge, is revealed, populated with tiny, little people, dressed in fashion, hopelessly trying to imitate that of richer, more refined worlds.
However, as soon as the doors open, your eyes glance upon not the insignificant people within, but the fact that the roof is instead a thick glass dome, the windows inlaid with brass and gold, beyond which you can see upon the terrible wrath of Furibundis, the star of Footfall, with its intense, purple glare.
The valet steps forward, showing you a grand staircase, splitting in two, one for Gaius' retinue, one for Artorius'. He clears his throat, and stands before a gilded microphone.
"Please, welcome Rogue Trader Artorius Von Castmirre, Lord-Captain of the Victus Rex and his retinue!", his voice echoes in the quieted chambers.
"Pilot Wraxus Drake, Master Helmsman of the Victus Rex"
"Magos Explorator Xenologis Iota Signus, Enginseer Prime of the Victus Rex"
"Lady Nimina Vols, Arch-Militant and Master at Arms of the Victus Rex"
With that, he courteously shows you the left staircase, in order for you to welcome the room.
"Please, welcome His Grace, Gaius Valerius Metallus, Bearer of the Warrant of Trade, Lord-Captain of The Indomitable Will and his retinue!"
"Magos Tyboris of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Chief Enginseer of The Indomitable Will!"
"Emilio, Arch-Militant of His Grace!"
"Hexa ScruwDriva, Master of Arms of The Indomitable Will"! Much to the man's credit, he doesn't pause for a moment when facing the xeno name. You all get the feeling he might possibly be fluent (not simply understandable) in Eldar.
"Zoggit, Chief Bosun and Good Fellow of The Indomitable Will!" With that, he turns around and ushers you to the right. Hexa's intense scrutiny fails to detect a smile in the valet's face, though his eyes do linger on him for a bit.
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As the two parties make their way down the stairs, a thunderous clap is heard emanating from the end of the central table, where a monstrous brute, a vaguely man-shaped creature consisting almost entirely of exquisitely crafted bionic augmentations, mounted on top of a palanquin, approaches them, clapping his mechanical hands.
His voice, soft as silk, carries in a whisper loud enough for the whole ballroom to hear. "Welcome, welcome, masters.", he says, as the palanquin approaches. His head turns to send an interested look at Numina, as his red, augmetic eyes turn to face the Rogue Traders. "It is my pleasure to welcome you here. As your host and most faithful servant to all who bear the Writ, I must ask you to enjoy the gala. Meet the finest of Footfall, and beyond!" A servitor, covered in platinum and gold, bearing a bow-tie encrusted with diamonds, appears next to you silently, carrying a nearly table sized tray of various drinks. "And do sample the dishes, I've had the finest chefs of all corners of the Expanse come and make them.", he gestures towards the table, where several groups of vastly curious people stare at the... dishes.
Right, so, dishes. There is several incredibly weird looking things on high platters, too strange even for you. However, what you notice is that most of the people in the party seem even more surprised than you are.
They resemble:
- A burned eel in a milky gray-pink sauce.
- Small, incredibly cute, soft-looking crabs. That are alive. In a cage. Next to some weird looking cutlery.
- Broken eggs, doused in gasoline, with glass shards in them, of a neon-yellow colour.
- Something looking like a human brain, with spider legs, covered in a sauce that vaguely reminds the Orks of Painboyz.
- A tremendously wrong looking thing, as if a snake crawled out of the Warp, thrashed for centuries, and smelling as if the whole thing was buried onto a Cemetary World next to the Eye. Whoever the chef was, you want him tried for heresy.
You're thinking that if you show your taste in sampling those dishes, however, people would be respectful of your following of the trends.
Two of the Rogue Traders are immediately noticeable by both parties.
First, Jeremiah Blitz has amassed a small gathering of Footfallers around him, as he appears to be telling a tale, undoubtedly of himself, with lots of hand gestures.
The second, while not familiar, is a striking looking woman, visibly in her early thirties, wearing a jade green dress with a cut for her legs, and accompanied by two guards in jade power armour several meters to her right. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't have the surrounding of filthy masses Jeremiah has, and is enjoying a drink, speaking with a younger looking blonde.
Numina spies a massive looking thug, barely smaller than the orks, in a badly tailored suit keeping an eye out on Moross, in a terribly one-sided duel with a bottle of amasec.
With that, you're left to your own devices, as the servitors, carrying Moross' palanquin appear to crouch for a second, as if the palanquin itself is bowing down.
"Hoo, lets get this ova wif, eh? "
Still laughing he grabs a handful of those live grabs, crunching two against each other like one would open nuts, and throws them in his large maw. "Ohh, not bad! Nof bab ad ahl! Cud be larger."
Then he sets off towards the large thug on the bar, sitting down heavily on a chair near the bs and orders something strong: "Something stronga then da fellow 'here has!" As soon as he gets something he nods the thug over. "Com over an hav a seat, will ya? Tis is gonna get 'orin quick. Yu watch yar boss, me watchin ma boss, an nofing Eva happens. Lets 'ave some 'ood ol' drinks together ... They pay fer once! I'm Hexa fer me friends an I'm watchin afta da boss. 'Specially since him crashed with da otha boss ova some nonsense, ya 'now? "