"Oh well since the chain of command has been broken already I am 92% certain I understand what they want well enough to make an acceptable bid"
Iota stands up and waits a short moment for attention before he continues.
"I bid... a personal project of mine from back when I still hunted xenos for the Adeptus. It is an eldar aspect warrior caught in a stasis trap in the moment of death, just as the spirit stone activates and the soul begins to travel from the body to the stone, now being caught in stasis eternally trapped between body and soul.
Naturally the stasis trap has been refined ever since and after long hours of careful experimentation - and dare I say it: innovation - it now includes an activateable interference field setting free only part of the soul for readings and experimentations while still keeping it trapped by both the body and the stone."
This piece is one of Iotas favorites. Having caught the xenos himself as a tech guard back when a small Eldar taskforce invaded his home forge world in an operation completely ilogical in the eyes of of the AdMech it links neatly with his days as a rank and file tech priest where he had his work schedule and experimentations dictated by the close minded blunt cogs that were is superiors, never quite daring to mess with the field enough to get results, forgetting the whole thing in a less used corner of a storage room - probably because Iota 'accidentally' redeclared the storage room as being 4m smaller in the database and thus having the servitors ignore the existance of the extra space.
He returned for it shortly after entering van Castmirres service - now a changed man after his long fight to ascend to Magos and his subsequent ministrations to the idiosyncrasy that was the Occurrance Border he installed the interference field and did all the readings he could think of but the soul being matter of the warp never quite registered a logical pattern on which research could've been built. So he has long since decided to attach a psyker to the experiments but other duties prevented him from selecting a suitable candidate.
Thus his conclusion that this piece would catch the interest of the wytches - and having them tamper with it can be seen as an experiment in itself, when he returns to find out what they made of it many years from now.
Gaius considers a moment, tilting his head as if listening to someone whispering in his ear. He nodded once before speaking, "I bid the original copy of 'The Observations and Musings of Nomenthraite the Mad,' as well as the dais it was penned on."
Where Gaius found the original copy of the The Observations and its dais is anybody's guess. A tome of lore long-deemed heretical, possession of third hand copies would be sufficient to attract inquisitorial attention in Imperial space. Nomenthraite was a heretic and sorcerer of some note in the late 36th millennium and was the leader of a cult that took its lessons from the demon-primarch Fulgrim. The original tome is said to have been penned on vellum taken from still living Eldar farseers and inked in the writer's own blood. The dais was supposed to have been crafted from the defiled bones of Imperial saints and the site of some of the most twisted prayers and rituals to the Prince of Excess.
The Intercessor looks down, as the room quiets considerably at Iota's suggestion. Without him even raising his body to converse, he slams the gavel down. "The bid... is accepted.", he says. The few watching catch Madame Charlabelle's mouth open for a split second, before she hides her face once more behind a fan.
At Gaius' suggestion, there are a few quiet gasps around the room, as the Intercessor rises. This time, he remains in the air for a considerably longer period of time than you've ever seen him, before setting down on the chair once more. "The bid is... accepted.", you hear him say, slamming the gavel down.
As the room quiets down, a few more bids are accepted, and a lot more, denied. Everyone of the Rogue Traders you've met have had their bids accepted, and a few other individuals you're not familiar with.
A three-armed mutant starts pacing around the benches, and hands you both a parchment, with the simple words. Tomorrow Midnight. Obsidian Emporial. The parchment appears stained and soiled, yet the ink is fresh.
"Sounds like boss man has sum fansy shmanzy stuf!" he claps Hexa on the shoulder
"Not as fanzy as da toof, but humie dunno lootz when day seez it ey!"
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"Eh, dunno giv' a fart! Smashed point-ear an 'alf-rodden books? Maybe you had won wiff a bottle of yer droppings, eh? "
What do Ork-Boys on loose ... Wandering to the deepest pits of the Footfall Underworld and getting drunk while winning drink-games, participating in weird and dangerous street-races and getting into a mass brawl in a bar. Maybe - or not - asking some about the Obsidian Eporialwhatsnot fing and some of the weird names from the auction while smashing out their teef?
-- Some Activities: --
Iota starts with giving the orders necessary to prepare the experiment for transportation. After that he'll ensure that the ship is in perfect repair and refuel so it is ready to launch with maximum efficiency to have the performance edge if things turn into a run for the objective between the involved rogue trader dynasties.
Once that is done he finally takes some leasure time for himself - immersing himself in the local datanet and reading up on the state of the art of the local technology here.
Hexa's carousing and general no-goodery in the lower reaches ends as he sits down with a man he's seen before, the infamous Jeremiah Blitz. He and his retinue appear to have had the same idea, and after a somewhat uneventful, yet terribly amusing for the onlookers brawl, he sits down alongside his retinue. "Well then, my orky boy! I'd been mistaken! Thought your captain to be a bit of a stick in the mud, myself, but it seems he's got quite the eye for... difference in approach." He leans back on a chair, and, surprising for a 'umie as rich as him, takes a glass by himself, and doesn't even test it for poison. "Tell you what, I've got no clue what your people offered, but it must've been decent. Can't stand most literature, myself. What was it you xenos said, you'z'z made for fightin'? Live by them words, myself." He chuckles. "So, let's say we make a deal. We trade insults, the first one that doesn't know what the other one means, buys the next round. Or makes someone in this bar buy the next round, if you don't got the Thrones." A golden and diamond-studded grin appears on his face.
As the party gathers into the Obsidian Emporial once more, the feel of the place is much different than the place teeming with masses a mere day before. The place is quieted down, as you feel eyes and ears crawling towards you in the darker corners. Only the resolute mutants sit on the doors, and they nod you in.
As the lumbering, silent guards haul back the rusted gate, you step over the threshold and into what the locals ominously call “the cell.” You soon see why. You find yourself at one end of a long, wide corridor, the walls lined with cracked and tainted ceramic tiles. The floor is littered with detritus, including discarded, soiled bandages and broken and barely recognisable medical ephemera. The guards lead the way, and as you follow, you see a number of armoured doors to either side. Though you see nothing through the tiny peepholes set in each door, you just know that there’s someone, or something, beyond each. The guards proceed down the corridor with a slow, deliberate stride. Reaching the far end, they haul open a second gate, and beckon you into the darkness within. As you step forward, you notice the guards do not enter with you.
With a resounding metallic clang, the last gate is closed behind you. Darkness engulfs you, and your senses become alert to all manner of out-of-place sounds. The temperature drops, and your skin feels clammy as the air takes on an unclean, moist characteristic.
Iota seems cold and logical as usual. His hands wander to his mag-locked weapons - this time around his trusted and tried boltgun is held by them alongside the axe and he wears the full set of armor underneath the robes, only leaving the helmet at his belt.
He tries to look at the whole structure open to him once, storing the layout for later conversion into data in his remembrancer implant.
"Quite an efficient design, funneling customers along the cells to decrease their confidence. These 'wytches' might not be as irrational as usually attributed to them."
Gaius remains impassive in the cloying darkness, though for a moment he seems to purr with pleasure.
"Agreed, Magos. And rationality is far preferable to a lack there of, even if it's a twisted rationality."
A little exhausted by the brawl - the best feeling possible for an ork! - Hexa grins at the man who sits beside I'm on the floor of the devastated bar. "Harharharr, boy 'at was 'bout time! Good 'ol time, hummi! Tell ya whot! Make Hexa funk of da time he met da Boss! Da bar did sure look like da one aftawads. If tha boss wild not be da boss, me might 'ave followd yar, ya 'now? Ya 'ave wud it takes da be da boss! Gimme da numba fing an me may call ya if dere somefing fer yet kind da do, eh? Wild love da smosh with yar on me side!"
Following the boss again, Hexa enters the room without a glance - halfway through the wildly exaggerated story about the events of the other night and laughing loudly with Zoggit.
Still laughing about the human he force-fed with a bottle of some liquor that had gas in it and the human sprouting the liquid from all his openings after a few seconds, Hexa does not even notice what is happening in the dark room.
As the darkness engulfs their company, Wraxus' nerves stay cold as ice. "The darkness, what, a child's attempts to shake our resolve?" As designed, his helmet's integrated photo-visor activates, allowing him a clear view of the otherwise space-dark chamber. As he acclimates to the altered form of sight, he fingers slide across the handle of his autogun, preparing for any situation.
Zoggit looks about. His eyes darts about but he keeps calm. Recalling the brawl
"Dey humiez trying to scare uz? Whut happens i me dezides to be all scared like and smash dem tings dat i tink iz doing da scaring stuff?"
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Iota takes a moment to cycle through the available auspex detection types of his auger arrays.
"heh, I've spent years in a hole of a prison, this ain't going to get me down none."
A small glint of approval can be seen (or is that the light?) on the face of one of the mutants, who stands by the door console to open it. As the room opens, nothing but faint smoke and mist is seen, as your silent guide lets you into the lair of the Seven Witches of Footfall...
Even as swirling, gibbering voices chatter incoherently in your ears, you begin to make out the scene before you. The inner sanctum of the Seven Witches is wreathed in shadows so deep they appear as wells of the stuff of the outer darkness. Against the flickering light of a dozen malfunctioning electro-lumens you can just make out the silhouettes of those others who are to bear to the Foretelling. But for now, it is the spectacle at the centre of the chamber that holds your attention… "Welcome," seven voices, each of a different pitch, say at once, "to our sanctuary." The source of the voices appears at first to be a shadowed, tangled mass at the centre of the room. Upon looking closer, however, you see that the mass is actually seven separate figures, each somehow intertwined with the next. Each Witch has the stature of a child, yet the wizened features of an impossibly ancient crone. Their teeth are blackened, and their eyes are rheumy. Their skin is gnarled as old leather, and their white hair lank and intertwined.
Amongst the fog, you can spot the faces and familiar silhouettes of those you've seen get accepted to the bid. Whether their response the same as yours, you can't tell, as the unnatural voices beckon you once more.
“Many have heard the call,” the Witches speak as one, their thin lips moving in unison. "Yet, how few shall reach the destination.
The figures crowding the chamber shuffle uncomfortably as the Witches unleash a low, gurgling, and entirely mirthless laugh. "Hush now," they croon. "You shall have what you paid for. What you deserve."
At this, the Seven Witches join hands, raise their heads, look around the chamber one last time, and close their eyes. The temperature in the room drops once more, and the dampness in the air grows even more uncomfortable, as their mouths snap open.
And then, quite suddenly, the Seven Witches open their mouths as one. A distant moan emanates from the throat of each, a sound that does not come from them, but some terrible far-off place. Cold dread engulfs you, and you see that many of the other witnesses are equally affected. One bends double and vomits across the floor, earning disgusted glares from those nearby. And then, the sound coming from the mouth of each witch reaches a discordant crescendo, each a different note forming an impossible chord, the pitch and tone of the damned as they wail and writhe in the benighted depths of the empyrean. Reality collapses, and you are cast into a world of pain.
"Someone make that unnatural noise stop."
"Whaddahell?! Weirdboyz!!"
Hexa draws his bizzare slugga gun in wild panick and sliding back the firing mechanism with a loud 'chrzdang'.
"Great Omnissiah preserve this cog in your blessed machinery! This is not meant to be happening! This is illogical"
Iota closes his eyes and attempts to shut his ears with his hands.
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"Oi! Quit ya screeming or me clozez dat mouf of yours real quick!" he yells back at the screaming witches, his entire crew is suffiring, even Hexa!
"Weirdboyz! Imma commin for yah!!!" he roars as he starts to make his way to the Screaming horrors
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Nimina's eyss roll back in her head as she struggles with the pain.
Wraxus had remained resolute through much of the engagement with the Witches, yet as their wailing reaches a cacophonic climax, the otherworldly effects of their warp-magic tears through his body and mind, unleashing flashbacks of pain and anguish, back to his creation in the genitor labs.
As Zoggit lunges forward, two mutants move in his way, rising a finger to their lips as if to quiet him down. Several other figures appear to have remained awake, despite the sheer unrelenting force of the psychic power, and they're being similarly constrained or detained by the mutants. While their efforts are far from gentle, they do appear to have no other goal than to ensure the smooth going of the ritual.
"They will be fine, ork.", whispers a mutant next to you. "Sight can only be bestowed, and few have the force of will to resist Them.", he hisses, raising his hands to show no ill will. "Sit, and let Them show them their reward."
Those who have succumbed to the vision, feel an overwhelming power take to their minds, as their senses are pushed aside for a singular purpose, the vision of the Seven Witches of Footfall.
You are adrift upon the currents of a raging sea of boiling energy, liquid pain pressing in upon you and filling your mouth and lungs. The raw stuff of nightmare swirls all around, forming and reforming into nightmarish shapes suggestive of leering faces or screaming mouths. Your entire consciousness is subsumed amidst a mournful wailing so unbearably loud you cannot even form coherent thought.
For an indeterminate time you are sucked into eddies of despair and ejected through streams of desolation. You become slowly aware of the screaming all around taking on a new form, the voices coming together into seven separate strands to give voice to a single chord. The sound is not heard as mortal ears detect such things, but instead speaks directly to the soul, crystallising in the mind as hard, certain and terrible knowledge.
Into the memory of each of you is implanted a cipher, a time and a place. You see in your mind’s eye a raging, incandescent nebula, a storm in the depths of the Koronus Expanse. Even as you watch, or recall, this sight, the storm recedes to reveal an oval gemstone glittering against the black veil of space. You are consumed by an all encompassing desire to own this perfect gem, for you know with utter certainty that it keeps you safe from the touch of the boiling ocean of souls that still surrounds you. And then, the perfect gem fades. You know now that you must own that gem, whatever the cost.
Without warning, reality crashes in upon your soul, and you
awake with a start.
As you turn around and come to your senses, you feel the vision coalescing into something more... material. "It's a planet, isn't it!", shouts a man you've seen before. Another, standing by him, smiles knowingly, as he reaches to drink from a fine bottle.
"It's... I must... But can you all?", mumbles a man next to you, covered in a long hooded robe, baring the sigil of Navigator House Nostromo. "Can you... Can you gaze it through the stars?", he asks you, as his companion appears to still be under the influence.
Indeed, you believe that if you're to simply look at a star chart, the path towards the pearl of your vision would be clear, the path that will lead you to boundless fortune. As you're ushered out of the room, gently, a seven-mouthed cackle is heard from inside once more, as the doors seal.
As you all gather outside, you can now see all of you that will compete for the price:
The ones you know:
- Madame Charlabelle Armellan, and her retinue.
- Jeremiah Blitz.
- Lord-Admiral Bastille the Seventh
- Lady Sun Lee
- Krawkin Feckward
The ones you don't know:
- A big, thick-necked and unpleasantly looking man, dressed in a martial uniform that just about manages to cover his apparent fat.
- A well dressed, polite and reserved man, who seems to be dressed in a duelist's clothes, a sword of fine make on his hip. He appears to be having a short conversation with Lady Sun Lee, which promptly ends with him kissing her hand and making a leave for it.
- An older, very foppish gentleman, that appears to mostly hold council with his retinue, and then setting off.
- A lady dressed in seemingly fancy, yet obviously comfortable clothes leaves the room, and begins to talk on her vox bead, as she picks up a couple of guards, then leaves.
"Uhhhhrgh. Boy, me feel like da madork now! Boss we should go, or me ripp those fingies to tiny pieces. Me guess we 'ave wad we wanned, eh?"
As they have left he packs Gaius and tries steers him to Jeremiah with the words: "Oii, Boss, Hexa must show you da good boy! Hes da gud man with a punch like 'urs! An da ability Ta drink dablotz for da hummy! Must talk Ta him, he's da good boy! Maybe making gud friend eh? Hexa likes him!"
And when talking to Jeremiah.
"Oii, boy. Gud Ta see ya 'ere boy! Hows yar face? . Mine still itches a bit, from yer last one. That wud a gud one! This 'ere is Hexa's boss. He making lotz off gud lootz. Lotz of Waagh!-ing and lutz of lootz. Lifes gud ya now? Naah, curse ya now! Yur a big boy yarself eh?! Yu wild loved da time da boss removzed da pointy ear from da pointy-ear wif da sword. Whuza gud time!"
Iota is not really interested in active talking, but he will throw in a bit of a wrench for everyone else.
He sends a short directional Vox to the Victus Rex and the Indomitable Will using machine code telling them: "Target is a planet. Route needs planning but target is known. Initiate departure procedures immediately." For the Victus Rex he adds: "Inform the Seneschal."
With that he slightly overloads his Voxunit to transmit static over the local area, jamming all others who try to vox out orders to prepare for their departure.
-> 2DoS
Turning to the rogue traders he informs them of his steps.
"My lords, I have taken the liberty to inform the ships to prepare for departure and have taken steps to prevent others from doing the same. Chances are estimated at 79.38% that it will cost them at least a few minutes before they leave the jamming area."
Nim leaves the talking and planning to better thinkers than her and watches the other 'winners' who may be planning to eliminate their competitors now the race has started.