"It cannot be. I know that man. Why is he here? Could it be? It can't be...."
"Something about him bothers me. He looks familiar, but I do not know why. This feeling unnerves me." I will holster my laspistol and look around warily.
"It is not my home" shaking, Ishmael grips his hammer in a white knuckled grip; suddenly, in a bout of maddness begins pounding on the body with his hammer over and over.
<ok; then I leave the shotgun.>
"Gimme the shotgun. The Emperor knows we could use it." Johnnie looks at the corpses with a disturbing fascination.
Looking at the morbid scene. People twitching, Ishmael smashing the body again and again. For a second I think I see the dead man smile. Shaking my head. "Frak this!" I quickly move over to the shuttle.
"Ishmael, stop this. You are making a scene with the ship's people coming. Restrain yourself. Control yourself. The Emperor protects. Pray to the Emperor, and gain strength from his strength and get on the shuttle and wait to continue the mission for our master."
Breathing heavily; Ishamael sniffs and wipes his brow; head down dragging his hammer; walks into the hangar still with a slightly mad, crazed look.
A creeping sensation of reality itself faltering seems to cling to the bodies of the dead men, as if the profound wrongness you all feel is a tangible thing. You all react differently. Uriah steps back and massages his brow with his hand, holstering his pistol. Johnnie stares intently at the man, his detective's mind struggling to accept that he does not know him even though every bit of his intuition insists it. Savalos, unable to cope with what he is feeling, stalks off in the direction of the shuttle wanting to be well clear of it all. Albrek watches from a distance, conspicuously silent, perhaps in a state of shock that he has been party to the death of fellow guardsmen from Oremor. Ishmael's reaction is perhaps the most extreme of all. A few silent moments after the man's final words, he raises the hammer again and begins slamming it into the dead guardsmen's shattered flak vest and head, screaming and roaring some unintelligible prayer and saying the dead man is an "abomination in the Eyes of the Emperor", as he pulps his remains.
Johnnie snatches up the pump-action shotgun from the deck-plates and turns away from the horrible tableau, moving toward Savalos. Albrek stalks away behind him, after a final, lingering pause to look at the men.
It is hard to say whether Uriah's impassioned plea or just sheer exhaustion makes the cleric regain his senses, but fortunately for everyone, stop he does. He staggers off, an unnerving look of bewilderment tinged with hate marring his visage.
Fortunate you all are, for it renders an explanation of his bizarre behavior moot, because almost thirty seconds pass from when he stops to the point when the security teams of the Void Needle arrive in the hangar.
The squad of ten men, a security detachment of crew members dressed in a chaotic motley of flak armor, void suit pieces, and reinforced engineering coveralls stride purposefully into the vast hangar. Some carry shotguns, others revolvers, but of most concern are the pair of lurching, seven foot tall load-lifter servitors flanking the group. Each hefts an enormous two-handed, double-headed iron hammer with arms made absurdly powerful from the wonders of vat-grown slab muscle.
The crew, despite their numbers, seem dangerously insecure with the situation, some glancing apprehensively at you, others snorting and spitting phlegm upon the deck-plates, while a few point weapons in unsteady hands in your direction. Were it not for the servitors and the two similar squads that just emerged from the other entrances to the hangar, you think you might have had a realistic chance of fleeing toward the waiting shuttle if you so chose. Just the same, they don't seem to want a fight.
After an awkward few seconds spent by most of the crew staring at the bodies surround you, a tall, thin man with haggard features, pale, ship-born skin, and a malevolent-looking lazy eye strides forward, his blue robes open in front, showing a corset-tight mesh-weave armored vest draped with a collection of exotic gold-beaded jewelry. He holds a compact laspistol in his hands almost effeminately, waving it as he speaks.
"What is the meaning of...of...this?! I was assured by your master, as I have been on many uneventful occasions before this, that my ship and crew would not be disrupted by our transport of his agents despite our mandated course change! Now I have the very retinue dispatched to ferry you and the inconvenience your presence has created on my ship slaughtered like grox in my hangar? Rosette or no, I..."
He stops in mid-tirade, the bizarre and inherent wrongness radiating from the dead men suddenly coming to his attention like a malodorous stench. The hull of the aged void-vessel groans disturbingly, almost sympathetically with the outre circumstances.
Captain, we were following your steward to the hanger when these men killed him and attacked us. We defended ourselves and killed them, while giving a chance to surrender the whole time. As you see, they refused. I do not know what was wrong with them, but they seemed to be under some sort of control. Let us get on the shuttle and leave you. My suggestion is that you follow the advice of a certain cleric associate of mine, and put the bodies in the incinerators or space them, your choice, but I advise you to get rid of the bodies with as little contact as possible without leaving them on your ship. Something about them is disturbing. I would not leave that disturbance on your ship.
Hearing Ishmael drag his hammer behind him like some scolded Spire Hunter. My nerves are still a bit shaken. "Anyone got a smoke?" Granted a rather have a bottle of amasec, but I need to keep a clear head.
Johnnie pulls his flask of amasec and swigs a gulp. He offers it to Savalos.
"Thanks Johnnie" I take a swig of the amasec, and hand the flask back.
"Festering abomination reeks forth; have this hangar and that unclean thing cleansed. Purification by fire, in the Emperors Holy name; stand not in our way as we do the Emperors bidding; what other festering unclean ones might you have lurking in the bowels, a wise man would begin searching, it is doubtful these four are the only ones."
I cast a knowing glance toward Johnnie without looking at the Cleric. "My count is five...Ishmael. Maybe you should go sit in the shuttle, and let Uriah finish talking here." I am so getting fitted with a toe tag. Stuck between a headcase, and a preacher with a few prayer beads loose.
<gives mister Thul a very harsh look fingering his hammer>
/ooc have any of you, besides Rico of course, read any of the warhammer novels? you would never talk to a priest or chaplain that way; this is a theocracy you know.
The Void Needle's captain hears Uriah out, but it is hard to be sure he comprehends all of his words, as the man's nervous gaze never leaves the dead men. He licks his thin lips, and finally comes out of his reverie to look across the scene at the psyker. He is about to reply when one of his men clears his throat and holds up the steward's lifeless, limp hand.
"Cap'n Kleed, I think this is Oskar...he's, emm, he's dead sir..."
Captain Kleed looks back at the crouching crewman, his relief that someone has broken the uncomfortable silence obvious. When he glances backward it seems to clear his head somewhat. Remembering his command presence, he hides his unsettled state quite well from his men, sharply and dismissively answering the interruption with a harsh, chiding retort:
"Well, if he is, in fact, dead, bosun, it is not a pressing concern at the moment, is it? Will this fact likely change before I finish my conversation with these representatives of the Holy Ordos?
The captain purses his lips and turns back to Uriah. Although his tone seems to be sarcastic, his facial expression betrays the true weight of his next question,
"He will remain dead, will he not?"
This elicits some nervous laughter from the rest of the crew, and the tension is further lessened with the arrival of the other two security teams to the scene of the carnage. As they say however, timing is everything, and Ishmael seizes upon this moment to exhort the captain with his dire warning. The superstitious crewmen, including the ones who just arrived, step a few paces back, waiting for direction.
"Our auspex showed only five men aboard, and they identified themselves as your escort planet-side. Yet here they lie, dead. Assure me there are no more. I would never question the actions or reasons of the Holy Ordos, its agents, or those of your master, whose remuneration of my efforts on his behalf are always considerable. I pray that you would not consider myself or my crew in any way responsible for this attack, by negligence or otherwise, should the need to report it to your master be necessary. I will follow your wise counsel and dispose of these men through a void-hatch, as nothing good can come of them, I think we all can sense this. You have my leave to disembark."
The captain then mutters something to a crewman, and he directs the lumbering servitors to begin collecting the dead. The captain glances at the shuttle, and says,
"I fear your pilot is among the dead, however. I hope you have one amongst you, for I will not subject a solitary crewman to whatever ill-starred venture you are setting out upon to that fungus-covered rock below."
The security teams part to allow you an unhindered path to the shuttle, but they never holster their weapons, and look on nervously as the servitors begin their grisly work.
When the Captian mentions if anyone can pilot the shuttle. I give a look like I can't pilot the damn thing. I take note of Ishmaels dirty look toward me.
"As far as we we know, they will stay dead. Say your prayers to The Emperor until you get rid of the bodies. If you do not lend us a pilot, how are we to leave this ship and get your shuttle back? I am sure you want that."
Johnnie gives the shuttle a once-over, wanting to make sure that there are no signs of damage upon it.
You are blameless Captain; go in peace and remain vigilant; your fine crew is not to blame. Thus, I see this as our great and holy emperor ensuring that his chosen in this task are on their toes and as one hand in doing the Emperors will.
Let the area be cleanzed and have cheer for the forces of destruction were bested this day.
We seek only to go on about our task in the Emperor's name; please have your pilot of the shuttles and your techs take extra care and inspect our shuttle lest it be perhaps sabotaged, if you will.
"One more thing captain, would you please send a message to our master, telling him of the incident."
Johnnie gives the shuttle a once-over, wanting to make sure that there are no signs of damage upon it.
The shuttle appears to be in very good condition, certainly in much better shape than the rusting cargo landers in the Void Needle's hangar. You easily identify the craft as a Churraptus pattern lander, an ubiquitous design named after the three-winged bat-like avians native to Oremor that roost on the underside of the largest of the towering fungoid tree-stalks. The Churraptus have a broad spectrum of use, from transporting civilians between the northern hive settlements, to carrying prisoners between the claustrum plantations of the southern continent. This particular shuttle-lander appears to be in pristine shape compared to most, and has been outfitted with ornamental trim and extras to befit the transport of dignitaries or nobility. The markings on the tail wing designate it as belonging to the Adeptus Arbites Judicial Quorum of Hive Orcut VII.
You are blameless Captain; go in peace and remain vigilant; your fine crew is not to blame. Thus, I see this as our great and holy emperor ensuring that his chosen in this task are on their toes and as one hand in doing the Emperors will.
Let the area be cleanzed and have cheer for the forces of destruction were bested this day.
We seek only to go on about our task in the Emperor's name; please have your pilot of the shuttles and your techs take extra care and inspect our shuttle lest it be perhaps sabotaged, if you will.
Kleed responds curtly, but honestly to your estimation,
"I thank you for your understanding, and am humbled by my small part in aiding your master in carrying out the Holy Emperor's divine will. Our auspex have scanned the craft thoroughly, both on its inbound flight, and after your ambushers made themselves known. To the best of our knowledge it is without danger to you or your mission."
"I will fly the shuttle, but you will not get it back, captain. If that is what you want, then we will be on our way. May The Emperor protect you, your crew, and your ship."
"One more thing captain, would you please send a message to our master, telling him of the incident."
Kleed answers Uriah civilly, but with a hint of flustered irritation. He fidgets with his necklaces as he answers,
"I will not jeopardize my men further on your master's errand. I have done all that I can to assure your safety during our passage to this backwater world, and have perforce completed my duties to the letter according to your master's specifications. You fly the craft then, one amongst you certainly must have the skill to do so...and, if not, the subroutines in its cogitator can reproduce the flight path the craft took to arrive here in reverse with minimal effort on your part. The craft itself originated from Orcut VII, the capital hive of Oremor, from whence beyond that I cannot surmise."
"As far as contact your master, you surprise me. Had I the means to contact him myself, you can be assured that my first missive would have been to protest my course change to this world in the first place. I am no fool, however, and would never presume to refuse the Holy Ordos when called upon to serve their will. I am but a loyal cog in the great machinery of the Imperium, and have turned the gear, as ordered. Your master's great generosity is only rivaled by my great respect and fear of his station. Again, I have done my part. I am unable to comply with your request because I am merely a cog in his great works. My presumption was that you yourselves had a channel to his ear, but, perhaps I assume too much of your station in his hierarchy."
"We do not have access to an astropath at this time. That would be the way to contact him. I thank you for all you have done for us. Shall we go? Ishmael, will you give us blessing over the shuttle and for our journey to come?
After the Blessing, I will signal the rest to go in with me.
Seeing it is a shuttle and not a starship. I will click on the safety of both of my guns. Since I have no desire to vent air, and sucking vacuum. I am cautious that whatever affected those guys might still be on the vessel. As I put my hands into my pockets I slide my brass knuckles on over one of my hands. Not that I think it will defend me from some warp spawned horror; or some psykers work of mindcraft. Firmly gripped in my hand like its a brass etched security blanket. I look at Ishmael waiting for his sermon before I embark onto the shuttle.
I get cleaned up during the preflight; select a seat and buckle in; clean my weapons; reload magazines; eat a snack; rehydrate and meditate; generally watching everyone for signs of weakness and growing mutation, especially that psycher :)
Johnnie reloads his handcannon with additional ammo from the ship's armory.
I watch as Ishmael enters the shuttle saying nothing. I give a concerned look to the others. A priest that doesn't pray... I wait and see what they do.
Seeing Ishmael not say a prayer, I shake my head and say a simple prayer, "May The Emperor protect us from whatever struck the people that were on this ship and guide us on this mission."
When I walk in the shuttle I turn to Ishmael and say, "Ishmael, The Emperor protects you, but you did three things that could of gotten you or us killed.
1) You broke our cover story, that is unacceptable.
2) When you charged in to hit him with your hammer, you did not signal us you were doing so. That could of gotten you shot by one of us.
3)By charging in, you cut off our lines of fire.
Those things are not acceptable. One day we will be called on to sacrifice our selves for our Master and The Emperor. When that order is given I will gladly follow it, but now is not that time. We will fail if we get ourselves killed prematurely. I do not want to fail our Master."
"your opinion, Uriah; nothing more; look into your own failings, firsty that of lack of courage which displays a weak heart and little belief. Point fingers as you will, the foolish often babble."
"My opinion is what will go into the report to The Master. You were one who recklessly risked your life in the the fire fight. Your life is not yours to risk. It is the master's and The Emperor's. Where were your words of comfort and prayer that we needed them? I will not except less than your best, nor will our master. I will not accept excuses or direspect. Straighten up your actions and work as a team. I and The Master will not accept less."
I turn my back on Ishmael and sit in the pilot's seat and request permission to leave the ship following standard protocols.
I make a quick sign of the Aquila as I enter the shuttle while Uriah reprimands Ishmael. I keep my head down and say nothing. If I can I will sit a good distance from the holy man. I expect he will make poor company on the trip planetside. I buckle myself in.
"Blah Blah Blah; who cares; not I, the Emperor is my only master."
I say to Ishmael without turning my head,"So you are denying our master? Then you can leave this shuttle. I will not work with a person who is disloyal to our master, and who is that uncaring about the importance of this mission. Or I will take you planet side and leave you. The only way you will stay with us, is to right now swear your loyalty to our Master and to swear to obey my orders without complaint. Anything less and you no longer exist to me, less than the metal beneath my feet."
Your departure from the hangar is largely in silence, only the shuffling of the servitors, the whine of their servos as they lift the remains of your attackers, and the drumming of your footfalls on the flight deck accompany you to the shuttle. Kleed and his men stand stolidly, the masks of their faces showing relief tinged with resentment. That, and a healthy, fearful respect for your station.
Albrek and Johnnie ascend the narrow ramp first, sweeping their weapons ahead as they go, but no menace awaits them inside, and the rest of your party quickly follows, entering a wide passenger compartment elegantly appointed in darkly textured Oremite bloodwood paneling that is artfully inscribed with portions of the planetary legal codex. A single large golden candelabra cunningly outfitted with diamantine illuminators sheds a soft, warm light throughout the chamber. The compartment smells of the freshly cleaned upholstery covering the twin rows of deep-green colored seating. A narrow, arched doorway opens into the pilot's cabin, showing instrumentation, cogitator arrays, and the wide rectangular viewing window showing the security teams of the Void Needle slowly dispersing in the hangar beyond as the servitors begin moving the dead to the narrow void-doors lining the starboard side of the flight deck.
After a thorough search of the interior reveals that you are, in fact, alone, Savalos sits in an aisle seat, compulsively fingering his brass knuckles within his pocket.
Ishmael sits as well, across the aisle from Savalos, and begins cleaning the gore-spattered head of his hammer and reloading his revolver. He helps himself to a sealed plastic bottle of water from the seat pocket in front of him.
Johnnie stands at the rear of the compartment, watching the ramp and reloading his handcannon, one round at a time. Upon finishing, he hefts the shotgun retrieved from the dead guardsman and reloads it as well.
Albrek walks to the front of the craft, gives a cursory examination of the pilot's cabin, and then takes his seat in the co-pilot's chair at the console.
Uriah heads to the front of the craft as well, but stops short of the entry into the pilot's cabin and turns to face the seated Ishmael.
The psyker pointedly looks at the cleric before sighing quietly and intoning a quiet prayer to the God Emperor of Man. When he is finished, he berates the chagrined-looking Redpemptionist in a scathing dressing-down. Ishmael responds in kind, a half-mocking tone to his rebuttal. Uriah finally turns away and enters the pilot's compartment, seating himself before the baroque amalgamation of wood paneling, glass fixtures, metallic knobs, and cogitator displays. Ishmael's parting remark causes the voidborn to turn in a fury, and his previous tirade is sparked anew. Albrek stands quickly, trying to interpose himself between his feuding brother acolytes,
"Enough, ENOUGH of this, we must..."
He is interrupted by the quiet tinkling of the diamantine shards of the chandelier as a foot-wide circular aperture opens in the roof above it. It is followed by a tittering, child-like laughter that echoes with the hollowness of a vibrating vox-speaker. From within you hear the unmistakable fluttering of feathered wings.
You all watch in astonishment, the argument momentarily forgotten, as a tiny cherubim flutters out of the aperture, its short, wasted, almost emaciated limbs standing out in stark contrast to the luxurious looking, brown feathered wings that suspend it in midair. Its face is that of a small child no older than three or four, but strangely with flesh in the unexpected hue of light umber. Wide, almond-shaped, expressive eyes examine you with a picqued curiosity, A small button nose and tiny pursed lips round out the bizarre servitor's features. Were it not for the red-hued cabling and machinator arrays criss-crossing and tunneling through the petite creature's head and body it might be perceived as a holy angel.
When it speaks, its voice is not so different from the soft ringing shards of the chandelier.
"I am Kalaziel. My master, Desius Krade, extends his greetings."
I take a deep breath to calm myself. My anger is not towards anyone else. "Greetings to you Kalaziel, and to your master."
"My apologies to what you just witnessed, we have just seen something that disturbed all of us. Do you know what happened on the shuttle or on land to change them like that?"
I am full of mixed emotions seeing the Cherubim. Knowing that it once was a young child. Wondering if anything of the young girl still remained, or if she is just a automated program full of commands.
"Hi there Kalaziel. I'm Savalos... Nice to meet ya. Appreciate your Masters greeting..." I am at a loss at what else to say. It just adds to the whole unsettling feeling I still have. The fire fight on the flight deck, Ishmaels odd behavior, and now seeing my first Cherubim up close. Makes me wonder how much home has changed, or if I will even recognize those I left behind.
The servitor cherub stares blankly at Savalos after his introduction, betraying no emotion, and showing a disturbing, flat affect. It settles into a crouching position, roosting like some mythological sibyl upon the headrest of the chair just in front of Ishmael.
Kalaziel looks from Savalos, to Albrek, to Ishmael, to Johnnie, and then finally back to Uriah, as if following some hidden identification protocol. The extended silence and lack of a response is unnerving to say the least. When Kalaziel speaks again, it seems to be addressing all of the acolytes as a group.
"I am Kalaziel. My master, Desius Krade, extends his greetings."
"There has been a complication...
The cherub's mouth opens into a tiny "O" shape and the sounds of what can only be a static-filled vox recording replace her high-pitched voice.
[Sounds of surprise and alarm from a handful of male voices, one officious sounding voice speaks angrily over them all.]
'By whose authority are you here? Our pre-flight checks are nearly complete, we are scheduled to depart momentarily...'
[Thumping sounds, followed by a harsh exhalation of breath, cries of protest from someone, more thumping sounds followed by a man yelling for mercy.]
We are on official Adeptus Arbites judiciary business! You cannot, you WILL not do this...who...who are you? Wait, wait, answer me, PLEASE, wait!
[These plaintive cries are followed by the loud report of a single gunshot. The man's voice that was speaking before has become an incomprehensible whimper, begging, pleading. The next voice that speaks is dull, monotone, and although human it is fully without human empathy.]
'We are doing what must be done. To save us all. We carry out orders issued by those that know our only, last hope. The Emperor's blessing upon you, I truly wish it did not have to end this way.'
[The sounds of the man's whimpering increase, and he begs for his life, beseeching the man who just spoke, but to no avail. A shuffling sound, followed by another final explosion of gunfire silences his final plea.]
'Finish the pre-flight checks, you have the authentication codes if they are needed. Leave the ramp down and push off their bodies once we are airborne. It matters not; either way we will not be returning to our world again. Throne Save Us, we must succeed or all will be lost...'
[There is a sound, not unlike the tinkling of chimes, and the man's voice falters.]
'Did you hear...
[A static-filled sound carries over a vox in the background, a flight controllers voice asking for heading and bearing interrupts the man.]
Never mind...answer them. Send a transmission to the Void Needle's bridge as well. Let them know that Krade's envoys are on their way to retrieve the Holy Ordos' delegation.
[The vox recording trails off into static and the sound of firing engines.]
Kalaziel closes her mouth, and then finishes her sentence:
...that has transpired.
I listen to the recording coming out of Kalaziel's mouth. "Well isn't that just dandy." I continue to watch the cheribum. Wondering what ended the childs life so early. If anything of the child remains.
Johnnie cleans and reloads the naval action pump shotgun. He seems disturbed by the appearance of the child-like familiar. Something in the innocent look of that artificial doll makes his skin crawl.
/ooc does my character know about the legend of the starchild? I this thing alien or just something from Adeptus Mechanicus? Not sure where the law of the imperial ban on somethings like psychers, aliens, and xenos fits in here. I have never heard of a servitor cherub; is this a common thing?
"what is your business here?" said to the thing.
Not looking up I respond. "Well if you clean your ears; she already told you. Her name is Kalaziel."