"What about him, then?"
"He will remain until after the meeting. Lead on, Oktammer."
Geltdown
Leaning over the rust-pitted, six-sided sewer hatch, you examine the seams closely, looking for the release mechanism. Despite the weathered copper ridges on the surface of the lid, a niggling sense that it is something more than what it seems fills you.
Picking up on your apprehension, Launce takes a few wary steps backward, letting out a nervous hoot. He vigorously wipes sweat from his filthy upper lip. A smear of dirt and dried machine oil streaks his cheek when he lowers his arm again.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Dunkan lets out one of his trademark harrumphs, and you can almost see the thin smile creasing his bearded face in your mind's eye.
"You're right. I should leave the dwelling upon such things to those better suited to the task. People like you, Seventeen."
You can sense the barest hint of relief in Danico's voice. For him to allow you to perceive such an emotional cue only raises more questions for you regarding what exactly is transpiring. It seems your words have re-centered him as only a fellow schola of your peculiar little fraternity could. Revealing that tiny bit of what he is truly feeling, that sliver of vulnerability, is his subtle way of thanking you, offering something to gain your trust. It is uncharacteristic of your kind, for Dunkan to give it freely shows how much is at stake.
"You were always the philosopher, Seventeen. Being more mechanically inclined, it vexes me more when the pieces don't quite fit together. My particular talents allow me to perceive the blueprint though; it is intricate, baffling, and terrifying. The architect responsible for it is a man or thing I have no desire to make the acquaintance of."
He pauses, carefully considering his next words.
"My associates need transport to the claustrum, to your location, their investigation will soon lead them there. They are acolytes of the Holy Ordos of the Emperor's Inquisition. Is that plain enough for you?"
"Very much so, if they can leave quickly there should be a transport landing in the Upspires in approximately 3 hours. Otherwise they will have to wait until the crew and escort personnel finish their inspection of the shuttle abandoned in the Geltdown. I could divert something as well, but that may attract the wrong type of attention."
Beneath the Gear Box
"He will remain until after the meeting. Lead on, Oktammor."
Oktammor drops another barely discernible nod in Albrek's direction, stepping back slightly into the corridor again to allow the others to follow.
"Iacton is correct, your prisoner will be safe here for now, and you will be returning soon enough."
Geltdown
Looking at the equilateral hexagon of the hatch uneasily, Kaltos gets the sense that there is something amiss. He cannot be certain why, but something about the manhole cover is not as it seems.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Very much so, if they can leave quickly there should be a transport landing in the Upspires in approximately 3 hours. Otherwise they will have to wait until the crew and escort personnel finish their inspection of the shuttle abandoned in the Geltdown. I could divert something as well, but that may attract the wrong type of attention."
Dead silence follows on the line. When Danicos speaks again, there is the faintest hint of urgency in his voice.
"Wait, did you just say that one of your shuttles has been abandoned in Geltdown shuttle ports?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Dead silence follows on the line. When Danicos speaks again, there is the faintest hint of urgency in his voice.
"Wait, did you just say that one of your shuttles has been abandoned in Geltdown shuttle ports?"
"Yes, as I explained earlier, it was appropriated by the guardsmen who escaped the claustrum along with their commissar. I am sending a crew to further my investigations of the matter and return the shuttle. Will this be satisfactory?"
Geltdown
Looking at the equilateral hexagon of the hatch uneasily, Kaltos gets the sense that there is something amiss. He cannot be certain why, but something about the manhole cover is not as it seems.
I motion Launce to stay back and I take a closer look at the whole area including the hatch.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Yes, as I explained earlier, it was appropriated by the guardsmen who escaped the claustrum along with their commissar. I am sending a crew to further my investigations of the matter and return the shuttle. Will this be satisfactory?"
"Forgive me."
"Yes, yes, it will."
"It seems my contact in the Geltdown port has been compromised somehow, I was not aware the shuttle was still here. We will need to coordinate further, particularly with regard to this commissar you mention and your investigation of his purpose for being in Orcut hive. I'm beginning to believe that he and I are tangentially acquainted. How is it that he has been granted such a lengthy furlough from his superiors?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Forgive me."
"Yes, yes, it will."
"It seems my contact in the Geltdown port has been compromised somehow, I was not aware the shuttle was still here. We will need to coordinate further, particularly with regard to this commissar you mention and your investigation of his purpose for being in Orcut hive. I'm beginning to believe that he and I are tangentially acquainted. How is it that he has been granted such a lengthy furlough from his superiors?"
"It is quite simple really, he has not. He and his men were able to circumvent the claustrum's security measures and gain access to a out-going shuttle. I have been tracking them using the inconsistancies their efforts left in the data-flow. At the moment, my superiors are unaware these events have transpired."
Geltdown
I motion Launce to stay back and I take a closer look at the whole area including the hatch.
Launce whimpers low in his throat and shuffles backward nervously as you insert a small auspex probe from your device into the seam of the hexagonal lid. The more you look at its surface, the more contrived it looks, the uniform wear and tear of the cover almost fabricated in appearance. It takes you very little time to realize that whatever the lid is, it is not, in itself, dangerous. The auspex reveals multiple security countermeasures, specifically an array of sensor lasers criss-crossing within the shaft below, most likely linked to the same alarm system tripped by the contacts vacated when the lid is removed. Some manner of servo-actuators are also present, slaved to an automated system that lifts the lid so that a small pict-camera housed beneath it can conduct surveillance on the street and nearby environs.
While maneuvering the small fiber-optic cable beneath the lid, you note that the transponder reading grows still brighter as you watch.
Beneath the Gear Box
"Follow then, I will take you to Danicos."
Turning with a whir of his mechanized armor's internal servos, Oktammor begins to plod with heavy footfalls on the metal plating of the corridor floor toward the massive airlock door exiting the medicae ward.
Geltdown
Launce whimpers low in his throat and shuffles backward nervously as you insert a small auspex probe from your device into the seam of the hexagonal lid. The more you look at its surface, the more contrived it looks, the uniform wear and tear of the cover almost fabricated in appearance. It takes you very little time to realize that whatever the lid is, it is not, in itself, dangerous. The auspex reveals multiple security countermeasures, specifically an array of sensor lasers criss-crossing within the shaft below, most likely linked to the same alarm system tripped by the contacts vacated when the lid is removed. Some manner of servo-actuators are also present, slaved to an automated system that lifts the lid so that a small pict-camera housed beneath it can conduct surveillance on the street and nearby environs.
While maneuvering the small fiber-optic cable beneath the lid, you note that the transponder reading grows still brighter as you watch.
I grunt with pleasure and motion Launce forward to show him what I found. I then proceed to disarming this mechanical device, murmuring under my breath a prayer of thanks and of further assistance.
Always siding on caution, I realize my mind is to distracted, and flustered with recent events to size up the situation. I am too worried about Sigmunt, and even that jerk cleric Ishmael. As much as I want to read into Oktammor's character, and glean a glimpse of what the meeting may hold. I can whats in front of me as about as successful as Aebena right now. A complete blank.Scrutiny Test (1d100=80)
I follow behind.
Iacton follows behind, ready for the meeting.
I follow the others.
Preoccupied, Savalos follows closely behind Oktammor, with Iacton the first of the group to file in behind him from the conference room, eager to be out of its sterile whiteness and confining, padded walls.
Scrutiny(20) =
Failed by one degree.
Beneath the Gear Box
Rico swills the last of his caffeine, still wishing it was laced with a little amasec and follows the others. Albrek moves to enter the corridor, but hangs back in the doorway for a moment, peering over his shoulder at Ivaanov, who still sits at the head of the table furthest from the entrance. The tech-priest stares blankly at nothing in particular.
Somewhat concerned, and still somewhat shell-shocked himself from the events of the past day, Albrek speaks softly.
"Coming, Ivaanov?"
"Yes, I am coming."
Jarred from his introspection, Ivaanov Drivanovich looks about distractedly and rises as well, almost reluctantly trailing the others from the room.
Beneath the Gear Box
Oktammor leads the still weary acolytes, accompanied by Krade's retainers, out of the pure, antiseptic smelling whiteness of the medicae ward, through the now unlit decontamination room, and out into the rockcrete tunnels again. The group passes through countless passageways, most octagonal in cross-section, all dimly lit by amber emergency lighting, the walls festooned with hanging conduit haphazardly fastened into place. Oktammor, his powered armor making echoing booms with each heavy footfall on the grimy skid-plates, seems to know precisely where he is going, taking turns at the frequent junctions and intersections without hesitation, even ducking his considerable height beneath the rusted piping that occasionally erupts from the crumbling ceiling of the tunnels with intuitive ease. It is apparent to all of you now just how expansive the passageways are beneath the Gear Box, and you have all but given up on trying to deduce a mental map of where you might be in the vast honeycombed labyrinth somewhere beneath the surface of Vaxus district. Even someone as attuned to life in the Underhive as Savalos or Johnnie is in awe of the extent of the rockcrete-bored warren the proprietor of the Gear Box has made for himself.
There is something disconcerting to all of you as well. Every so often, your party passes through huge connecting corridors of brownish-red oxidized metal, the walls caked in crumbling black tattermold, that dwarf the octagonally-shaped tunnels Oktammor has led you through thus far. They are cyclopean in scope, all the visible surfaces covered in fungoid encrusted mechanica and dormant instrument panels. Massive sealed doorways frown over your group as if you were interloping vermin during your brief sojourns through these forlorn passageways. Perhaps most disturbing, some of the machinery in them stills hums or chugs along with life, blood-red lighting illuminating some regions of the walls, further leeching the last dregs of emergency power from some far off generatoria located still deeper in hive's bowels. The scale and scope of this place beggars your imagination and defies your understanding of what lies beneath Vaxus District.
Over an hour later by your estimation, Oktammor uses a a gear-shaped stud embossed on the knuckle of his power glove to open a vault-like doorway similar to the one in the condemned processing plant and at the threshold of the medicae suite. It irises open quietly, a flutter of dust and debris swirling around your feet as it does so. Oktammor ducks his head and passes through, gesturing for you to follow. A kaleidoscope of colored light shines out in the bleak, rust-smelling corridor where you stand.
"Please, enter, we have arrived."
"Clearly, we are lost."
As we walk the labyrinth of undergrouond tunnels. I remind myself of the old legends of the Gearbox proper. That it use to be part of a massive titan. Looking at the control panels I wonder how much of it still remains. I also remember that Oremor was once Maiden World of the Eldar. Long since ripped from there grasp by the Imperium. How many more secrets are hidden in the depths, and forgotten to old wives tales. I have a bad feeling all will be revealed soon enough, and our very lives way well depend on it.
Common Lore:Underworld (1d100=15)
I enter into the room.
Beneath the Gear Box
1d100
"Clearly, we are lost."
Trudging by an enormous bulkhead lining one of the ancient tunnels, Ivaanov glances up at it superstitiously, sighing deeply at Rico's words.
"We are all lost Juan Rico, some of us just have not realized this fact yet."
Beneath the Gear Box
As we walk the labyrinth of underground tunnels. I remind myself of the old legends of the Gearbox proper. That it use to be part of a massive titan. Looking at the control panels I wonder how much of it still remains. I also remember that Oremor was once a Maiden World of the Eldar. Long since ripped from there grasp by the Imperium. How many more secrets are hidden in the depths, and forgotten to old wives tales. I have a bad feeling all will be revealed soon enough, and our very lives way well depend on it.
Common Lore:Underworld (1d100=15)
I enter into the room.
Savalos wonders now if it was homesickness that led him to the weathered old tomes and dust-covered slates pertaining to the history of Oremor. He was reminded now of the historical treatises that occupied the few idle hours he was granted during his Inquisitorial indoctrination, books that held secrets of his own homeworld's ancient past. Few citizens, if any, even among the most educated spireborn scholars, were aware of these hidden truths lost in the intervening millennia, and Thul was prouder of his autodidactically accumulated lore for this fact. It served him well now.
There could be no denying that the legends of the Gear Box were shaped by truth. During the Angevin Crusade, the Eldar allegedly were driven from, or relinquished this world in the face of the Imperium's might, but not without considerable losses. Even elements of the fabled titan legions were said to have fallen here in the struggle. Perhaps these archaic corridors were one such war machine's rusting bones. One thing was certain, with the depths they had already plumbed, Savalos was certain that they were no longer descending through the stacked levels of Orcut VII, hive, but rather through one of the many spur-like mountains of rock around which the great city was built so long ago. They were transiting the hive itself through the very geological bones upon which its framework was supported. With this deduction, a vague recollection tugs at him, a story of a titan lost in the waning days of the conquering of the Eldar world, one that fought its last stand upon a lonely mountaintop...
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"It is quite simple really, he has not. He and his men were able to circumvent the claustrum's security measures and gain access to a out-going shuttle. I have been tracking them using the inconsistencies their efforts left in the data-flow. At the moment, my superiors are unaware these events have transpired."
"Gather your resources then, and commence with your own line of inquiry into the absent shuttle then, Seventeen. I will find out what I can from my own assets in play and keep you apprised of whatever I discover. Be cautious in your fact gathering, however, I cannot emphasize enough my fears that elements of the 7th Legion's claustrum are bending their knees to a master beyond the Most Revered Corpse of Terra and his adoring Imperium."
Secular mind that he is, Dunkan delivers this last line with dripping sarcasm. He backpedals on his blasphemous words almost as soon as he speaks them, however.
"Truth is, you may want to say your prayers before bed just the same. I dread to wonder at the nature of the puppet-master who has set such an intricate plot into motion."
You hear the ringing of a low chime in the background static of Dunkan Danicos' vox signal.
"I am sorry, Seventeen, the Inquisitorial retinue has arrived at my very doorstep. There is a great deal more I must tell you, but it must wait for now. I am quite certain I will need the full week before they will be ready to make the journey to you. I will make contact again soon."
Beneath the Gear Box
1d100
"Clearly, we are lost."
Trudging by an enormous bulkhead lining one of the ancient tunnels, Ivaanov glances up at it superstitiously, sighing deeply at Rico's words.
"We are all lost Juan Rico, some of us just have not realized this fact yet."
"Ominous words coming from a worshipper of the Omnissiah."
"One is never lost as long as they know where they came from."
Geltdown
I grunt with pleasure and motion Launce forward to show him what I found. I then proceed to disarming this mechanical device, murmuring under my breath a prayer of thanks and of further assistance.
Using the probe as both a lever and a tool, you neutralize the contacts on the interior edge of the lid that would set off the proximity alarm, fusing the requisite nodes while muttering a benediction to the Machine God. Launce watches with rapt amazement as you pull the fiber optic extrusion free of the hexagonal cover, the juddering of the hot-wired servos causing the lid to rise up slowly with a hiss of straining hydraulics. The picter set flush with the bottom of the lid is dormant, as you had hoped, and you easily prize up the entire assembly to reveal the precariously narrow cylindrical shaft descending into darkness below the streets of Geltdown.
Staggered metal rungs disappear down into the gloom, stale air rising from the formerly sealed accessway. The dot on your auspex resumes its former bright green glow, beckoning you onward.
yet."
"Ominous words coming from a worshipper of the Omnissiah."
A low buzz escapes from the tech-priest's vox, like a weary exhalation.
"..."
Ivaanov doesn't answer, merely continuing his march toward the open airlock, like a penitent going to the gallows, reluctant to meet his fate, but still firm in his beliefs.
"One is never lost as long as they know where they came from."
As Albrek steps through the open doorway, the tone of his voice perfectly conveys the sense of disbelief at what he sees beyond as he answers Savalos.
"I am from this world, and lately I'm wondering just where the feck I we are. So, just count me as lost, I guess."
The Princep's Pub
As the others file in behind Oktammor through the vault-door, you look around in amazement at the wide room that greets you beyond.
It can best be described as a bizarre amalgamation of librarium, lounge, and workshop. The walls are paneled affairs of darkly lacquered Unduz shellwood where they are not covered by floor to ceiling bookshelves stacked with all manner of weighty manuals, tubes of rolled up blueprints, and haphazardly organized dataslates. Long trestle tables piled with salvaged cogitators spilling out their wires like the guts of eviscerated metal beasts, countless gleaming tools, and the forgotten remains of half-eaten meals are arranged in orderly rows along one side of the room, these are all surrounded by a maze of discarded packing materials and heavier machinist's equipment. Banks of grayscale monitors, unattended auspex and auger systems line a console to your left, networked analytical engines on the order of the most powerful datalooms framing the workstation, their colored lights winking in the mood lighting shining forth so colorfully from the kaleidoscopic colors of the cut glass lamps arranged throughout the room. A half-dozen doors similar to the one you just entered allow egress from the expansive chamber
Perhaps the most out of place and preposterous furnishing in the room is the full sized, half-circle shellwood bar, varnished to a mirror sheen, that sits in the center of the room. A series of brass pedestal stools, their seats upholstered in green leather, in all respects identical copies of those found in the Gear Box, line one side of the bar for seating. A baroque liquor cabinet filled with bottles of every conceivable shape, hue, and content stands just behind the bar, filled to capacity with libations of endless variety. The lattice-work, smoked-glass paneled doors fronting the cabinet has latch handles carved into wooden gear-shapes that protrude midway down its height.
The imposing man in the machinists leathers, his fingers still clad in a series of gleaming, gear-shaped rings of various metals and precious stones stands behind the bar, polishing a final glass to round out the six others he has already arranged on the bar's mirror-like wooden surface. He turns toward you as you enter, bristly black-grey muttonchops framing his craggy face and sardonic half-smile. Dunkan Danicos gestures with the casual, off-handed wave of welcome performed by proprietors of drinking establishments across the near infinite expanse of the Imperium, waving you closer as if you are regular customers to this impossible subterranean bar.
"Welcome! Anyone care for a drink?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"Gather your resources then, and commence with your own line of inquiry into the absent shuttle then, Seventeen. I will find out what I can from my own assets in play and keep you apprised of whatever I discover. Be cautious in your fact gathering, however, I cannot emphasize enough my fears that elements of the 7th Legion's claustrum are bending their knees to a master beyond the Most Revered Corpse of Terra and his adoring Imperium."
Secular mind that he is, Dunkan delivers this last line with dripping sarcasm. He backpedals on his blasphemous words almost as soon as he speaks them, however.
"Truth is, you may want to say your prayers before bed just the same. I dread to wonder at the nature of the puppet-master who has set such an intricate plot into motion."
You hear the ringing of a low chime in the background static of Dunkan Danicos' vox signal.
"I am sorry, Seventeen, the Inquisitorial retinue has arrived at my very doorstep. There is a great deal more I must tell you, but it must wait for now. I am quite certain I will need the full week before they will be ready to make the journey to you. I will make contact again soon."
"Very well, take care with the inquisitors."
Vincent closes the vox link. He leans back in his overstuffed chair and waits as his machinations begin to take shape.
I walk up to the bar. "Sure I'll have a Forlorn Maiden " I picked the drink for two reasons. One I'm thirsty, and it won't cloud my head as much as Amasec. Secondly it lets Dunkan know that I have idea of where we are in the mountain, and its singificance.
At the bar I pull out the ring with the gear cog. "You want it back, or can I hold onto it?"
Geltdown
Using the probe as both a lever and a tool, you neutralize the contacts on the interior edge of the lid that would set off the proximity alarm, fusing the requisite nodes while muttering a benediction to the Machine God. Launce watches with rapt amazement as you pull the fiber optic extrusion free of the hexagonal cover, the juddering of the hot-wired servos causing the lid to rise up slowly with a hiss of straining hydraulics. The picter set flush with the bottom of the lid is dormant, as you had hoped, and you easily prize up the entire assembly to reveal the precariously narrow cylindrical shaft descending into darkness below the streets of Geltdown.
Staggered metal rungs disappear down into the gloom, stale air rising from the formerly sealed accessway. The dot on your auspex resumes its former bright green glow, beckoning you onward.
"Well here we go into the belly of the beast." I turn toward Launce and say "Wait 5 minutes then follow if you will." With that I take my staff and secure it to my back put the auspex back in its pocket and head down the hole.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent closes the vox link. He leans back in his overstuffed chair and waits as his machinations begin to take shape.
No sooner has Vincent disconnected the encrypted link to Dunkan Danicos does a neighboring vox-link, a dull cream-colored affair with old-fashioned ear and mouthpieces chirrup loudly.
It is the localized comm, connected to the twin outside of the secure door just behind you. The one leading into your office.
Geltdown
"Well here we go into the belly of the beast." I turn toward Launce and say "Wait 5 minutes then follow if you will."
With that I take my staff and secure it to my back put the auspex back in its pocket and head down the hole.
Prying the now nonfunctional lid up and away from the surface of the street, Kaltos maneuvers his slender form in a such a way that he can drop his feet into the shaft far enough to find purchase on the first rung. Slipping the advanced auspex back into a waterproof plas sleeve on his Mechanicus vestments, he adjusts his position so that his cyber-mantle does not scrape against the wall. Confident he has a good handhold, he depresses a stud on the now-secured auspex, activating both the electronic countermeasure detector and hazardous environment warning protocols. With a last glance at Launce, whose eyes are wide and uncertain, he descends into the stale-smelling gloom.
Kaltos has descended about ten meters below street level when the auspex begins persistently chiming in his internal aural microbead. At first he is concerned, but then he realizes it is merely the vibration detector picking up the light footfalls of the boy above him, descending the rungs in his wake. He flicks a toggle to narrow the auspex's vibration threshold and continues his descent through the claustrophobically tight shaft.
The Princep's Pub
I walk up to the bar. "Sure I'll have a Forlorn Maiden " I picked the drink for two reasons. One I'm thirsty, and it won't cloud my head as much as Amasec. Secondly it lets Dunkan know that I have idea of where we are in the mountain, and its singificance.
At the bar I pull out the ring with the gear cog. "You want it back, or can I hold onto it?"
"Keep it. I've a feeling you'll be needing it for a time."
Dunkan nods, a playful smile coming to his broad lips, and begins to expertly decant various liquors and juices into a one of the tumblers arrayed before him.
"The essence from fluteback caps is freshly squeezed, I have source in a little village on the Fulcusian coast."
He stirs the drink with a small wire whisk before passing it across the bar to you. Looking up, his expression is chagrined when he realizes Savalos is the only one who has gotten over his initial shock enough to approach the bar thus far. Looking at Thul, Dunkan winks conspirationally, whispering to him:
"This drink is pretty aptly named if it is your intoxicant of choice Thul, you seem to have something of a predilection for damsels in distress."
Clapping his hands loudly, Dunkan widens them and gestures expansively to the others.
"Come now, I had presumed you all were waiting for answers to your questions. Now is not the time to be shy."
The Princep's Pub "Keep it. I've a feeling you'll be needing it for a time."
whispering to him:
"This drink is pretty aptly named if it is your intoxicant of choice Thul, you seem to have something of a predilection for damsels in distress."
I nod in reply to Dunkan, and I put the ring away. I seem to be collecting alot of odds and ends recently. The Golden Aquila from the Mercy, and Sunshines security card.
I think about his comment about damsels in distress. Remember how my father found the ol' She Wolf. "Yeah, its runs in the family."
I wait for the others to gather round, before I start asking my questions.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
No sooner has Vincent disconnected the encrypted link to Dunkan Danicos does a neighboring vox-link, a dull cream-colored affair with old-fashioned ear and mouthpieces chirrup loudly.
It is the localized comm, connected to the twin outside of the secure door just behind you. The one leading into your office.
Vincent taps a few keys to bring up the pict-corder covering the hallway outside. As he does so, he opens a small and unassuming drawer in his console and extracts his service pistol, pausing to pull back the slide, he makes sure there is a round in the chamber before gingerly placing it beside his mug of caffeine, safety off. His ingrained paranoia is reinforced by Danicos' warnings, though personal meetings never are his strong suit.
Iacton takes a seat at the bar and motions for Danicos. He refrains from ordering a drink, for he has neither the time or the inclination to get drunk. First of all, his role in all this must be determined. Whether he is another pawn or a king, it must be determined.
"What is your connection to Master Krade?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent leans in to monitor the pict-corder's feed, waiting patiently for the swiveling picter to complete its tour of the corridor until it finally centers on the area outside of his door. He taps another key to freeze it in place so that it remains stationary.
A tall, broadly built guardsman outfitted in the dull-green with gold trim flak armor of the Oremor Penal Legions stands outside, deliberately close to the door, as if he fully intends to announce his intimidating presence to you when it opens. His shoulder plates show the markings of the 7th Legion, with the upturned chevrons of a Master Sergeant rank. His hair is freshly shaved to the scalp and his trappings are impeccably clean and outfitted on his person. More by martial habit than any deliberate threat, he keeps his hand resting lightly on the grip of his laspistol. His other hand holds the vox-phone tight to his head, but you can see the back of his head wrinkling in impatience.
When Sgt. Einhardt cranes his neck around to stare up into the pict device watching him from behind, you regard his handsome features with the caution they deserve. His charming appearance and holo actor good looks belie what his ice blue eyes and coldly efficient demeanor revealed to you long ago. He is an exceptionally intelligent (for a guardsman), a respected leader of men, and a stone cold killer. Not one to be trifled with, but perfect for what you intend.
Again, this will take care and caution. He looks pissed.
The Princep's Pub
Iacton takes a seat at the bar and motions for Danicos. He refrains from ordering a drink, for he has neither the time or the inclination to get drunk. First of all, his role in all this must be determined. Whether he is another pawn or a king, it must be determined.
"What is your connection to Master Krade?"
Almost as if he senses his reservations, Danicos pours out a quantity of crystal clear liquid from a cut glass decanter and pushes it in front of Iacton. When Krade's aide regards it coldly, the big man rolls his eyes slightly and taps the counter near the tumbler.
"No wild carousing tonight for Master Iacton, it seems."
"Water it is, then."
"Only the best though, spring-fed H20 from the Ton-Szon Valley in the upper reaches of the Dekkard Mountains of Unduz III."
It surprises Iacton when Danicos does not bristle with indignation or take offense at the purposefully pointed question offered without any preamble. In fact, he simply answers in a casual conversational tone as if remarking on the weather to an old friend.
"I am an Interrogator like your employer, but we serve very different masters. I was sent here to monitor his activities."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent leans in to monitor the pict-corder's feed, waiting patiently for the swiveling picter to complete its tour of the corridor until it finally centers on the area outside of his door. He taps another key to freeze it in place so that it remains stationary.
A tall, broadly built guardsman outfitted in the dull-green with gold trim flak armor of the Oremor Penal Legions stands outside, deliberately close to the door, as if he fully intends to announce his intimidating presence to you when it opens. His shoulder plates show the markings of the 7th Legion, with the upturned chevrons of a Master Sergeant rank. His hair is freshly shaved to the scalp and his trappings are impeccably clean and outfitted on his person. More by martial habit than any deliberate threat, he keeps his hand resting lightly on the grip of his laspistol. His other hand holds the vox-phone tight to his head, but you can see the back of his head wrinkling in impatience.
When Sgt. Einhardt cranes his neck around to stare up into the pict device watching him from behind, you regard his handsome features with the caution they deserve. His charming appearance and holo actor good looks belie what his ice blue eyes and coldly efficient demeanor revealed to you long ago. He is an exceptionally intelligent (for a guardsman), a respected leader of men, and a stone cold killer. Not one to be trifled with, but perfect for what you intend.
Again, this will take care and caution. He looks pissed.
Vincent taps out the keystrokes to unseal the door behind him, then turns his chair to face Sgt. Einhardt.
"Come in Sergeant."
Vincent stays seated and waits for Sgt. Einhardt to pass the threshold before sealing the portal once more. He meets the sergeant's cold gaze with his own and leans back, awaiting the sergeant's words.
"I am an Interrogator like your employer, but we serve very different masters. I was sent here to monitor his activities."
"I assume you won't say who your masters are, correct? Would you at least say who they serve?" Iacton smells the water before taking a cautious sip. With any luck, Danicos' degree of divinity will be discovered soon.
I listen to Iacton's pointed questions with interest, but seeing we are in the guys hidden shelter that its a bit over the top. If Dunkan didn't want to share information we never would have gotten here.
"Guess social hour is over.... So Dunkan what can you tell us about the Withdrawn Veil? Have you gotten any leads where Sun... Quincus Dauln of the Arbites has been abducted to?"
I take a taste of the Forlorn Maiden . "Quite excellent, just the right balance. Not to sweet, not to bitter."
"Any idea what those things in the Gearbox, and the thing from the Mercy might be after?"
I listen to what everyone is saying and the answers given. If I think of any questions not asked, at that time I will ask them. I know I am not liked by the planet bound, so I will keep my interactions with them at a minimum.
Geltdown
Prying the now nonfunctional lid up and away from the surface of the street, Kaltos maneuvers his slender form in a such a way that he can drop his feet into the shaft far enough to find purchase on the first rung. Slipping the advanced auspex back into a waterproof plas sleeve on his Mechanicus vestments, he adjusts his position so that his cyber-mantle does not scrape against the wall. Confident he has a good handhold, he depresses a stud on the now-secured auspex, activating both the electronic countermeasure detector and hazardous environment warning protocols. With a last glance at Launce, whose eyes are wide and uncertain, he descends into the stale-smelling gloom.
Kaltos has descended about ten meters below street level when the auspex begins persistently chiming in his internal aural microbead. At first he is concerned, but then he realizes it is merely the vibration detector picking up the light footfalls of the boy above him, descending the rungs in his wake. He flicks a toggle to narrow the auspex's vibration threshold and continues his descent through the catastrophically tight shaft.
I think back to all the other tight tunnels I have gone down to fix something or to get to a secret training area. Its a bit nostalgic. I continue down keeping a slow but steady rate of decent.