"If there is one, it is most likely in the south would my guess."
"Mirrors, you say. I imagine that they're windows or gates."
Since the kid is sitting next to me I will take a good look at him. Trying to glean anything that would mark the kid being important other than Uriah's vision. I look for tattoo's, clan markings, brands, jewelry anything that would mark him as distinct.
Since the kid is sitting next to me I will take a good look at him. Trying to glean anything that would mark the kid being important other than Uriah's vision. I look for tattoo's, clan markings, brands, jewelry anything that would mark him as distinct.
The Princep's Pub
"It would make sense if there was another mirror, but we have no evidence to support it."
Dunkan's expression turns thoughtful, then somewhat grim.
"No, your instincts are good. It is archeotech. There would be two, if it is what I fear. There are legends about some of the more...how should I say...esoteric things to come out of the Wastes. The oldest reclaimators and prospectors on Oremor have a folktale they like to tell when they're in their cups about one of their ilk that found some kind of a ruined xenos observatory deep within the slag-jungles of the equatorial band. Inside there was said to be an orrery complex, something akin to an observatory, older than the mountain that had grown beneath it. All he managed to recover from the site were a pair of beautiful mirrors, black and cold as the depths of the Void. He sold them to a nobleman from the Upspires who became enamored with them and retired to his own island in the southern archipelago."
He chuckles ruefully.
"Sounds like a happy ending, doesn't it? Not likely. The mirrors were said to be somehow cursed. The story gets a little murky at this point, with a number of variations, and the Waste scavs don't like to usually end it on a down note. But the oldest diggers will tell you that the nobleman slowly went mad, and killed the poor reclaimator when he couldn't lead him back to the site where he found them. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It just wasn't there anymore. The darker tales say the nobleman did all manner of other awfulness, too, before he finally disappeared. The mirrors were auctioned separately when his estate was liquidated, the remaining members of the family insisted upon it. All anyone knows is that they've changed hands countless times since then, bringing ill-luck to any who have ever possessed them."
He pauses, reflecting on something for a moment.
"There were longstanding rumors that Krade had found one of them, kept it in his office, so they say. To what end, I don't know."
"If there is one, it is most likely in the south would my guess."
Dunkan eyes Uriah warily. As if something concerning him had suddenly surfaced in his thoughts.
"What would make you say that, Uriah?"
"Mirrors, you say. I imagine that they're windows or gates."
He looks at Rico shrewdly, as if he had underestimated the ex-arbitrator somewhat.
"So you've heard the tales as well?"
He squints his narrow eyes even closer together, trying to recall some detail from the dustier vaults of his mind.
"Many of the tales suggest that very thing. Gateways. Nothing like a teleportarium, though. Something that bent the Warp, and sometimes time itself, to accomplish the transit. Disturbing musings to say the least."
Common Lore: Underground Test (1d100=47)
It is obvious that the boy has lived a squalid existence. By the numerous fading scars on his hands and face, the eyes sunken from hunger, and the almost animalistic nervousness, he has had to live a feral existence for much of his life. Spidery ink, done by an amateur hand, depicts a poorly rendered, coiling serpent around the smallest finger on his left hand. It is clearly a slave-tat marking him as chattel of the Yellobouros.
Sensing your attention, the urchin slurps down the second glass of milk and looks at you with eyes far older than he, appraising you in much the same way. His mouth hangs open slightly when he finally notices your blood-stained furs.
I touch my blood stained furs looking at the boy appreciatively. "Lost a good friend I did yesterday. Funny no matter how many times you wash it the blood never comes out. Just have to live with it."
I look back over the counter toward Dunkan. "Got any food for the boy to tear his teeth into? Looks like he could use a hot meal."
"I did tell that we have evidence of Krade's taking. Would you please take the child where he can not see it."
I look at Savalos when I say that.
"Ivaanov, would you please show him and anyone who would like to see the taking of Krade and the mirror on the holopict. I will warn you that it is extremely disturbing and shows definite Malleus. You watch at risk."
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
With the vibrating hums of the Guard aerodrome deck finally behind him, Vincent emerges from a much cleaner, wider, and more pleasant smelling lift, perhaps the only one of its kind in this stinking prison.
The original claustrums were ancient structures, built long before the founding of Oremor's guard regiments, when the regional warlords left behind in the wake of the Angevin crusade transformed this bountiful agriworld into a powerhouse of food production to keep the crusader armies fed as they soldiered on through the heart of Calixis sector. The troops staffing them then were garrison forces of the crusade, that gradually recruited from the local population of pilgrims and colonists as the centuries wore on. The claustrums grew quickly from small surveying outposts, to agri-base collectives, to massive food production facilities, to finally become city-size plantations that no longer could be adequately cultivated with the labor population available. In time, penitents and prisoners from the planetary population were routed to the southern archipelago to work the claustrums, and when they were not enough, countless more were transported in from off-world. In rapid succession the long-serving Oremor PDF forces were trained, outfitted, and enlarged through conscription to form the Oremor Penal Legions, joining the three previously founded legions that, uncharacteristically by Imperial Guard tradition, had remained on-world to garrison the burgeoning hive cities of the north.
Passing through two more checkpoints manned by alert and vigilant guardsmen, Vincent is scrutinized, his credentials checked and rechecked, and even patted down, his pistol passing muster only for his security clearances. Each of the guardsmen noticing it give him 'The Look', as if to say that he is suffered to carry it only because he poses as much threat as one would expect from a pencil-pushing outsourced clerical staffer. The security was standard, considering that the entire senior command staff of the regiment was headquartered on these highest three floors of the Keep.
Walking briskly down the curving corridor, realizing that the repeated security screenings had slowed him down enough to give a bad name to his usual punctuality, he admires the military propaganda lining the hallways that Adjutant Treggs passed off as art. Meticulously chiseled marble busts on suspensor pedestals depicting the nineteen Warden-Colonel's of the 7th Legion since its founding, realist and impressionist paintings so long they curve with the wall of the corridor, representing the garrison's brutal, and truth-be-told, often one-sided quelling of the three major prisoner uprisings in their history. Even a a series of glass trophy cases and weapon displays showing the famed and famous instruments of war carried by the regiment's most illustrious members. Vincent pauses at an old, manually operated once wielded by Warden-Colonel Sammael Nortun to behead the leader of the Bellicose Revolt. He smirks. He can't tell if it is rusty or still bloodstained after all these years.
Pulling himself away, he turns down a much wider corridor, passing more military regalia and fine shellwood furnishings, until he arrives at a curving security checkpoint desk (thankfully the last!) just outside of the Warden-Colonel's personal suite.
A pair of guardsmen, hard-looking feckers oddly outfitted in full combat gear, flak armor and all, stand behind the desk. Vincent makes them quickly: the taller one on the right kowtows to the shorter, squatter, and murderously intense looking man to his side. It makes sense, too, as the shorter man is clearly a sergeant. Where his taller companion is young, buzzcut and prototypically Guard, but with a sullen, cruel looking pair of eyes, his superior is somewhat nonstandard; his angular face is stippled with thick stubble, his dark hair longer and coarsely-cut, and his eyes almost predatory in their assessment of the man who just walked into his field of view. They are a strange color, too, brownish, but with flecks of unseemly orange. He wears a number of macabre trinkets, a necklace of teeth, likely from some indigenous predator, an earring of dark, jagged-looking obsidian, and finally what looks to be a coup-counter on the end of his pistol holster, the numbered prisoner strip tags from penitents he has killed in the line of duty dangling almost to his knee.
He glances at his taller subordinate, as if making certain he is alert to the newcomer before stepping forward to block Vincent's path.
"Halt. Who might you be then?"
"Alright" I get up from the stool.
"So anyplace for me and the kid to go site seeing?"
"I did tell that we have evidence of Krade's taking. Would you please take the child where he can not see it."
I look at Savalos when I say that.
"Ivaanov, would you please show him and anyone who would like to see the taking of Krade and the mirror on the holopict."
You would think Ivaanov would only grudgingly move over to the bar with hidden pict-corder in the copy of the Corpus Presidium Calixis found in Krade's office, but nothing could be further from the truth, he promptly retrieves the weighty tome and walks toward the bar, whispering a quiet prayer to the Machine God as he reverentially adjusts levers and taps buttons hidden in the book's spine. It is as if the tech-priest has merely flipped a switch in his psyche that allows him to deal with Dunkan Danicos with no outward sign of dislike or incivility.
Having heard Savalos' request, he awaits Savalos to remove the boy from the immediate vicinity. Dunkan, having found some prepackaged snackfoods, hands them to the boy and eyes the odd piece of technical legerdemain with an expert eye.
"I will commence when the child is beyond his viewing and listening capabilities, as requested."
"Alright" I get up from the stool.
"So anyplace for me and the kid to go site seeing?"
Distracted by his assessment of Krade's surveillance device, Danicos looks up abruptly when Savalos speaks, and points toward a narrow door, slightly ajar, leading into a darkened room centered in the wall just behind the assembled acolytes.
"I bed down in there when my work here tires me out too much to return to the surface. There's also a table and chairs enough for you and the boy to sit and let him eat. Don't touch anything, alright?"
I do not watch it again, when Ivaanov starts it.
"Alright" As I guide the boy out of the room.
"Got a deck of cards by any chance?"
If I hear Savalos, I will say:
"Here!"
and toss him my deck of cards.
I look up from my entering in data about the wish list and the list of orders when they are about to start the viewing. I then head over to the bar to get a good look.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
With the vibrating hums of the Guard aerodrome deck finally behind him, Vincent emerges from a much cleaner, wider, and more pleasant smelling lift, perhaps the only one of its kind in this stinking prison.
Vincent looks over both guards, noting the truth of Corporal Murjoff's statement. He hides his distaste for the soldiers and offers a terse reply, displaying his credentials for what is hopefully the last time.
"Senior Clerk Sepheris, I have an appointment."
The Princep's Pub
The boy waits for Kaltos' affirming nod, and only moves after seeing it. Savalos leads him away from the bar, the urchin still munching away at the contents of two torn-open foil packets of Shroom-Crisps. Just before Savalos reaches the door, Uriah hears his question. Reaching into his robes, he tosses a well-worn deck of cards to his fellow acolyte. The pair then enter the adjoining room, closing the door behind them to spare the child what is about to be seen.
Those who have already watched the disturbing pict-cording remain at the bar while Dunkan, Kaltos and Ivaanov move over to one of the nearby work tables to cue up the hololithic display hidden in the legal treatise.
As the film flickers to life, it is soon obvious the nature of the threat that concerns the acolytes and the heretek. He now understands somewhat better why the acolytes have made this alliance of convenience with Danicos in the face of such Malleus taint. Even for Kaltos, the footage is unnerving, although he somehow manages to maintain his composure, the horrid, mewling horde of tiny monstrosities simply will not absent themselves from his mind, and the bulbous, brooding thing in the inky depths of the mirror still seems to stare through him with its never ending green-eyed gaze even after the hololithic recording ends.
Dunkan Danicos also weathers the viewing fairly well, although his skin goes ashen with disgust and unease. He looks over to the two tech-priests who would see him dead. Speaking low so that the others will not hear, he mutters:
He then looks over his shoulder to Uriah, nodding once.
"From what I can discern from the recording, the mirror appears to be one of those described in the reclaimator's tales. How Krade came by it, I can't even hazard a guess. I presume you believe that one of our adversaries possesses the twin to it, am I correct?"
The Princep's Pub
Savalos steps into a rather spartan bedchamber, barely four meters by four meters containing a large single bed strewn with tangles of blankets, changes of clothes (mostly filthy machinist's leathers) and oddly enough what appears to be a sizable, half-repaired, mechanical armature of some kind. A nicked second-hand wardrobe stands against one wall, the doors open revealing more of Dunkan's distinct clothing hanging inside, along with a full suit of well-maintained military grade flak armor, and what appears to be a complete hazardous environment suit, complete with void sealed helmet.
A low, round, wooden table with a trio of folding chairs sits against the near wall. A spill of loose change, an empty plastic water flask, and a picked over meal of well-chewed churraptus wings rest haphazardly upon it.
Taking a seat with the boy, you realize you don't even know his name. You are about to set Uriah's deck of playing cards aside on the table, but instead, something compels you to keep your hands occupied. You begin to shuffle and flip through them, performing some basic sleight of hand to keep the lad relaxed. He continues to chomp away at the snacks, and you notice his eyes passing from the cards flipping through your hands to stare hungrily at the remaining wing on the plate and back.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent looks over both guards, noting the truth of Corporal Murjoff's statement. He hides his distaste for the soldiers and offers a terse reply, displaying his credentials for what is hopefully the last time.
"Senior Clerk Sepheris, I have an appointment."
One of the best things about working with the military is their rigid adherence to hierarchy and protocol. It makes identifying people remarkably simple. You see at a glance that the tall guardsman is named 'Stollow' and his shorter, more sinister looking compatriot is a fellow named 'Glyde'. You get the distinct impression as the latter approaches that he would just as soon kill you in cold blood as ask for your identification. Something about him is unnerving on a fundamental level that you can't quite place. As he gets nearer you can see the faded scars of some hard-fought battle against the pox on the bridge of his nose and the sides of his cheeks.
Glyde nods dismissively at your words and stops about six inches away from you. He looks you up and down, his trained eye easily noting the bulge of the pistol hidden beneath your stormcoat. He stares into your eyes with his own orange-tinged orbs, as if trying to get the measure of you.
"So it seems. Unless you plan on using that piece in your coat to cut your steak, I suggest you hand it over. Now."
He smiles smugly.
"Security concerns, is all. I'm sure you understand...sir."
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
One of the best things about working with the military is their rigid adherence to hierarchy and protocol. It makes identifying people remarkably simple. You see at a glance that the tall guardsman is named 'Stollow' and his shorter, more sinister looking compatriot is a fellow named 'Glyde'. You get the distinct impression as the latter approaches that he would just as soon kill you in cold blood as ask for your identification. Something about him is unnerving on a fundamental level that you can't quite place. As he gets nearer you can see the faded scars of some hard-fought battle against the pox on the bridge of his nose and the sides of his cheeks.
Glyde nods dismissively at your words and stops about six inches away from you. He looks you up and down, his trained eye easily noting the bulge of the pistol hidden beneath your stormcoat. He stares into your eyes with his own orange-tinged orbs, as if trying to get the measure of you.
"So it seems. Unless you plan on using that piece in your coat to cut your steak, I suggest you hand it over. Now."
He smiles smugly.
"Security concerns, is all. I'm sure you understand...sir."
Three degrees of success
Vincent calmly removes the pistol and removes the magazine, then pulls back the slide to eject the round in the chamber. He tucks the magazine back into his coat then hands the pistol to the sinister-looking guard, butt-first.
"Will that be all?"
"Yes, I do. I think the one in the mirror has the twin. How else did he take Krade?
The Princep's Pub
The boy waits for Kaltos' affirming nod, and only moves after seeing it. Savalos leads him away from the bar, the urchin still munching away at the contents of two torn-open foil packets of Shroom-Crisps. Just before Savalos reaches the door, Uriah hears his question. Reaching into his robes, he tosses a well-worn deck of cards to his fellow acolyte. The pair then enter the adjoining room, closing the door behind them to spare the child what is about to be seen.
Those who have already watched the disturbing pict-cording remain at the bar while Dunkan, Kaltos and Ivaanov move over to one of the nearby work tables to cue up the hololithic display hidden in the legal treatise.
As the film flickers to life, it is soon obvious the nature of the threat that concerns the acolytes and the heretek. He now understands somewhat better why the acolytes have made this alliance of convenience with Danicos in the face of such Malleus taint. Even for Kaltos, the footage is unnerving, although he somehow manages to maintain his composure, the horrid, mewling horde of tiny monstrosities simply will not absent themselves from his mind, and the bulbous, brooding thing in the inky depths of the mirror still seems to stare through him with its never ending green-eyed gaze even after the hololithic recording ends.
Dunkan Danicos also weathers the viewing fairly well, although his skin goes ashen with disgust and unease. He looks over to the two tech-priests who would see him dead. Speaking low so that the others will not hear, he mutters:
** spoiler omitted **
He then looks over his shoulder to Uriah, nodding once.
...
With clear dislike I say also in a low voice "I hate to admit it you are right the boy should not see this through device or in person. I will have to modify my list of requirements to remove the ones for the boy but one. If you have the ability to do so I must insist that the boy gets fitted with a vox and he is taught how to use it while he is here."
The Princep's Pub
With clear dislike I say also in a low voice, "I hate to admit it you are right the boy should not see this through the device or in person. I will have to modify my list of requirements to remove the ones for the boy but one. If you have the ability to do so I must insist that the boy gets fitted with a vox and he is taught how to use it while he is...
As Danicos and the tech-priests walk back toward the bar, he pauses mid-stride at Kaltos' question, looking back at he and Ivaanov, eyes drifting with distaste to the grills of their vox-boxes.
"I'm glad we're in agreement on the lad's safety then."
"I will have my surgeon examine him to see what manner of injury or deformity has taken his voice. If nothing can be done medically, I will see what can be done about a vox implant. I'm leaving it to her professional judgment the best means to remedy his handicap, however."
The Princep's Pub
"Yes, I do. I think the one in the mirror has the twin. How else did he take Krade?
Uriah sympathizes with Dunkan's ashen pallor when the Gear Box's proprietor returns to the bar and the assembled acolytes. Try as he might, the psyker cannot forget the disturbing images of the recording himself.
Without preamble, Dunkan answers Uriah's question with one of his own.
"I agree the mirror, or mirrors, may well be the cursed archeotech from these stories I have described. If this is the case, as conjectured, there is another mirror; one that this tainted being used to reach Krade in the first place. You said before you believe it to be in the south, do you know where specifically in the south?"
You can see by the heretek's earnest, almost desperate expression that this answer has great significance to him. For the first time, you notice his good-natured facade cracked by the specter of worry and even, perhaps, fear.
"I agree the mirror, or mirrors, may well be the cursed archeotech from these stories I have described. If this is the case, as conjectured, there is another mirror; one that this tainted being used to reach Krade in the first place. You said before you believe it to be in the south, do you know where specifically in the south?"
You can see by the heretek's earnest, almost desperate expression that this answer has great significance to him. For the first time, you notice his good-natured facade cracked by the specter of worry and even, perhaps, fear.
"A commissar of the sixth penal legion began the attack today. That is where we will begin the search."
The Princep's Pub, Danicos' Quarters
Savalos completes another card trick, and this time he finally cracks the ice, eliciting the smallest of smiles from the poor kind. From all outward signs, it appears the boy cannot speak for some reason, whether by choice or malady of some kind.
Shuffling Uriah's mass produced Malfian playing cards again, he pushes the deck across the table between him and the boy. Looking up, Sav can't help but chuckle when he sees that the kid finished off Dunkan's last churraptus wing in the time it took him to rearrange the cards. The greasy evidence still on his face, he swallows, letting out a grunting hoot of relief when the acolyte laughs himself.
Savalos had to show him how to split the deck the first few tricks, but now it seems the lad has the gist of it. He leans forward eagerly, grasping the block of cards between two greasy fingers. He lifts them apart, setting one half of the deck to the right.
The boy then stops, peering at the card revealed curiously.
Sav looks down as well, a thread of unease rising in him even before he sees what caused the boy's peculiar expression.
Sitting face down atop the lefthand pile is a card clearly not from Uriah's deck. Its edges are nicked and well-worn, the lusterless midnight blue backing faded and dull but contrastingly inlaid with bright, gold-gilt labyrinthine patterns.
Savalos Thul can say with absolute certainty that the card was not present when he shuffled them seconds ago.
"A commissar of the sixth penal legion began the attack today. That is where we will begin the search."
"A commissar of the sixth penal legion began the attack today. That is where we will begin the search."
The Princep's Pub
With clear dislike I say also in a low voice, "I hate to admit it you are right the boy should not see this through the device or in person. I will have to modify my list of requirements to remove the ones for the boy but one. If you have the ability to do so I must insist that the boy gets fitted with a vox and he is taught how to use it while he is...As Danicos and the tech-priests walk back toward the bar, he pauses mid-stride at Kaltos' question, looking back at he and Ivaanov, eyes drifting with distaste to the grills of their vox-boxes.
"I'm glad we're in agreement on the lad's safety then."
"I will have my surgeon examine him to see what manner of injury or deformity has taken his voice. If nothing can be done medically, I will see what can be done about a vox implant. I'm leaving it to her professional judgment the best means to remedy his handicap, however."
I nod my head and go back and make corrections to the requested items and then hand the information over to Danicos. I then start on the list of orders.
Having a good time with the Kid. I show off a bit teaching him card tricks. Noticing that he can't talk, I even begin to show him how to talk using the cards. The images and there meaning are far older than anyone can imagine. Before us I see the new card on the table not from Uriah's deck. I know we are not alone.
Do I recognize the card being from my old deck?
I look up at the boy. "Think its best you head back into the other room with the others. I'll be along in a minute. Be a good lad and shut the door behind you."
I wait til the door is shut before I speak again, as I unbuckle my pistol, and set it on the table. The symbols on the cards are as old as runes carved on cave walls older than Terra herself.
"So you mind sitting down so we can talk face to face? Like to know who I am talk to."
I wait a good minute for a reaction before I flip the card over.
** spoiler omitted **
The Princep's Pub
Having a good time with the Kid. I show off a bit teaching him card tricks. Noticing that he can't talk, I even begin to show him how to talk using the cards. The images and there meaning are far older than anyone can imagine. Before us I see the new card on the table not from Uriah's deck. I know we are not alone.
Do I recognize the card being from my old deck?
I look up at the boy. "Think its best you head back into the other room with the others. I'll be along in a minute. Be a good lad and shut the door behind you."
I wait til the door is shut before I speak again, as I unbuckle my pistol, and set it on the table. The symbols on the cards are as old as runes carved on cave walls older than Terra herself.
"So you mind sitting down so we can talk face to face? Like to know who I am talking to."
I wait a good minute for a reaction before I flip the card over.
After quietly ushering the boy out of the room, confident that enough time elapsed has allowed the others to view the pict-cording of Krade's abduction, Savalos returns to his chair. Placing his pistol on the table, he simply stares at the card for a few minutes.
When he speaks, it is as much to question his own sanity as anything else. It is evident that there is nobody present in the room with him. Nothing answers him, the quiet in Dunkan's bedchamber is mockingly absolute. Yet, however impossible it may seem. The card is undeniably sitting on the table before him.
The tattered, slightly upraised edge of the card from Thul's Heretic's Wake deck seems to beckon him.
Steeling himself, he flips the card over, revealing the faded image of a rusting, battle-scarred Imperial titan, turbolaser batteries blazing at an unseen foe, the barrels adorned with fluttering pennants inscribed with flowing Imperial scripture. The towering war machine is depicted mid-stride as it tramples a veritable horde of small figures swarming about its legs.
The Titan.
I sit in silence as I study the card. After awhile I put it in my pocket with the other cards. Seeing that I get no answer I decide to leave the room and rejoin the others.
I have a gut feeling that I am being watched even though nobody else is in the room. Hate that feeling. Figure whoever is dropping me breadcrumbs will talk to me soon enough. If they wanted me dead it would have happened already.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent calmly removes the pistol and removes the magazine, then pulls back the slide to eject the round in the chamber. He tucks the magazine back into his coat then hands the pistol to the sinister-looking guard, b#*!-first.
"Will that be all?"
The guardsman continues to gaze icily at your for a good long while before taking the pistol and examining it with a disarmingly boyish glee, one that you quickly realize is the false happiness a cruel child-bully finds when inspecting his target's flawed toy, the better to mock him with. Glyde worries you more for the cold-blooded intellect you sense in him than his martial background. With an armorer's attention to detail, he points to the autopistol's barrel and stock.
"Armsman-10, Scintillan, well-maintained, too. A pity there's no buyer's cipher stamped on the grip. This gun's a rogue."
Glyde looks directly into your eyes with his orange-flecked felid's stare again as if sharing some unspoken joke.
"Very unlucky, Mr. Clerk, sir. I'd be careful if I were you."
He then steps aside pointing toward the louvered doors off to the left that lead into the Warden-Colonel's dining area. As he does, you notice that his shoulder patch has a signifier identifying his posting within the claustrum as V-Block.
"That will be all, sir."
The Princep's Pub
Pocketing the card, Savalos steps back out into Dunkan's improbable workshop, and makes his way to the bar. He is relieved to see that the so-called heretek is busy pouring another round and the two tech-priests have now taken their seats at the bar, albeit as far from Dunkan as they can manage, as if his blasphemy to the Machine God is communicable.
The boy sits to the right of the newcomer, Kaltos, Uriah on his other side. You can tell from Dunkan's pallor that he watched the footage as well, something you have no desire to repeat after the events in the Gear Box. Despite your steaming shower in the medicae, your skin still crawls at the thought of the filth, a faint, lingering stench still hanging over your clothes when you move.
Looking around soberly at the assembled acolytes, tech-priests, and Krade's loyal retainer, Danicos' speaks what everyone else is thinking.
"What now?"
"What now?"
"Well I for one could use another drink." I move back to where I sat before over at the bar.
"I personally have a few leads I want to run down. And I think a number of us want to have a little talking to with Leprade."
I take a deep sip of my fresh drink.
"Other than that I really want to head back to check on the guys. See if they are pulling through."
"Also need to have a private discussion with my peers about a certain Ganger residing in your cell."
"Oh btw do you have a magnifying glass and some ladies makeup? Could really use them if I need to crack into any security systems."
"You now know the stakes that are involved."
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
The guardsman continues to gaze icily at your for a good long while before taking the pistol and examining it with a disarmingly boyish glee, one that you quickly realize is the false happiness a cruel child-bully finds when inspecting his target's flawed toy, the better to mock him with. Glyde worries you more for the cold-blooded intellect you sense in him than his martial background. With an armorer's attention to detail, he points to the autopistol's barrel and stock.
"Armsman-10, Scintillan, well-maintained, too. A pity there's no buyer's cipher stamped on the grip. This gun's a rogue."
Glyde looks directly into your eyes with his orange-flecked felid's stare again as if sharing some unspoken joke.
"Very unlucky, Mr. Clerk, sir. I'd be careful if I were you."
He then steps aside pointing toward the louvered doors off to the left that lead into the Warden-Colonel's dining area. As he does, you notice that his shoulder patch has a signifier identifying his posting within the claustrum as V-Block.
"That will be all, sir."
Vincent nods and strides past the guardsman without a second glance, it is far too late to turn back now. He pauses for a second to collect himself before grasping the ornate doorknob and gently opening the door. With measured steps, he enters the room beyond.
The Princep's Pub
"You now know the stakes that are involved."
"We all do, now, Uriah"
He regards each of you in turn before continuing.
"I promised all of you sanctuary here, and I will not renege on this. We face a harsh truth, however. I've faced the servants of the Ruinous Powers before, and no place, no matter how well defended or hidden is a guarantee of safety against the magicks of the Warp. We must act while the opportunity exists."
"Our foes are threefold. I am already well-acquainted with these plague daemons and if what you say about the corrupted commissar who birthed them is true, it stands to reason their taint has spread somehow to the 7th Oremor Penal Legion of Unduz II."
Dunkan crosses his arms over his chest.
"I may know where this commissar is, but I would ask that you allow me to have some of my agents reconnoiter the location to confirm the tip provided by my source. I assure you, I will wait before acting if this information pans out. I am also not averse if any of your number wish to accompany Oktammor and those I have chosen for this task. This filthy pig left without settling his bill, and the Gear Box frowns on this sort of thing. It'll take a century before the stench is out of my bar, and I'm going to make sure he pays dearly for that."
You can tell he is considering holding something back from you, but relents instead, spilling forth what is on his mind.
"I have an ally in the 7th legion's claustrum as well, and he may have a means of getting you to the southern archipelago safely if it should come to that."
"Our second adversary is far more subtle. Whatever has united the disparate foes of the Yellobouros, the rogue arbitrators, and the Eviscerator is perhaps even more of a threat. I've managed to unearth little more than you already know, only that this Intelligencer, Leprade, is as corrupt as they come, and those loyal to him won't rest until they find 'Krade's kidnappers'. You are marked men now on Oremor until he is no longer a threat. If he has allied himself with that snake, Trizo, even the seedier parts of Vaxus are dangerous for you. Add this warp-dabbler advising them to the mix, and the Eviscerator, and there may be nowhere to hide, so we'd better act first."
He looks at Savalos intently.
"Thul here has mentioned something called the Withdrawn Veil. Now that we are all friends, I can offer this: the Withdrawn Veil is a circus, a run-down menagerie on the seamier side of the Grey Way, well past the older casinos. It is a place with a nefarious reputation, so it surprises me little that it is somehow involved. Few know anything about those running the place, only that they are purveyors of vices better left unspoken, even for the hedonists who frequent our little corner of Vaxus District. I have a hunch you may find some answers there as well."
"I understand you want to watch over your allies, but I promise you they will be safe in Nessa's care. My man, Stroinigli has contacts in Geltdown and other places, and I can provide you with whatever materiel aid, furnished to your requests, that he can locate, or we have in the armory. It may take a few days to gather or requisition these items, however, so you may want to spend the next few days resting for what is to come. I will understand if you wish to begin certain of your inquiries immediately."
He lifts his shot glass overhead.
"So, what say you? A toast to Emperor, the Omnissiah, or whatever Fate guides us before we begin then?"
"So its a place, and not a person. I definately need to sniff out some old contacts before I start digging there. You can hide alot of things in a circus..."
With my back turned to everyone but Dunkan I give a look like I want to say more. But not here, not now.
"I can work the Hive if others want to check out the 7th down south. But we need to send someone over to Fulcus. We need to know how far all this has already spread."
"I'll drink to that."
"The Emperor's blessing on us all."
"I will go to the claustrum. The guards have broken the cardinal rule of their position, and for that they shall pay." A small-but-genuine smile spreads across Iacton's face. "Besides, it has been far too long since I have walked a prison's halls."
Iacton raises his glass. "To the Emperor."
Dunkan is as surprised as the rest of you when Ivaanov steps forward, his motions swift and precise, to lift the glass of water proffered by the heretek that he had thus far ignored. He holds it overhead in an awkward, but strangely genuine imitation of the others.
"May the Omnissiah look favorably upon our toil."
The tech priest raises it to his thin, pale lips and and drinks a single swallow.
The Aerie, Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent notices the slanting sunlight shining in through the slats in the louvered doors as he turns the knob to open one. The source is evident as he looks into the large, circular room beyond. A massive, domed plasteel skylight allows the bright light of the southern sun in, cheerily illuminating a dining area that could service an entire company of Imperial Guardsmen. The curving walls are washed with a fading background of pale blue and aqua pigment, embellished with propagandized depictions of the 7th Oremor Penal Legion throughout its long and storied history. The frescoes are weathered and cracked in places, lending the room a sense of antiquity. If you remember correctly, this room long ago served as the Astropathica for the claustrum when it was once an outpost of the Angevin Crusade's garrisoning armies. The air is surprisingly light, an atmosphere unexpectedly friendly to the senses, the smells of sumptuous foods being prepared emerging from the neighboring kitchens.
A long table dominates the chamber, draped in a pristine white tablecloth trimmed in the regimental colors of gold and green. It is covered in a centrally aligned series of steaming serving platters, covered stainless steel dishes, and slender crystal carafes of water, juices, and liqueurs. Easily thirty chairs flank either side of the table, with a single, larger seat, upholstered in cured burgundy maulchup's leather at either end in the places of honor. Curiously, only three place settings have been layed out. Two at the far end, one before the large chair, and another beside it. The third is set in front of the other large chair on your end. In a nod to the rooms grandiose civility, the linen napkin set upon the bone white plate has been folded delicately into the stilted avian shape of a Unduzian grotto crane.
Noticing your arrival, the tall figure seated at the far head of the table raises his head, all the while smoothing the napkin he has just placed in his lap. His handsome, patrician features are dominated by thick, wispy grey eyebrows that hover bemusedly over discerning eyes lined with crows-feet. His manner is stern but dignified, his frame that of an old, fit soldier whose once muscular frame is diminishing with age, but still largely proportioned enough to ensure a healthy measure of respect for his physical strength. His head is shaved to a razor-even stubble of white hair, his khaki dress uniform adorned with baroque epaulets and a staggering cascade of medals honorably achieved through service to the God Emperor. A golden chit-sickle surmounting the Gothic numeral "7" dominates his left shoulder, a spread-winged aquila on the right. Warden-Colonel Alekszander Kreed smiles with genuine pleasure when he sees you, stifling a small cough in one hand as he waves you over with the other.
"Good afternoon, Senior Clerk Sepheris, please, join us."
Even as you are wondering who the final setting is for, a narrow, hunched-looking man dressed in extravagantly-bejeweled Administratum robes walks into the room from a neighboring office. His twisted form seems to wrench back and forth with each step as a result of his spinal deformity, lending him the swagger of a indigent beggar. His features could not contrast further from this impression. His pale, powdered face, effeminate in contour, is framed by an impeccably bound wig with a single tail that hangs behind him, wound in an intricate coil of gilt-wire. One eye has been replaced with a similarly golden augmetic that looks like nothing less than a telescoping jeweler's loupe, the lens a gleaming oval shard of actual, flat-cut emerald. A final affected touch, a dark black, painted-on mole adorns one cheek. He carries with him the air of one confident, nay, prideful in his station in spite of his relative infirmity. Adjutant Triggs says not a word to you, does not look at you, merely sitting down at the left hand of the Warden-Colonel and placing a hand-held dataslate beside his empty plate.
Looking up, your eyes scan the wall to your right, where you meet his hateful eyes looking at your own reflection in a tall, metallic-framed, ovular mirror of matte black glass suspended amidst other objets d'arte. For a moment the mirror seems to ripple or flux to your eye, lending your locked gazes and the otherwise pleasant ambiance of the dining room an unsettling, sinister feel.
The Princep's Pub
Dunkan Danicos nods a final, 'hear, hear' to Ivaanov, flustering the tech-priest somewhat for its obvious contradiction, and sits down again behind the bar.
"It will take some time for the conveyance sent by my compatriot from the 7th Legion's claustrum to arrive, and when it does his agents will have business to complete as well, I expect they will eventually join forces with Oktammor's group when the time is right, once this rogue commissar is brought to heel."
He considers something, absentmindedly scratching at his muttonchops.
"You have your own objectives as well, I understand this fully. But, it may aid our mutual cooperation if I know what they are specifically, and who will be assigned to each."
The Princep's Pub
Dunkan Danicos nods a final, 'hear, hear' to Ivaanov, flustering the tech-priest somewhat for its obvious contradiction, and sits down again behind the bar.
"It will take some time for the conveyance sent by my compatriot from the 7th Legion's claustrum to arrive, and when it does his agents will have business to complete as well, I expect they will eventually join forces with Oktammor's group when the time is right, once this rogue commissar is brought to heel."
He considers something, absentmindedly scratching at his muttonchops.
"You have your own objectives as well, I understand this fully. But, it may aid our mutual cooperation if I know what they are specifically, and who will be assigned to each."
"If you are able to acquire the armor that has the higher preference for me I will accompany Oktammor both of us would be the rock that the others would be able to bash our foes upon."I turn to look at the power armored figure with a nod.