While we are leaving, I will turn to Luceros,
"I would request that you put the ones who can deal with the taint, to do so. If they are anything like the one I know, I am not the one to make the request to them, or even be in their presence."
To Savalos on the microbead:
"We are on our way back."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
The tech-priest smirks once again with your laugh, and he flips his topknot back over his left shoulder again. His augmetic ocular appendage then irises out from the cogitator he was regarding to focus on you and Jerimus once more.
He looks at you as if trying to plumb the depths of your understanding, wondering how much you have already figured out on your own.
"Only one of them remains, in V-Block, with the Prisoner. The others...they didn't last."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
Vincent's eidetic mind opens, blooming like the violet chrunia flowers of the Unduz jungles. Perhaps at the mention of V-Block, the implanted memories of Vermillion-coded secure schemas for the construction of the Oubliette's deepest vaults resurface from his implanted memories, files and blueprints sealed away by Inquisitorial Writ upon pain of death by the Ordo Malleus, some even stamped with purity seals and benedictions to the God Emperor.
Despite the thousands of crabbed notes, printed call-outs and technical jargon crowding the visualized page, the relevance of the designs to the present moment is clear to Vincent immediately.
The floorplans show a large, centralized, stasis-sealed spherical vault, shielded by powerful psy-dampers and hexagramtical wards, in turn encircled by seven smaller spherical cells, similarly warded. The entire cyst-like grouping of penitent vaults sits isolated several levels below V-Block itself, accessed only by a single lift system that pierces the bedrock of the claustrum through a further series of psy-shielded, psyho-reactive bulkheads before terminating in a similarly warded cellblock wing that sits atop the eight cells like a lid.
Your mind feels a tickle, and you tease out something further.
No, the lift is not the only way into the Oubliette...one other route exists, but it does not exist on any of the schematics or the ancillary documentation. It comes from the living machine-memory of Logis Blakswann himself, whom nothing in the claustrum could be hidden from: an imprint on the living webwork of the facilities power draws and air handling cycles that reveals a long, diagonal shaft, more or less the modern equivalent of those once used to access certain ancient tombs, originating from a sealed suite of offices designated for visiting agents of the Inquisition in sub-level 7. It terminates at the end of the Oubliette's lowest wing above the eight spherical cells.
To Savalos on the microbead:
"We are on our way back."
"Alright."
The Vaxus Deeps
A feeling of pride tinged with regret fills Savalos as he stands amongst a score of his family, his Pack, ready to hunt again. Regret that his parents and so many of his friends and brethren from the Wolves could not live to see this day, a rebirth of sorts for their way of life. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Sigmunt and Tygault, he watches as the massive garage door ratchets up, clanking ponderously as it goes.
Uriah and Iacton, approaching at a sprint with Luceros in tow, notice the central figure in the throng of Wolves ahead incline his head slightly, as if speaking to empty air. Backlit in shadow by the blood-red stablights arrayed along the sanctum's fortifications, it is clear the figure standing before the rising door is Savalos, as his voice then crackles over the 'bead, clearly for a change, in response to Uriah's last transmission.
The reunited acolytes have but a few seconds to confer before the door clanks away into the ceiling, and they find themselves looking out over the rockcrete lift-terminus plaza where Stroinigli originally parked the Sabrewolf so many hours ago. Despite this wide expanse set amidst the crumbling squalor of the Vaxus Deeps, the tumbled-down buildings, and perilously compressed architecture seem to frown down upon the scene revealed, the gloomy darkness above making things feel closer and more claustrophobic than they have any right to be.
The Duct Wolves around you tense as one, unholstering pistols and racking scatterguns with a feral intensity that does nothing to belie their persecuted state.
Almost immediately, it is clear why.
A mob has amassed around the Sabrewolf and another, far older groundcar parked near the center of the plaza, right on the very doorstep of their hidden redoubt. They number well over fifty at first glance, most garbed like street scum, clustered in close groups around crimson-robed figures whose very hands seem to billow with pluming flame. There are perhaps a dozen or so of these more obvious personages dispersed among the club and pistol-wielding indigens. About half of the assembled mob wheels around at the sound of the huge garage door opening to face the new threat, some even leveling antiquated rifles and revolvers in the direction of the assembled Duct Wolves. A few of the red robes hold up heavily gloved hands, bound in grayish insulating tape, in an attempt to stay the rash actions of any of their more trigger-happy companions.
I watch as the garage door rolls up, and I see the mob outside. Frag Me, can't we get a fragging break already?
Seeing I have been gone for way to long, and never ventured down in these parts of the Vaxus Deeps. I have no worldly clue who these guys are.
In a whisper: "Who the frag are these guys?"
First roll as Alpha. Negotiate with a mob that I have no clue about. Mom I hope your laughing your tail off over this...
In a booming voice: "I am Savalos Thul, Alpha. I take this to be a social visit?"
Somewhere in the Vaxus Deeps
No sooner do these words escape the steaming vox grill of the tech-priest does Einhardt swing around, lasgun pivoting to face the crookedly leaning alleyways on the far side of the cracked rockcrete roadway.
"I'm guessing your companions and their allies are not so punctual that they've already arrived."
He curses under his breath.
"If not, we have a big problem..."
"Well you had to ask... And no we do not have these red robed ones as companions. The ones with pelts on are who we are looking for." I turn to Ivaanov "See if you can have them hurry." With that I hold up my hands in the universal gesture of peace and no harm. To the approaching group "We have come to speak with the Pack. We have no quarrel with you and we are sorry if we have encroached on your domain." I keep my hand away from the stock of the lasgun that sits over my shoulder.
Somewhere in the Vaxus Deeps
Ivaanov backs away until he leans awkwardly against the side of the battered groundcar. He toggles his microbead, answering Savalos with another ciphered message:
"De fumo in flammam..."
In tech I say "I hope they come quickly."
I sure hope the meeting with the Duct Wolves has gone well...
In a booming voice: "I am Savalos Thul, Alpha. I take this to be a social visit?"
...looks like it did...now I hope this will go better then the crane because now we are on the receiving end of the flams.
The Vaxus Deeps
The tension is as palpable as the reek of promethium as the crowd parts just enough for those in the Duct Wolf contingent to see the two tech-priests and their guardsman counterparts, backs pressed to the older groundcar. A body, one of the indigens from the looks of things, slumps lifelessly on the ground by Stroinigli's Sabrewolf, a complicating factor if there ever was one. Although it is clear the cultists outnumber you, they leave nothing to chance, and fully half of their number pivot to face the arriving Duct Wolves, puffs of smoke fuming into the air from their flamers, their chainswords buzzing hungrily in response to this new threat.
Those of their number who held their hands high in a signal to avert immediate violence, now lower them, content to regard the interlopers in stony silence.
Savalos calls out to them, his voice echoing strangely in the irregular hollows of the frowning edifices, but there is no answer, and the silence persists.
Finally, when the intensity of the interminable standoff becomes almost unbearable, with the strong arms of the Wolves twitching with the exertion of holding their guns at the ready, and the flamers of the cultists guttering down to flickering blue pilot lights, an older man's booming voice speaks in answer to Savalos, amplified by a vox laud-hailer:
"You? You are no Alpha of the Wolves that I have ever treated with! Your kind dwell in succor at our sufferance, a mercy that can be rescinded with a word if you dare to continue meddling in Emperor's holy work!"
Common Lore:Imperium (1d100=21)
I scan the crowd as my eyes settle on the Old Man, and listen to his threat. The weight of what will transpire next can't be ignored. Watching little licks of flame dance around I realize I am talking to a bunch of Ishmael clones. Frag me...
In a loud voice: "First off let me thank you for extending succor to My Wolves But respectfully know this, I don't tuck tail. I don't meddle in the Emperor's Will, but I am an instrument, and extension of it."
I pause to let the last few words sink in.
"Come treat with me. They're not going anywhere."
I gesture toward Ivanoov and the others.
"Be my guest, and let me extend our hospitality to you. I am sure there is much we need to talk about."
By the Throne I hope I just didn't start a firefight... Damn fanatics.
I seethe in anger. How dare they think that their holy work is more important than ours. They do not know the stakes, and interfere with our work. For now I will stay quiet, and let Savalos handle the Redemptionists. Maybe he can avoid us having to kill them.
The Vaxus Deeps
Common Lore:Imperium (1d100=21)
I scan the crowd as my eyes settle on the Old Man, and listen to his threat. The weight of what will transpire next can't be ignored. Watching little licks of flame dance around I realize I am talking to a bunch of Ishmael clones. Frag me...In a loud voice: "First off let me thank you for extending succor to My Wolves But respectfully know this, I don't tuck tail. I don't meddle in the Emperor's Will, but I am an instrument, and extension of it."
I pause to let the last few words sink in.
"Come treat with me. They're not going anywhere."
I gesture toward Ivaanov and the others.
"Be my guest, and let me extend our hospitality to you. I am sure there is much we need to talk about."
By the Throne I hope I just didn't start a firefight... Damn fanatics.
The old man still stands hidden amongst his crimson-clad bodyguard, but his raspy, commanding voice still booms with incredulous vitriol over the laud-hailer, the head of which pokes up over the crowd like a curious metallic serpent rearing up from the press of bodies.
"Your Wolves? Where is the woman, the leader of this band of scoundrels that we suffer in our holy parish? Our agreement was with her, not with one of her ruffian underlings. What audacity is this, then, that you would dare threaten my flock with your toothless wolves, whom the Emperor's holy host saw merciful enough to shelter from the serpent they so fear?"
The last is dripping with sarcasm and contempt.
"You are correct in one thing, these (he gestures to the tech-priests and guardsmen) are not going anywhere without our remit, and you and yours, self-declared servant of the Throne, shall be judged by your next words, so consider them carefully lest we seek to judge further the heretical import of your claim."
"You asked me to choose my next words carefully. So I shall. You jeer, and mock my family about licking our wounds with our fight against the Serpent. That were in need of succor. There is no shame in that. For while you prostrate, and genuflect, and have been delinquint in your responsibilities. The Wolves have watched, and hunted."
"There is an ancient story about a Serpent that was allowed free reign in a garden. Where its inhabitants paid it no mind til they were led astray by. Then it was to late, and it led to the destruction of the garden. My Wolves bleed, and die rooting out the Serpent, and its allies while you have turned a blind eye."
"Where were you when we had to set the Gearbox to flame? Where were you when we fought to save the soul of The Mercy. It too consumed by flames. Where were you when the gunfire echoed here in the Vaxus Deeps? ...Where were you while my brothers, and sisters died fighting the corruption that is eating away at the very foundation of Oremor?"
"It wasn't your time... We know you will do the Emperors work. Hence why we came here to retrieve you. For now is your time. But you need the Wolves Senses, and the Wolves Council, and we can use your numbers. So come inside, and treat with us. I don't play my cards out in the street for impure eyes, and ears to see. You will receive any, and all proof inside."
I turn my back on the crowd of Red Redemptionists, and start to go back inside, and stop for just a moment before entering.
"We had to place our trust with you. Its time you need to place your trust in us."
I gesture back toward the assemblage of guardmen. "We will take the injured to be cared for. The others can sit out here by your decreation."
"One last thing, I am the Old She Wolves Blood. Our words carry equal weight with our people."
I step inside, and hold The Golden Aquila up high to be seen. Hating that I have to use it as a carrot on the stick; but hoping the Red Redemptionists follow peacefully. Sad to think I wish Ishmael was here. He could speak there language. Fanatic to fanatic.
I will quietly say over the microbead: "We found the source of the taint. Your wolves can lead them to it."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
Vincent taps his gloved fingers against the face of his thumb as he ponders this revelation. He feels chills course down his spine as dark temptations bubble up from his psyche. Clutching his eyes shut, he traps down these desires with an iron will forged from decades of grim survival. He turns to the young priest with an unflinching gaze.
"Can anything of use be salvaged here?"
The Vaxus Deeps
"You asked me to choose my next words carefully. So I shall. You jeer, and mock my family about licking our wounds with our fight against the Serpent. That were in need of succor. There is no shame in that. For while you prostrate, and genuflect, and have been delinquent in your responsibilities. The Wolves have watched, and hunted."
"There is an ancient story about a Serpent that was allowed free reign in a garden. Where its inhabitants paid it no mind til they were led astray. Then it was to late, and it led to the destruction of the garden. My Wolves bleed, and die rooting out the Serpent, and its allies while you have turned a blind eye."
"Where were you when we had to set the Gearbox to flame? Where were you when we fought to save the soul of The Mercy. It too consumed by flames. Where were you when the gunfire echoed here in the Vaxus Deeps? ...Where were you while my brothers, and sisters died fighting the corruption that is eating away at the very foundation of Oremor?"
"It wasn't your time... We know you will do the Emperor's work. Hence why we came here to retrieve you. For now is your time. But you need the Wolves Senses, and the Wolves Counsel, and we can use your numbers. So come inside, and treat with us. I don't play my cards out in the street for impure eyes, and ears to see. You will receive any, and all proof inside."
I turn my back on the crowd of Red Redemptionists, and start to go back inside, and stop for just a moment before entering.
"We had to place our trust with you. Its time you need to place your trust in us."
"One last thing, I am the old She Wolf's blood. Our words carry equal weight with our people."
I step inside, and hold The Golden Aquila up high to be seen. Hating that I have to use it as a carrot on the stick; but hoping the Red Redemptionists follow peacefully. Sad to think I wish Ishmael was here. He could speak there language. Fanatic to fanatic.
The brass laud hailer drones with a buzz of feedback, as if its owner is momentarily at a loss for words. When he speaks again, his tone is less abrasive, more thoughtful, and you can tell immediately, for good or for ill, your words and the dramatic appearance of the golden aquila were the last things he expected, and put what must normally be a gifted orator off balance.
"So, the prodigal son has returned, then. Ariella must be proud. You speak in parables and allegory like a confessor, young Thul, or perhaps you were just bequeathed the silver tongue of your mother. Regardless, your words carry weight in these old ears. I am relieved to hear that another's eyes see the tide of corruption spreading through this hive like we do. We have watched the Serpent, these Yellobouros, shed their skin and take on the taint of something...else...it is why we offered your kin succor in the first place. Dare not doubt the conviction of the Emperor's holy avengers in this matter, however, when the time comes this Serpent will be beheaded, and cut seven times seven times in pieces and burnt upon the pyre of our wrath, its purified ashes strewn over the Garden to grow the people's faith in the Golden Throne."
The awed hush that had come over the assembled indigen Redemptionists slowly turns to a susurrus of pious whispers as you lower the majestic golden aquila. Something in the preacher's voice betrays some small measure of irritation that you influenced his flock so easily.
"I hear the truth in your words and will parley with you."
The red robed preachers around him seem to bristle at this, and you can see those flanking him, their faces hidden by the folds of their hoods, growing uneasy at this development. A slight, pale and palsied hand waves them both off in irritation, and the mob parts enough for all to glimpse a very short figure nearly mummified in red vestments. The laud hailer held in his other hand is nearly twice his diminutive height.
"You have my trust. However, my loyal disciples fear that I am becoming too rash in my dotage, but they should know by now that Friar Savonar leaves little to chance. One of the tech-priests and one of the guardsmen will be left behind with my followers as an assurance of my safety while your guest."
He gestures to Kaltos and the guard sergeant, and they are herded forward before him and his honor guard of seven red robed cultists, serving as an improvised human shield between the Redemptionists and the wary Wolves. One of the robed figures swings a lit censer back and forth as they make their way to the entrance of the Duct Wolf sanctum, the others keeping their chainswords and flamers at the ready for any sign of betrayal.
When Friar Savonar get closer, you can see that he is almost absurdly short, fully half the height of his followers. Just the same, he carries himself with an imperious authority, and a confidence that transcends his spare and withered frame and lack of stature. His robes are as soot besmirched as the rest, but are of a deeper, almost maroon hue, bedecked with golden braid and intricate brass aquilas meticulously pieced together from underhive salvage. He leans heavily on the tall laud hailer, but moves gamely enough. His thin, sallow lips, just barely visible in the shadows of his hood, are down-turned and set in a sour grimace, wreathed by a billowing white beard whose tips are ritually scorched with pitch.
When he reaches Savalos, Uriah, and Iacton, he does not deign to look up at them, his hooded head instead set straight ahead upon his hunched shoulders, the ghost of a smile rippling across his pinched, raptor-like mouth.
"My trust is yours, lead the way, acolytes."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz IIVincent taps his gloved fingers against the face of his thumb as he ponders this revelation. He feels chills course down his spine as dark temptations bubble up from his psyche. Clutching his eyes shut, he traps down these desires with an iron will forged from decades of grim survival. He turns to the young priest with an unflinching gaze.
"Can anything of use be salvaged here?"
The young tech-priest watches Vincent's fingers cascade hypnotically for a time before answering.
"Perhaps."
"They abandoned the hardware, but something yet remains. It is why I brought you here. You need to understand for yourself."
He gestures toward the lone cogitator array that is still lit, and the clockwork rings of the data port piercing its rusting faceplate.
His next words are spoken as if he never intended to say them aloud, as if his reverie compels him to do so, the dream-like drone of his voice completing the effect.
"The Genetors cloned him, their masters naively believing that his lesser aspects, once sufficiently psychically hobbled and bound, could serve as a seven-fold buffer to contain his power."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
The young tech-priest watches Vincent's fingers cascade hypnotically for a time before answering.
"Perhaps."
"They abandoned the hardware, but something yet remains. It is why I brought you here. You need to understand for yourself."
He gestures toward the lone cogitator array that is still lit, and the clockwork rings of the data port piercing its rusting faceplate.
His next words are spoken as if he never intended to say them aloud, as if his reverie compels him to do so, the dream-like drone of his voice completing the effect.
"The Genetors cloned him, their masters naively believing that his lesser aspects, once sufficiently psychically hobbled and bound, could serve as a seven-fold buffer to contain his power."
Vincent slowly removes his right glove and runs his pale fingers across the data-port's engraved surface. He traces each concentric ring in turn before finally reaching its center and placing his palm flat on the face terminal. With celerity to impress any cardsharp, he whips a filament of silver metal from the flesh of his wrist and walks it over his fingers. He holds he filament's heavy fob between his middle and ring fingers for a moment, fingertips quivering in anticipation, before plunging the thumb sized cylinder into the data-port's yawning depths.
Vincent's eyes roll into his head as he reacthey hes into the cogitator's moldering holds. His subconscious probes through the stagnant data-flow, searching for the proscribed techniques and terrible knowledge this place once contained.
I smile at the Old Friar, and lead the way inside.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
Vincent slowly removes his right glove and runs his pale fingers across the data-port's engraved surface. He traces each concentric ring in turn before finally reaching its center and placing his palm flat on the face terminal. With celerity to impress any cardsharp, he whips a filament of silver metal from the flesh of his wrist and walks it over his fingers. He holds he filament's heavy fob between his middle and ring fingers for a moment, fingertips quivering in anticipation, before plunging the thumb sized cylinder into the data-port's yawning depths.Vincent's eyes roll into his head as he reaches into the cogitator's moldering holds. His subconscious probes through the stagnant data-flow, searching for the proscribed techniques and terrible knowledge this place once contained.
As his mind enfolds itself around the sluggish flow of hibernating binary data in the long-forgotten cogitator, Vincent's conscious mind is left wondering why this particular device was left active after all this time when the other racks and components have been deliberately brought off-line or otherwise removed. It is almost as if it was left here for him, waiting to be discovered in the abandoned cloning lab.
Bypassing the encryption and security protocols is child's play with the authorization codes and ciphers remembered from Logis Blakswann's datacore and the Warden-Colonel's still active ward accessor. When all is laid bare, it takes his detached mind, cast adrift through the electro-graft linkage several moments to fully grasp the ramifications of what it is seeing.
One notable file, something of a status indicator relayed from the V-Block of the Oubliette itself stands out most starkly, the danger it reveals like a razor knife slashed across his neural pathways, demanding notice:
88D54-Tl3-CONFIRMING CREDENTIALS/GHOLEM-77 ENCRYPTION ENGAGED**ACCESS GRANTED**/ACCESSING STATUS DISPLAY-ACTUAL:
[PSYCHIC ACTIVITY {+19.877 ps/t} PRESENTLY EXCEEDS ALL ASSIGNED FAIL-SAFE PARAMETERS-IMMEDIATE QUARANTINE RECOMMENDED/ERROR/FALSE cmnd -h ID READ/NEG/117/***ERROR***/QUARANTINE PROTOCOLS DISABLED AT SOURCE/***ERROR***/]
-PARSE PROMPT DISABLED-
[+++REPORT/BIOMONITOR FOR BUFFER PENITENTS FOLLOWS/REPORT+++]
READING FILE...
***[BUFFER SUBJECT ONE][CODE DESIGNATE: 'ASARULUDU'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...INTACT][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...TERMINATED][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 0.0]***
***[BUFFER SUBJECT TWO][CODE DESIGNATE: 'ENSHAG'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...INTACT][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...TERMINATED][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 0.0]***
***[BUFFER SUBJECT THREE][CODE DESIGNATE: 'NETI'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...INTACT][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...TERMINATED][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 0.0]***
***[BUFFER SUBJECT FOUR][CODE DESIGNATE: 'DRUAGA'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...UNKNOWN][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...TERMINATED][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 0.0]***
***[BUFFER SUBJECT FIVE][CODE DESIGNATE: 'NINSUTU'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...INTACT][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...TERMINATED][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 0.0]***
***[BUFFER SUBJECT SIX][CODE DESIGNATE: 'NAMTAR'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...UNKNOWN][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...TERMINATED][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 0.0]***
***[BUFFER SUBJECT SEVEN][CODE DESIGNATE: 'RYUK'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...*ATTENTION!*/POSSIBLE BREACH DETECTED/][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...ACTIVE][OPERATIONAL BUFFER CAPABILITY: 17.4/...HOLDING]***
<---PARSING DATA--->
7777777-G-CONFIRMING CREDENTIALS/ERISHKAGAL-77 ENCRYPTION ENGAGED**ACCESS GRANTED**/ACCESSING STATUS DISPLAY-ACTUAL:
[PSYCHIC ACTIVITY {+77.777 ps/t} PRESENTLY EXCEEDS ALL ASSIGNED FAIL-SAFE PARAMETERS-IMMEDIATE QUARANTINE RECOMMENDED/EVACUATE ALL PERSONNEL;;/ERROR/FALSE cmnd -h ID READ/NEG/7/***ERROR***/QUARANTINE PROTOCOLS DISABLED AT SOURCE/***ERROR***]
***[V-VAULT/CENTRAL CORE][CODE DESIGNATE: 'NERGAL'][STASIS VAULT STATUS/...*ATTENTION!*/POSSIBLE BREACH DETECTED/OFFLINE(#!/ERROR!][WARP CONTAINMENT/...OFFLINE][PSY-DAMPERS/...OFFLINE][BIO-MECHANICAL RESTRAINTS/....OFFLINE][BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS/...VERIFIED][BIO-AUSPEX RESULT/...INCONCLUSIVE][IMMATERIUM OVERBLEED RATIO EXCEEDED/IMMEDIATE QUARANTINE RECOMMENDED/EVACUATE ALL PERSONNEL;;/ERROR/FALSE cmnd -h ID READ/NEG/7/***ERROR***/QUARANTINE PROTOCOLS DISABLED AT SOURCE/***ERROR***/
<---PARSING DATA--->
[+++INCOMING DATA TRANSMISSION/ENCRYPT:
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777...
77777777777777777777777777777................................
[+++MESSAGE OBTAINED...EXTRACTING...+++]
[+++OVERRIDE COGITATIONAL SYSTEM AUDIO INPUT #33/SEVERING ELECTRO-GRAFT INPUT SESSION+++]
<---PARSING DATA--->
[+++PLAYING DATA+++]
...
Vincent lurches back, his mind seething, almost squirming with the unbidden, writhing tendrils of unseen things, a harbinger of corruption that numbs the senses. The electro-graft retracts into his hand like an appendage burnt on a hot stove. The sound of lies? Flies? F(lies)? The noises fill his ears as the rusting cogitator's speakers hiss into life.
'walkabout...walkabout...
In the evenin' in the shallows,
'touched man he walkin' the barrows,
third eye seein' what's beyon' the parted veil,
lonely watcher, he muss'n fail...
walkabout...walkabout...
The singing fades away, but Vincent is given the sobering sensation that it is not because the singer is done, but rather he senses or somehow even hears the young tech-priest, Bothle, and Vincent listening in rapt terror.
An exhausted voice, tremulous with effort, speaks softly over the cogitator's vox-speaker.
'...help...help me...I can't hold him much longer...fetch the Stern Man...I beg you...come for me!'
The voice fades and is slowly replaced by a horrific buzzing noise, and you feel your eardrums begin to throb and ache again. Another voice, dark, sepulchral, and completely devoid of humanity whispers in a guttural, yet intimate tone:
'Vincent...listen not to the abomination calved from my being...listen to...'
You hear Bothle whimper like a child.
There is a sharp crack, and a shower of sparks, and you suddenly feel the hot blood running out of your ears, on to your neck and clothing. Looking up you see the young tech-priest, one of the wheeled stainless-steel stools clutched in both hands. An expression of true fear is stamped on his face. Chest heaving from the exertion, sweat dotting his brow and blood trickling in rivulets from his own ears, he tosses the chair aside, staring at the crushed faceplate of the broken cogitator.
His yells gradually become audible to you as the sounds of swarming flies slowly recedes, the thunderous noise of your own pulse, pounding in your head finally diminishing. A foul smell lingers in the air.
"Sepheris! Sepheris! Are you alright?"
Vincent is silent as he wipes away the blood. He rubs his blood-streaked hands on his coat as he answers Bothle
"Alright is too much to ask for in this situation Bothle, survival will do for now."
Vincent hangs his head and stares blankly into space.
"Dread matters are coming to a head, things too terrible to contemplate. It seems that I have a choice, fight or flight. How delightfully primal isn't it? Just how they like it."
Vincent pauses and raises his gaze to Bothle and the young priest.
"My conscience may be broken and shriveled, dirtied by the terrible things, but there a lines I will not cross. I will not have you two on my conscience, the time has come for us to part ways. The rest I must do alone."
Vincent reaches into his stained coat and retrieves the now battered dataslate he has been carrying. Tapping a few keys, he adds one last entry before tossing it to Bothle.
33,
Time is short, the danger we have spoken of has extended its influence further and faster than I had feared. Even now its cage strains towards breaking and its minions have gained the upper hand. I shall not write the name, but it is an emissary from king of flies and things unclean, the number is seven. The once human shell holding it is strong enough to hold back the worst for now, but it asks for the stern man. This seems to refer to the friends of yours that we spoke of before. Tell them that time is running out. The best route to the thing is through the quarters that are their due by virtue of their status. There shall be covert access to the sepulcher there. Trust no one.
By the Corpse,
17
"Go to the Gearbox on the Grey Way as I told you before. Ask for number 33 and tell him 17 sent you. Give him that."
"You," he motions to the young tech-priest. "Go with him, it will take both of your talents to get out of here alive."
Vincent waits for them to leave, then whispers silently to himself:
"Feck"
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
Luceros leads the strange procession of Inquisitorial acolytes, Redemptionists, and Duct Wolves through the labyrinthine corridors of the dilapidated hostelry that has served as the gang's bolthole since their hagira from the upper levels of Vaxus District, finally stopping before a set of tall double doors crafted from a hardwood so dark it is almost black. The notched and pitted doors are limned with ornate brass fittings that are so tarnished with age that they seem to almost blend in with the wood. Two of Luceros' bodyguard at the head of the bizarre parade of personages step forward and pull the massive portal open, blowing up a puff of grey dust, and revealing a long, oblate chamber that likely once served as a sumptuous banquet hall.
The huge dining room has fallen into decay like the rest of the hostelry. Antiquated plaster frescoes painted upon concentric rings on the ceiling are cracked and stained with blackish mildew beyond any recognition of what they once depicted. The left-hand wall has partially collapsed revealing another room that can only be the kitchen that once serviced this banquet hall, filled with a clutter of rusting appliances. Shattered piles of wooden chairs and the remnants of tables litter the circumference of the room like antique kindling.
Only a solitary hardwood table remains, but it is impressive in spite of its worn and dusty appearance. Like a lone, battle-scarred battleship in dry-dock it dominates the center of the room, its rectangular dimensions a full twenty meters long and nearly three meters wide. The stout legs at the near end are like curving pillars terminating in elaborate, lion's-paw feet carved by some long-dead master woodworker. An eclectic selection of mismatched chairs surround its titanic length, while a pair of larger seats upholstered in dark, grox-hide leather that could conceivably double as thrones sit at either end.
Without preamble or invitation, Friar Savonar trundles over to the nearest of these two places of honor, leaning heavily on his laud hailer staff all the way and settles his short, infirm body into it with a hissing grunt of effort. Luceros and his men seat themselves next along the right-hand side of the table, and the seven Redemptionist preachers that comprise Savonar's crimson-garbed honor guard awkwardly settle into the chairs nearest to their master after silently satisfying themselves that the Duct Wolves mean no treachery. The acolytes, tech-priest, and guardsman-sergeant file in to the other side, leaving the other place of honor for Savalos.
Friar Savonar, his cowled head barely topping the level of the table lets out a dry, raspy-sounding chortle of amusement as Thul approaches the chair.
"Heh! You presume much boy, to take that, the seat of your mother. Tell me, where then is Ariella, what matters occupy her so much that she would send her newly returned pup to treat with me?"
Looking at the Old Friar: "If I had my way I wouldn't have taken this seat for a good long while."
I sit down heavily feeling the burden of it, the responsibility. I look into the old mans eyes.
"She won't be coming anymore. Her place is beside my Father now. If you want to say words to her your more than welcome, and I be willing to take you to her."
As I let the words sink in. I take a look around the table and take measure of the new faces before me.
I nod to Savalos once he states that his mother is now dead. It looks like I was wrong everything did not go well at all.
Knowing that this is a volatile situation I will try to keep my mouth shut. We need friends not more enemy's.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
The concern writ across Jerimus Bothle's face for his old friend is genuine when Vincent finishes his instructions. The portly clerk removes his cracked glare shades, makes to dust them off, then notices how filthy and damaged they are, and instead elects to let them clatter to the floor.
He wipes away the humid sweat and grime that mix with his teary, red-rimmed eyes, the tears not so much a display of sentimentality from the once-jocular clerk, but rather an aftermath of succumbing to the horrors of the inhuman voice. He makes to speak, but his voice quavers slightly, and Vincent sees the shame on his face as he tries to master his fears. He haltingly begins again.
"Boss, are you sure about this? That voice, the singing, that thing that spoke to us. I'll admit I've never been so terrified in all my life, but I would be worse than a coward if I ran away now leaving you to face whatever it is alone. The claustrum is falling apart...the legion killing the tech-priests...it's madness. What sort of chance will you have alone?"
As he speaks the young tech-priest moves along beside him, gaze downcast at the floor, saying nothing.
When Vincent finishes his instructions, Bothle takes the battered dataslate hesitantly, not even giving it a second glance with his watery eyes, trying to make sense of what his superior is telling him. Then, something registers as looks upon his long-time regicide partner and Jerimus Bothle secures the 'slate in his vest pocket. A new determination crosses his features, and he nods respectfully at Vincent in a manner that the normally casual Bothle has never done before.
"I will make certain it reaches its destination, boss."
Seeing there is little more to say, Bothle lowers his head thoughtfully, the tech-priest nodding once to you and then following him from the abandoned gene-lab. Before they are fully through the door into the brighter sunlight of the level's outer ring, the enigmatic tech-priest turns to linger for a moment.
"I will do everything in my power to make certain he reaches his destination."
Then pausing, an odd note of concern entering his modulated voice:
"What do you intend to do, Sepheris?"
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
Looking at the Old Friar: "If I had my way I wouldn't have taken this seat for a good long while."
I sit down heavily feeling the burden of it, the responsibility. I look into the old man's eyes.
"She won't be coming anymore. Her place is beside my Father now. If you want to say words to her your more than welcome, and I be willing to take you to her."
You can see little of the wizened old friar's face beneath the red cowl he wears, but his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly at your news, his pale brow wrinkling thoughtfully.
"That will not be necessary. You have my sincerest condolences, then, Thul. The She-Wolf, for all of her secrets and prevarications was both a worthy adversary and a firm ally when that day came. Your kind have a large void to fill, it seems. If I may be so bold, how did this sad and untimely event occur? I pray that it wasn't as a result of some unfortunate internecine strife?"
Friar Savonar glances around the long table, and it is clear when his eyes fix pointedly at Luceros who his last comment was intended for. It is also clear he has noticed that the other Alpha, Silus, is conspicuously absent. His shrewd gaze then follows along that side of the table, missing nothing, and you recognize that he has also taken note of the fact that Uriah and the guardsman sergeant never took their seats, either. A perceptive man.
As I let the words sink in. I take a look around the table and take measure of the new faces before me.
Eye contact during the long walk to this meeting chamber was all that was required for Uriah to make his intention of slipping away with the guardsman sergeant known, and Savalos is now grateful for the psyker's foresight when watching Friar Savonar survey the room. The guardsman seemed confident and stolid, even in the face of the remarkable circumstances he found himself in, uttering not a word. The remainder of the Redemptionists in their concealing, pointed hoods, say little, those closest to the friar only muttering occasionally to him behind lifted hands. They all appear to be deferring to the withered old preacher.
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
"That will not be necessary. You have my sincerest condolences, then, Thul. The She-Wolf, for all of her secrets and prevarications was both a worthy adversary and a firm ally when that day came. Your kind have a large void to fill, it seems. If I may be so bold, how did this sad and untimely event occur? I pray that it wasn't as a result of some unfortunate internecine strife?"
Friar Savonar glances around the long table, and it is clear when his eyes fix pointedly at Luceros who his last comment was intended for. It is also clear he has noticed that the other Alpha, Silus, is conspicuously absent. His shrewd gaze then follows along that side of the table, missing nothing, and you recognize that he has also taken note of the fact that Uriah and the guardsman sergeant never took their seats, either. A perceptive man.
I nod respectfully to the Friar for the condolences. Keeping with my policy of having all the cards on the table I speak.
"I hope to prove to be just as strong of an ally to our friends. And a ward to those who need it. The Old She Wolf fell to the terror of all women of Oremor. The Eviserators blade..."
Saying it stings, but better the truth here. Better the truth.
"We have lost many this day, including Old Silus all to another enemy. Our funeral howls will be long this night, and the day is still very young. Know the pack is of one mind and purpose. We will hunt."
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum, A Forlorn Pantry
The 7th Oremor Penal Legion sergeant stares intently at Uriah Trantor, his ice-cold eyes betraying nothing of his emotional state, the firm set of his jaw showing that despite everything that has happened to he and his men since arriving in Orcut hive, he hasn't succumbed to his fears.
"Master Sergeant Einhardt, 7th Oremor Penal Legion, Unduz II Claustrum. I have in my possession a sealed message for delivery from Senior Clerk Vincent Sepheris, attached non-com of the Adeptus Administratum of the Unduz II Claustrum, to an unspecified contact. I have surmised from recent events that this dispatched directive should be delivered to whoever is in charge of Inquisitorial delegation present on Oremor. I'm assuming that is you, sir."
He passes a simple, sealed, clerical dataslate to Uriah.
GIVE THEM THIS: NURGLE
"My name is Uriah Trantor and I am the one you were to give this to. This confirms who one of the enemies is and we have heard the name of the other. What are your orders now that you have delivered your message?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
"You are not running Bothle, the task I give you is just as important as that upon which I am about to embark. I shall not exaggerate my chances of success, but I must do this alone. I cannot adequately prepare you to face what lurks here, and to bring one unprepared into the heart of darkness is as foolish as it is callous."
Turning to the tech-priest, he casually removes his glasses and wipes them clean on one of the few unstained spots on his clothing. He fixes his naked gaze on the priest, and smiles.
"I intend to improvise."
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum, A Forlorn Pantry
"My name is Uriah Trantor and I am the one you were to give this to. This confirms who one of the enemies is and we have heard the name of the other. What are your orders now that you have delivered your message?"
It is clear that Sgt. Einhardt has been through a lot in the last several hours. He stares through Uriah Trantor for a few seconds before successfully wrapping his mind around this question.
"My original orders for my squad were to investigate a commissar and a contingent of 7th Legion guardsmen that were absent without leave from the claustrum. Upon our arrival in the Geltdown Docks we came under attack by the rogue guardsmen and a swarm...a swarm of blighted monsters...at their shuttle's platform. By some Throne-granted miracle I cannot fathom, myself and half of my squad survived, escaping with your allies."
He pauses again, lost in thought.
"The truth is, I have no further orders. Since the ambush at the docks I haven't had an opportunity to contact Sepheris. This far below the surface even the long-gain vox-caster carried by my comm officer is useless."
The sergeant's eyes narrow considerably, the ice returning to his martial gaze.
"All I know is that I watched half my squad die, torn apart by child-sized monsters, and have since that time not been able to receive a single straight answer from anyone; not the Astartes-sized bloke in the cargo-8, not those damnably obtuse tech-priests, or anyone else for that matter now that I am here. Wherever here is!"
"Now, either shoot me for being insubordinate or answer the question I have of you, Uriah Trantor: what the FECK is happening here!?"
"First I have a question for you: Are you willing to help fight with us against the enemy that you have just gotten a glimpse of? If so, I can give you more information. I will tell one thing, as I have told others, the stakes we are facing are the destruction of your planet and the spread of the Ruinous Powers in this whole system."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
Turning to the tech-priest, he casually removes his glasses and wipes them clean on one of the few unstained spots on his clothing. He fixes his naked gaze on the priest, and smiles.
"I intend to improvise."
The young tech-priest smiles again, the expression still incalculably weird to Sepheris on one of the Machine Cult's ilk.
"I had hoped you would say that. You know what must be done. Be careful. Rest assured, I will see Bothle to safety so that he may deliver your message."
"I do not believe we were ever properly introduced, and now we must bid farewell. It is unfortunate. You are a very interesting man, Vincent Sepheris."
He extends his hand, clasping your own tightly, flipping his auburn-hued topknot over his broad shoulders as he does so.
"My name is Launce."
Nodding once more, Launce turns, and briskly walks out toward where Bothle awaits in the outer edge of level 26. They confer a moment, their outlines limned in the yellow light shining through the missing windows, while the backlit wisps of tiny spores float through the outer ring like a lambent halo around them. They turn together and disappear out of view to the right, following the curve of the claustrum's outer wall.
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
I nod respectfully to the Friar for the condolences. Keeping with my policy of having all the cards on the table I speak."I hope to prove to be just as strong of an ally to our friends. And a ward to those who need it. The Old She Wolf fell to the terror of all women of Oremor. The Eviscerator's blade..."
Saying it stings, but better the truth here. Better the truth.
Although he remains impassive, Savalos and Iacton cannot help but notice Friar Savonar's hooded attendants react to this revelation. Those closest to him murmur again to the ancient clergyman, and he irritably hisses at them to be silent.
"My flock and I are among the few who know the true threat that this so-called 'Eviscerator' poses. He is a servant and puppet of the Ruinous Powers and has left blood and mayhem in his wake during the hunt for your mother. In my meditations and prayers to the God Emperor He has long bestowed upon me visions of the apocalypse that is to come, and this evil that masquerades as a man is no small part of it."
"We have lost many this day, including Old Silus, all to another enemy. Our funeral howls will be long this night, and the day is still very young. Know the Pack is of one mind and purpose. We will hunt."
"Do not mourn your loss overlong, for each friend martyred to the Enemy and called to the Emperor's bosom is fuel for the fires of vengeance that sustain us."
Savonar licks his dry lips, and you can see the smooth white flesh of long-healed burn scars beneath his cowl.
"Consider this: these deaths that you lament today are what have allowed your Wolves to grow teeth again."
"You have asked for this counsel, now what do you propose?"
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum, A Forlorn Pantry
"First I have a question for you: Are you willing to help fight with us against the enemy that you have just gotten a glimpse of? If so, I can give you more information. I will tell one thing, as I have told others, the stakes we are facing are the destruction of your planet and the spread of the Ruinous Powers in this whole system."
Sgt. Einhardt's stony expression doesn't change. His mordant reply delivered deadpan.
"I'm cut off from my claustrum and the damnable man that sent me here, have faced an enemy that I've heard more than one man describe as daemons of the Warp, and now you tell me that the fate of this world, my homeworld, may be at stake? You make it sound as though I have a choice, sir. I didn't know that the Inquisition was so accommodating"
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
"My flock and I are among the few who know the true threat that this so-called 'Eviscerator' poses. He is a servant and puppet of the Ruinous Powers and has left blood and mayhem in his wake during the hunt for your mother. In my meditations and prayers to the God Emperor He has long bestowed upon me visions of the apocalypse that is to come, and this evil that masquerades as a man is no small part of it."
"You have asked for this counsel, now what do you propose?"
"We have identified two factions that have been active in trying to undermine Oremor. One led by an agent of contagion, which uses the number 7, and the other by the one who occupied the Eviserator."
I have to think about this like a Regicide board. Plan your moves, keep your cards close.
"For the first part we have found that the Auldmaws lair has been defiled by filth. The same filth that overtook the Gearbox. We require your cleansing flames and prayers to the God Emperor. I expect there to be malign guardians to prevent us from this task. They must fail. We will also require healers to help battle the coming plague. Artifacts of Saint Trobriund have power over the contagion. I have felt it, and witnessed it."
"The monster behind the Eviserator has shed its skin for a new one. We need to quietly find out who it is. You can share any lore by your judgement our character on how we can identify, and battle such a foe. This one is a plotter, and a planner. We have to move carefully to find where the spiders webs contect... We have found two. One is a den of serpents. In which we will need your numbers to help combat. The other we will assist those who wish to clean there own house. If you know of any other webs it would be good to know of them now."
"This is what I propose for our opening moves. Its going to be long and bloody, but whole of Oremor is at stake."
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum, A Forlorn Pantry
[Sgt. Einhardt's stony expression doesn't change. His mordant reply delivered deadpan.
"I'm cut off from my claustrum and the damnable man that sent me here, have faced an enemy that I've heard more than one man describe as daemons of the Warp, and now you tell me that the fate of this world, my homeworld, may be at stake? You make it sound as though I have a choice, sir. I didn't know that the Inquisition was so accommodating"
"We know heresy is in the arbites. Some people cannot take more than a glimpse of my life and what we are facing. I am glad you are of sterner spirit. We are of the Ordos Malleus. We are facing two of the ruinous powers. One is of filth and disease and the other is betrayal of all that is held dear. They seem to br in opposition of each other, and the prize is this world."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Unduz II
The young tech-priest smiles again, the expression still incalculably weird to Sepheris on one of the Machine Cult's ilk.
"I had hoped you would say that. You know what must be done. Be careful. Rest assured, I will see Bothle to safety so that he may deliver your message."
"I do not believe we were ever properly introduced, and now we must bid farewell. It is unfortunate. You are a very interesting man, Vincent Sepheris."
He extends his hand, clasping your own tightly, flipping his auburn-hued topknot over his broad shoulders as he does so.
"My name is Launce."
Nodding once more, Launce turns, and briskly walks out toward where Bothle awaits in the outer edge of level 26. They confer a moment, their outlines limned in the yellow light shining through the missing windows, while the backlit wisps of tiny spores float through the outer ring like a lambent halo around them. They turn together and disappear out of view to the right, following the curve of the claustrum's outer wall.
Vincent returns Launce's handshake and bids the pair farewell.
Once they have gone, Vincent rises to his feet and begins the long walk to the express elevators.
Going up.
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
"We have identified two factions that have been active in trying to undermine Oremor. One led by an agent of contagion, which uses the number 7, and the other by the one who occupied the Eviscerator."
I have to think about this like a Regicide board. Plan your moves, keep your cards close.
Friar Savonar lowers his head in reflection, his eyes now lost in the shadows of his hood, his dry lips almost spitting the words.
"So, at last, after all these years it has finally come to pass."
"For the first part we have found that the Auldmaws lair has been defiled by filth. The same filth that overtook the Gearbox. We require your cleansing flames and prayers to the God Emperor. I expect there to be malign guardians to prevent us from this task. They must fail.
"We know of the place you speak. It shall be scoured with the fiery wrath of our holy flame to expunge the taint that has taken root there. It is well and good that your ilk praise the God Emperor and give him the fealty that he demands, but it is a shame your kind cannot forswear your fixations on the savage beasts of the sumps. Even so, it can be forgiven in the eyes of our congregation, and He that we Hold Most High, as the the Holy Throne is venerated in many ways, by many creeds."
We will also require healers to help battle the coming plague. Artifacts of Saint Trobriund have power over the contagion. I have felt it, and witnessed it."
The closest of the hooded Redemptionist's again murmur to their leader at these words, and he hushes them again with muttered blandishments.
"I wish to speak at length about this artifact in private, Thul, when the opportunity presents itself. Such a relic of the faith, if indeed authentic, is a thing of great power, both symbolically and corporeally."
"It must be protected by the faithful."
"The monster behind the Eviserator has shed its skin for a new one. We need to quietly find out who it is. You can share any lore by your judgment our character on how we can identify, and battle such a foe. This one is a plotter, and a planner. We have to move carefully to find where the spiders web's connect... We have found two. One is a den of serpents. In which we will need your numbers to help combat. The other we will assist those who wish to clean their own house. If you know of any other webs it would be good to know of them now."
Friar Savonar frowns, his lips turning downward in contempt at even having to speak of the thing that wore Waldrimm's skin.
"The Daemon will simply take a new face, as it has done since time immemorial, know only that regardless of the guise it takes, you must not falter, it must be destroyed."
"We well know of the Serpent's corruption. The Yellobouros serve the Changer now, and will be dealt with, in this we are united. Soon enough they will be judged upon the pyre."
"This is what I propose for our opening moves. Its going to be long and bloody, but whole of Oremor is at stake."
"I have seen the coming apocalypse. The Red Redemption will stand true and our fires will cleanse the corruption or we will perish trying."
"We only demand the same of our allies."
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum, A Forlorn Pantry
"We know heresy is in the Arbites. Some people cannot take more than a glimpse of my life and what we are facing. I am glad you are of sterner spirit. We are of the Ordos Malleus. We are facing two of the Ruinous Powers. One is of filth and disease and the other is betrayal of all that is held dear. They seem to be in opposition of each other, and the prize is this world."
"I've seen the face of this enemy, and I would be a liar if I said it didn't terrify me. That being said, I will do what must be done, for the sake of my men and the salvation of my home."
Sgt. Einhardt shakes his head, as if trying to rationalize something that just doesn't correlate to even the bizarre circumstances he finds himself in.
"I need to know, the man who sent me here, he's nothing more than a senior clerk in the Administratum, serving the 7th legion, and perhaps one of the most egocentric and inscrutable people I have ever encountered. Yet he seemed to know what Ekubal had become. How the hell does he fit into all of this?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Central Express Lift Lobby, Unduz II
After grasping the young tech priest's hand, Vincent cannot shake the unsettling feeling that they've met before, but surely, that is impossible.
Just the same, how many other things did he once deem impossible before the last few days decided to forever alter his perceptions.
Walking counterclockwise around the outer ring of Level 26, Vincent finds his eyes often straying to the hundred mile wide cultivated expanses of the vast plantation fields, as well as the emerald-green jungles which border them. He sees further signs that state of things in and around the 7th Penal Legion Claustrum are turning for the worse. Here and there plumes of pitch black smoke rise from the distant farms and outlying facilities that surround the central complex.
The humidity decreases on this largely abandoned level now that he has reached a point on the circumference where the windows remain intact, and feels the sticky sweat clinging to his body begin to grow clammy with the reduction in ambient temperature.
He walks for a long while, the layout of the facility now as familiar to him as the back of his own hand, every door and corridor revealing itself, what they open onto and where they lead known to him before he even reaches them. He feels his addled mind, rocked by the shock of his communion with Logis Blakswann, slowing returning to its normal patterns of thought, albeit with a great deal more accessible in his already copious memory.
He stops, turning down a darkened corridor whose lumen globes have long since gone out. According to the trivial minutiae of the Blakswann Mind, their work order to be replaced thirty-five years ago was never acted upon.
Stepping through another stuck-open bulkhead door, he finds himself in an express lift lobby accessing the remainder of the compound. He knows without needing to question why that the 26th floor however cannot be reached from any other point in the claustrum without the proper bypasses.
Stepping into the elevator, he stops short, frowning slightly as he depresses the button that will return him to the Aerie.
He had been humming to himself the strange snatch of song heard over the cogitator before the tech-priest Launce savagely deactivated it forever with the heavy stool.
"Aye, the Daemon must be destroyed. Just need to know how. Saw with my own eyes that no measure of fire power will do a fracking thing to it."
I scan the table one last time before I answer the Friar's final question.
"First hand have I seen the corruption, and the piles of mangled bodies. Where my best friend was gutted and strung up to look like a twisted marinet hanging in a cage of bone... Aye I will fight. For the love of the Golden Throne, its a fight I will take up til the end takes me. Even then I will keep fighting while I still have breathe in me. We all have too."
Its a seriousness, and resolve that can bring chills to any save for those who truly understand whats at stake.
As for the Golden Aquila, he will pick his time and place to talk to me. Until I hear otherwise I will stay its Guardian.
"Aye, the Daemon must be destroyed. Just need to know how. Saw with my own eyes that no measure of fire power will do a fracking thing to it."
I scan the table one last time before I answer the Friar's final question.
"First hand have I seen the corruption, and the piles of mangled bodies. Where my best friend was gutted and strung up to look like a twisted marinet hanging in a cage of bone... Aye I will fight. For the love of the Golden Throne, its a fight I will take up til the end takes me. Even then I will keep fighting while I still have breathe in me. We all have too."
At this time I chime in, "We also have the other here in force. The being of the cesspool has corrupted a Sargent of the 7th legion and his men. We were able to take out most if not all of the men but we did not get the Sargent and he is able to call to his aid swarms of the little puss bags you fought in the bar. We lost half of the men from the retrieval force. Some of the heretics men as well as the cover has been blown for their shipping company to the arbites. The used missiles against the trucks to try to get to us. Albrek is severely wounded but he should survive, and as you can see I am not up to full running efficiency as well."
"Aye we know who you are speaking about. Got a solid look at him too. He is from the 7th. It was tattoo'd on his arm. Was no Sgt, wore the dress of a Commissar."
"Which brings me to another matter. There are certain individuals that we are looking for. First, and foremost one High Arbiter Desius Krade. He knows whats going on more than I think any other individual on this rock. We need his council. Senior Clerk Quincus Dauln; ally who has been captured by the Yellobacks. She will need help out no matter what, she was taken shortly after she was wolf kissed. If it was for her sacrifices we wouldn't have gotten as far as we have. We owe it to her to get her to safety. If she is able to defend herself, call her Sunshine. She will know who your working with. One Johnnie Rico... hot head, and a damn fool. We can't afford for him to be captured by the enemy. He knows too much. Most likely trying to free Quincus by himself. Intel we have says she might be at the Withdrawn Viel."
Maia... "Kalaziel, Cherbium of Desius Krade. She is a friend, and guardian angel. Saved my life more than once."
I think about the cry she made when the Eviserator stabbed me, and she tore down from above like an avenging angel as I fell to the street below."
"Investigator Leprade, don't care how he shows up, but he is needed for questioning before the Emperor's judgement is carryed out against him. The corruption has to go higher than him, and we need to find out where it leads."
"Trizo" I say the name with bile climbing up the back of my throat.
"He knows more than that damn fool Leprade does. He is harboring a witch that needs to be interrogated as well."
"If I am forgetting anybody from our list speak up now."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Level 26, Central Express Lift Lobby, Unduz II
'walkabout...walkabout...
In the evening in the shallows,'touched man he walking the barrows,
third eye seeing what's beyond the parted veil,
lonely watcher, he must not fail...
walkabout...walkabout...
Vincent stiffens as he realizes what he is doing, whose words they are. Whoever, whatever, festers in in the Oubliette has touched him, infected him. Vincent never forgets, for perhaps the first time, this troubles him.