I look up at the strangers as they enter the sanctum. The reticule of my eye sensors adjusts for the increased intensity of light, automatically compensating for the back glare and showing me details of faces otherwise hidden in shadow.
Iacton speaks first, his interception of the acolytes not going unnoticed by myself. He makes a good bodyguard, something I have been grateful of since Krade's disapearence.
I respond to the prompt from the voidborn. "Yes, a somewhat vexing clue has presented itself in Krades case. There were traces of organics left in the Chitin weave of the Arbiters office. Common things for a crime scene, decaying organic material, along with admixtures of blood, urine, bile, and foecal matter. I have seen similar things working with Krade but usually they matched the victim, such things coming untrollably during violent death or severe trauma. However, none of these traces matched Kades gene profile at all. It all seems...puzzling"
The entire sentence is spoken seemingly without emotion, the modulated output of my vox unit unable to handle subtle things such as tonal variation and inflection.
"Was there any trace of the High Arbitor? If there was not, then that would make it even stranger."
Even without the light of the evenly spaced glow-globes ringing the perimeter of the room, you can see that Desius Krade's chambers are decorated stylistically in a manner sharply contrasting that of Ruvos Halleon. Where the other High Arbiter had a severe, sober and utilitarian decor rife with symbolic images of loyal Imperialist bent, Krade's offices, even from what you can just make out behind the lime green Arbites crime tape strung across the entry arch, seem more eclectic.
In the foyer, all of the requisite Imperial touchstones are in place, basalt busts of prominent Judicium officials both from on and off-world ring the reception area, coupled with a battle-scarred, green and gold aquila standard from the first Oremite Guard Legion, and the obligatory shelves lined with the worn bindings of the many volumes of the Oremite legal code. Things differ greatly in his personal offices behind the stark green tape divider, making it almost a symbolic barrier, as well as a physical one, the distinction obvious even from this distance.
Iacton gracefully negotiates the crime-tape slipping under it without effort, and as you follow, he gestures around the spacious office of your inquistor's interrogator. The room is roughly ovular in shape, with a wide band of reinforced diamontine glass ringing the full curve of the left-hand wall. Looking out over the illuminated cityscape, you stare in breathtaking awe at the elegant upper spire-stacks, umbrella and mushroom-capped spindle shapes towering above and seemingly stretching infinitely away toward the horizon where the sun's last vestiges slip away in a rain-shadow of purple-gold.
A huge baroque desk, littered with random artifacts that only one such as Krade in his widely-traveled career could collect dominates the center of the chamber, a high-backed, stuffed chair more appropriate for some highborn noble's hunting lodge lording over the utilitarian looking audience seating arrayed before it. A trio of three aesthetically pleasing, but somehow unsettling paintings cover the opposite wall to your right, along with more shelving and bric-a-brac, artifacts from Oremor's history and the Calixis sector at large evident among the thousands of books.
The indentations in the nutty-brown colored, native chitin-weave carpet show where Arbites auspex equipment may have been arrayed a short while ago during the investigation of the crime scene. A pair of doors likely lead further into the High Arbiter's personal rooms.
The jarring sound of the tech-priest Ivaanov and Uriah's vox units engaging in buzzing discourse is enough to set Johnnie's teeth on edge, and he keeps in step with Krade's aide Iacton as he crosses into the office, the old investigatory instincts returning in a rush. The portion of the wall to which he points is slightly discolored on the fine paneling from the absence of a wide, oval object, approximately man-height, and about a meter wide.
As the tech-priest steps past to kneel upon the floor, he points to what appear to be faint, umber-hued discolorations in the carpeting, droning on about his discoveries.
"Okay keep your eyes and ears open. Never expect any place in the Underhive to be vacant. Just means you haven't found whats been lurking there yet."
"Lets make some speed and get in position."
Ishmael looks around, wrinkling his nose in distaste before drawing his gleaming Gunmetallican revolver.
"Bah, I can see you have come home, Thul, the place has your smell about it. What is that, anyway, mouldering mushroom?"
When the cleric steps forward, his foot squishes into something with a soft 'sploosh'. He immediately recoils, the mocking grin on his face twisting into a look of abject revulsion.
I respond to Uriahs question with a simple shake of my head. "There was no trace of the Lord Arbiter except what you'd expect from his own office."
"If there is nothing but normal trace, does that mean he did not struggle, or was he prevented from struggling before he could react?"
"If there is nothing but normal trace, does that mean he did not struggle, or was he prevented from struggling before he could react?"
"It could be either. This is the only evidence we have that something happened here at all."
"Do you know why he sent for us through our Master? What we are here to investigate or stop?"
"Do you know why he sent for us through our Master? What we are here to investigate or stop?"
"All I know is that we required aid with complications involving a certain prisoner. I must warn you, this prisoner is a skilled psyker. Beyond that, I know naught."
Rolled a 70, failed by 5 degrees of failure.
Scanning the dim room, you can make out a number of odd curios that draw your eye, but note nothing that stands out in such a way as to offer a clue as to how Desius Krade went missing or why you were sent by your master to render aid to him.
I respond to Uriahs question with a simple shake of my head. "There was no trace of the Lord Arbiter except what you'd expect from his own office."
Ivaanov shakes his head again, this time to himself. There is something about this sample he cannot quite place in his mind. Something 'off'. Combined with the fact that it was only found in one place; just in front of the now missing mirror, only deepens the mystery.
As Ishmael pulls his foot from the reeking pile, seething at his misstep, Savalos quickly kneels before it, placing a fingertip gingerly atop the offending spoor and bringing it to his nose. The scent is acrid, and burns his nostrils like ammonia.
It is still quite wet.
It is also quite warm.
Duct wolf spoor, and by the look of it, one that has been eating quite well.
I kneel down examing the spoor. Completely ignoring the priests insults. I carefully unsling my shotgun gripping it tight. I hold my hand up to silence everyones chatter. "Duct Wolf". I peer into the darkness, and strain my hearing. "This scat is fresh. Big Fragger." Feeling the danger, and excitement well up inside of me. I am home. "I'll take point." I slowly rise. Knowing its already aware we are here.
"All I know is that we required aid with complications involving a certain prisoner. I must warn you, this prisoner is a skilled psyker. Beyond that, I know naught."
"Do you know if this prisoner is a telepath? There was something wrong with guardsmen that attacked us, and I wondered if they were being controlled by someone or something."
"All I know is that we required aid with complications involving a certain prisoner. I must warn you, this prisoner is a skilled psyker. Beyond that, I know naught.""Do you know if this prisoner is a telepath? There was something wrong with guardsmen that attacked us, and I wondered if they were being controlled by someone or something."
Iacton frowns and brings his hand to the aquila around his neck. "He has... some skill in controlling minds."
"Is he a worshipper of the Dark Powers?"
I make the sign of the Aquila when I say that.
"Is he a worshipper of the Dark Powers?"
I make the sign of the Aquila when I say that.
"We can only assume the worst. I don't actually know for certain."
"If he is a worshipper of the Dark Powers, then why was he a prisoner and not terminated? If he is that dangerous a Psyker, then why is he not dead?"
"If he is a worshipper of the Dark Powers, then why was he a prisoner and not terminated? If he is that dangerous a Psyker, then why is he not dead?"
"I would enjoy nothing better than to slice the Prisoner's throat and watch him bleed out. Still, my master orders me to stay my blade, and it is not the place of the servant to question the commands of the master. Besides, if he was not to be imprisioned, then he would of been dead long before he came to Oremor."
Albrek pulls his lasgun from his shoulder, checks the charge pack, and stalks after Savalos. Moving as silently as possible, his eyes scan back and forth to either side of the wide passageway, trying to make out any signs of movement behind the rusted grill-work of the overhead doors.
"Stay close together, if we are lucky it is only a solitary rogue..."
Quincus, walking in the long shadow of Druuther, unholsters a compact laspistol from a hidden fold in her clothing. Although it looks puny when compared to the ogryn's massive autocannon, her grip and posture after she draws the weapon leaves little doubt she is well versed in the handling of firearms.
Ishmael flanks her almost chivalrously on the opposite side, leveling his enameled revolver at each dark opening the group passes. Audibly scraping his foot to free it of the dung with each step, he stops abruptly when Albrek turns to give him a severe glance. For once, quite surprisingly, Ishmael actually holds his tongue, deferentially nodding to the guardsman, almost as if he was acknowledging his error. Wonders never cease, it seems.
I slowly make my way down the kilometer long corridor. When I hear Ishmael's foot scrape against the floor. My nerves cringe like hearing nails on a chalk board. Talking in a low voice. "Ishmael, Duct Wolves track by vibration. Dragging your foot makes it sound like your wounded. That your leg is lame, and easy prey." I am filled with relief when I could feel Albreks glare burning into the priest without needing to turn around.
With each step I listen for anything out of place. A scrape on the floor of claws. A low growl. The give of wood, or metal under the weight of a predator. I keep a lookout for rats. Knowing there senses for more sensitive than mine. If they scurry we have time. If they are hidden...one of us is already dead.
In Krades Office
I look back and forwards at the men as they begin to postulate questions on the case. When Uriah questions the handliong of the prisoner I feel obliged to step in.
"Arbiter Krade was very good at his job. If the prisoner was spared, you can be assured he had a reason for doing so. Let us not start second guessing the reasons behind Krades actions until we look more solidly at the facts."
I look at the empty space previously occupied by the mirror. "Firstly, we must ascertain why the mirror was taken. Perhaps it was more than merely a device of light reflection."
I cross my arms, folding the hands within the deep cuffs of my red robes as I continue. "Secondly, the stain. It is interesting that it was found within this office, but not elsewhere. Since it obviously didn't belong to Krade, we must assume it came from another. How did they enter this rooom without elaving traces elsewhere? If indeed some being entered though normal means, if it were covered in this material, you would assume those in these offices would notice. They are ...unpleasent materials, at best. I think we can assume then that whatever else was in here either changed its form upon entering, or entered through unusal means. The Omnisiah teaches to work within the conrete of the here and now. Let us start there."
The thoughts had been brewing in my mind for some time now. It was certainly easier to work with facts than with nebulous emotions.
"Come, come, do not be shy, friend."
"We are all friends here, are we not? Do not keep us in suspense your discovery."
"Come, come, do not be shy, friend."
"We are all friends here, are we not? Do not keep us in suspense your discovery."
In Krade's Offices
The old, familiar sensation begins to flow through Johnnie, the heightening of the five senses, the focusing of his mind to detect the fine details while simultaneously expanding his awareness to remain cognizant of the big picture. It feels good, like the rush of needed adrenaline or jolt of a second wind. It has been far too long, but it is comforting and somewhat surprising to Rico that the old instincts return so naturally, so easily.
As he answers the tech-priest, the arbitrator detective begins to make a slow circuit of the office, first examining the diamond-hard substance the broad panoramic window is crafted from.
Clear and transparent from straight on, but surprisingly reflective from an angle, possibly due to its sheer thickness...
On the far side of the room Johnnie's eyes scan the countless curios and books lining the interlocking wooden shelves.
Antique pistols from an unknown, backward feudal world arrayed in a brace, interlocked between the severed foreclaws of some feathered xenos predator, a ten volume, complete set of Darycho's Paens to a Forgotten Oath, several framed documents of educational accomplishments...other sundry things, nothing of note.
But these...a small circular hololith of an archeotech dig-site near Oremor's equator, with the vast rusted hulk of some enormous craft partially revealed...a polished Terran mahogany gameboard of regicide perched precariously on the edge of a shelf as if to draw notice to the fact that the game is conspicuously one move from checkmate...and finally, a massive leather bound volume of the 'Corpus Presidium Calixis', the laws by which billions in the Calixis Sector abide, ancient dictates written by Angevin and Drusus themselves. However, it is not the weighty book itself that draws Johnnie's keen eye, but the bulging golden aquila on its spine, one eagle head inset with a black, convex, glassine, eye that looks curiously like a camera lens, the angle of the book covering a broad sweep of Krade's office.
Making the turn to the right-hand side of the room, Johnnie notices the three oil paintings.
One depicts a lush, blue-green world surrounded by the black void of space, a classical planetscape painted by the Malfian master, Nuremnbach. Only upon close examination are the orbiting, minutely scaled elements of what can only be Battlefleet Calixis warships visible, arcing streams of reddish-gold fire erupting from their hulls to rain death upon the world. A small metallic slip of gold leaf on the frame names the title as "Exterminatus Comes to Sleef".
A second oil painting shows a partially abstracted portrait of a wild-bearded, but severe-looking man clad in an ornamented greatcoat. His augmetics are starkly drawn in black charcoal with the eye glaring at the viewer, one cybernetic hand wielding a skull-tipped rod of office, while the other claw-like cybernetic prosthetic holds a powerblade tip down to the ground in repose. A raptor-like, metallic foot extends from beneath his coat almost grasping the ground beneath. A fuzzy circle of violet, feathery shapes encircle the whole scene like a halo, while a black sun floats like a hole into nothingness above and to the right of his head in the sky. The signature on this piece seems almost to small to read.
The final framed work appears to be an overpainted hololithic rendering of an entire Imperial Guard legion arrayed at attention before a sweeping, harvested field filled with countless laborers and heavy agricultural equipment. A vast, green-gold banner held by the center ranks identifies them as the 7th Oremor Penal Legion of Unduz II.
Finally, Rico examines the portion of the wall where Ivaanov presently squats, the tech-priest's fingers caressing the texture of the carpet where the stains have dried. The obvious discoloration where the great mirror hung suggests it had been there for a long while. The arbitrator looks from the mirror's last resting place, to the tome on the bookshelf, to the reflective surface of the diamantine windows. A smile so faint it could be characterized as a smirk crosses his visage.
Spire #16 sub-basement maintenance accessway number 232
If Quincus' estimate of the tunnel's length is accurate, Savalos gauges that the group has already covered half of its seemingly interminable distance. Hearing the increasingly louder grumbles and sighs of Ishmael, nonverbal protests at the deliberate pace being set, Savalos winces again, but he is tired of shushing the cleric, especially since no threat has presented itself in the hour since they began their trek.
Just when Thul is about to admit they may be out of danger, he glances further down the passageway ahead of him and suddenly stops, body going rigid. One of the two meter diameter rusting pipe-lengths suspended from the ceiling has ruptured in the center, one massive hollow end of it fallen to the tunnel floor from its corroded struts that once held it in place. It makes almost an improvised ramp, the open end facing away from the party.
A perfect point of entry from the outside of this supposedly sealed maintenance tunnel...
As if in response to the sudden cessation of the acolytes progress, from some distance above and behind the group, a rhythmic tapping in three-parts begins, gradually growing louder, the separate tapping noises quickly growing closer in frequency until it becomes a pounding, and then a cacophonous banging overhead.
Savalos turns his head, fearing the worst, looking up at the pipe running the length of the tunnel behind his companions.
The whole of it shakes and vibrates like it is filled with a shuddering, quaking stampede of ravenous movement, like a blockage in the ancient plumbing has suddenly been freed. Masonry chips crack and fall from the ceiling with gun-shot loud cracks to the hard floor.
A low, subsonic peal begins to echo eerily from the inside of the pipe, the eardrum-splitting howl that follows is nearly deafening as it reverberates down the metal cylinder.
A duct wolf comes.
Knowing the wolf will have to wheel around to get a clean charge at us. I get down on one knee, and brace my shotgun, aiming it down toward the fallen pipe. Giving a clear line of fire for those behind me. Hearing the Duct Wolf run down the pipe. Everyone will notice that my features relax. The game of stalking one another is over. Now its just predator vs predator. I kiss the fur on I wear on my chest as a token of respect to the wolf that comes.
"Well the waiting is over. Guess you will finally know why I call my shotguns duct sweepers eh Ishmael?"
I watch Rico circle the room, waiting for what he finds.
I watch with interest Rico complets his circuit of the room. It is fascinating to see the same style of approach these Arbiters had to their jobs. So methodical. Imagine what they could achieve if they had the right enhancements. An occular piece perhaps, or built in cogitators.
I sigh, the sound coming out as a hiss of static through the vox unit.
Moving towards the bookshelf where the Abirtrator had just shown the location of the cameror, begin to look cerefully at the arrangement.
Speaking out loud "I would suggest that before we take a look at what the pict corder has recorded, we check it for...defensive measures. It would not come as a surprise to this unit if the lord had protected his office in some manner."
"Perhaps something to do with the game board as well. Don't handle anyhing unil we've had a chance to think this through"
Edit
"So, can you find out who placed this here?"
In Krade's Offices
Moving towards the bookshelf where the Arbitrator had just shown the location of the camera, I begin to look carefully at the arrangement."Perhaps something to do with the game board as well. Don't handle anything until we've had a chance to think this through"
Ivaanov rises from his position on the floor and walks over to the shelving, examining the peculiar copy of the 'Corpus Presidium Calixis' the way an entomologist would consider a particularly bizarre subspecies of insect. His head moves from side to side, with his hands tucked in close as if afraid his own curiosity might somehow overtake him and make him contradict his assertion that it should not be handled just yet. Yes, indeed, the small black eye of the eagle on the binding is a camera lens, of this he is certain. Whether the false book has any countermeasures or not, he cannot say.
The regicide board is particularly fascinating to the tech-priest, as it appears as if each individual square on the surface containing a game piece is slightly depressed by the figurine's weight relative to the other spaces. Not knowing the first thing about how the game is played, however, leaves him baffled. Rico had mentioned something about a 'checkmate' being in the offing, though.
The setup, in and of itself, is somewhat confusing for the logic-minded tech-priest to rationalize. For what reason would one set up covert surveillance of their own chambers? Why make such a convoluted system for such a simple task? The cause and effect was not clear to Ivaanov.
Spire #16 sub-basement maintenance accessway number 232
The thunderous tumult from the pipe ceases abruptly, the final, angled section swaying slightly as whatever is inside of it comes to a halt. Still, nothing is visible, nor has anything emerged from the end of the pipe about ten meters further down the corridor. A handful of loose stonework drops from the ceiling, clattering to the floor ahead of you and shattering into pieces upon contact with the floor of the tunnel. The rusting pipe gives a final groan and then is still again.
Moments after Savalos sets himself in position, Druuther moves up beside and behind him, swinging the huge autocannon he carries up from his hip with a casual ease only an ogryn could achieve. He barely grunts with the exertion. Checking the ammo feed running from the weapon to his specialized backpack, he casually remarks,
"Gonna get messy, den."
Albrek flanks out to the edge of the tunnel wall, bracing his lasgun against his shoulder in preparation for some carefully aimed shots, knowing full well how quickly his quarry can move on their three limbs.
Ishmael levels his chrome and gold plated revolver, his other arm raised as if to signal something or for maintaining his balance while firing.
"By the Throne, I'll make new boots out of their hides..."
Quincus stands to the right of Ishmael, setting her feet while nervously checking the tiny, thumb-sized charge pack on her compact laspistol.
I level my barrel waiting to take my shot. Keeping my arm steady aiming down the corridor. Wondering if the Duct Wolf will take the risk knowing we are not running. Knowing we are not acting like prey. Content that its belly is full enough, and walk away. How cunning are you boy?
"Aye Druuther, could get very fragging messy."
"I see. Ivaanov, can the regicide board be a form of a key with moves of the board in the proper sequence the code?"
"Could the recorder have been placed by someone spying on the High Arbitor?"
Spire #16 sub-basement maintenance accessway number 232
Almost a minute passes. Sweat begins to bead your brow and hands as they clench the shotgun. It is so quiet you can hear the dry, smacking sound of Ishmael's mouth opening as he begins to to ask a question, but all the cleric manages to utter is, "Wha...", before the pipe clangs loudly again and something awful bounds out, charging in your direction in a blindingly fast blur of movement.
The duct wolf is upon you almost before you can react, loping and bounding off the walls of the corridor in a deliberately irregular path, its front pair of legs providing locomotion while it single, rear leg pistons down at bizarre, unnatural angles allowing it to rapidly change direction. A confusing, almost kaleidoscopic flash of coarse black fur, dagger-like teeth, and blood-red eyes is all you can make out in the dimly lit tunnel.
In Krade's Offices
"This book has been here longer than I have. Master Krade must have known this was here, there's no way he could have missed it for that long."
I watch as the Duct Wolf moves back and forth. Unclear if its ready to fight or just bolt past us. Damning myself for not recognizing the signs. I have been away for to long.
"This book has been here longer than I have. Master Krade must have known this was here, there's no way he could have missed it for that long."
"Then the next question is could someone have intercepted the signal and use it to spy on him?"
I am somewhat frustrated at my lack of ability to determine the purpose of these devices. Surely some of these other folks could solve the riddle of the board game.
"I think if one of you were able to complete the game here, we may find more clues. Each piece seems to depress the panel on which it sits, indicating they are switches of some type."
I am feeling more and more like the game is a major piece of the puzzle to what might have hapened here. My internal core starts to whine as extra components come on line in response to my growing interest and excitement.
"Uriah, if we get a look at what is on the image recorder, we will have a better understanding of its purpose, I am sure."
I will look at the board, and see if I can figure out the next moves in the game, or is it the checkmate that was said?
In Krade's Offices
I will look at the board, and see if I can figure out the next moves in the game, or is it the checkmate that was said?
Uriah examines the regicide board. Having ample knowledge of the game from long hours spent shipboard honing his skills against other crew and passengers during long warp translations, it takes very little time for him to notice that the unattended match has but one move remaining for black.
The Inquisitor playing piece has cornered the white Regent, holding it in checkmate.
Oddly shaped sigils and symbols are inlaid around the perimeter of the game board in mother of pearl and jet.
Forbidden Lore(Daemonology)