The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"Greetings."
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Intelligencer Poul Leprade of the Adeptus Arbites of Oremor, Vaxus Precinct, and it seems, you, my friend, are the face of the competition."
I give a curt nod and remain expressionless in keeping with Concordant principles. Hoping my gloves give the appearance of possible augmentation. I let my mental training take over as I speak.
Easy. Calm. Everything is OK. Tell the truth.
"Salutations. I am Comptroller Odo Wimarc, executor for the Skaelen-Har. It is a privilege to meet one who safeguards the Hegemon's enterprises."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"The pleasure is all mine, Comptroller Wimarc. I will be hard pressed to compete against one who so exemplifies the philosophical principles of the Concordium. I doubt I will be able to call your bluff, at any rate."
Leprade grins congenially, and even though he maintains polite eye contact, you are certain he is sizing you up, looking perhaps for the very tell-tale augmetic that the senior Skaelan-Har are typically known to possess.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"Certainly. Perhaps we will be able to speak more freely at a later time?"
The Marchesa smiles coquettishly, an altogether disturbing grin that somehow reminds Thul of the proclivities that cap-mantids display prior to devouring their mates.
"Oh! Of course, you will have ample opportunity to do so following the tourney, provided there are no hard feelings when I win."
Her eyes flicker with the mischievousness of a woman a third her age at Savalos' expression.
"Best of luck to you, Lord Dawnstar."
"Lady Cinzia, if you would permit me the honor of calling you so. Perchance do you have a holo pic of yourself and your late husband? I would so love to look upon the face of the man who brought life back into the Dawnspindle."
"We are now acquainted by custom as well as by our mutual pasts, Lord Dawnstar, I would be most disappointed if you did not take the liberty."
She betrays no sign that she believes your request to look upon an image of the Marchez is forward in the slightest, nor in any way a breach of etiquette. You can see, for some peculiar reason, that she has become dotingly enamored of you and the potential that reintroducing you to Spire society will bring to her social standing. The Marchez seems to have a peccadillo for the scandalous.
"Why, yes, of course!" She calmly rifles through a small, scintillating purse, all the while holding the lap-pet close to her corseted bosom at a most awkward angle for polite society.
She produces a platinum holo-locket, and flicks the clasp open with the tip of one of her long, perfectly manicured, pearl-colored nails. She holds it before you to see, a melancholic smile creasing her aged lips.
"He was such a handsome man, he cut quite the profile in his day."
Savalos Thul can only look on, trying not to betray the tempest of thoughts swirling in his head.
The holo-pic is of Desius Krade.
There is something about her eyes. I recognize that look....
I smile warmly at Lady Cinzia. I see the card game has already begun.
"I do hope you will go easy on me. I would hate to become a pauper so soon after the honor of making your acquaintance. The best of luck to you in our coming match Lady Cinzia."
Not who I was expecting, but not surprised either. Him buying the Dawnspire makes perfect sense. It also extends the timeline of his interest in my family. Probably back to the time of the settling of Oremor, and the events on the Murals in the Astropathic Choir.
Did he really marry Cinzia out of love? Or is she just another piece of the regicide board like the rest of us? An agent dressed up to appear as something she is not. Or a Noble he recruited into his employ to keep an eye on the Upper Spires, and maintain his cover. The idea of a chance meeting with Lady Cinzia is completely gone. I never made any hint or indication I was going to be in the card match. She knew I was coming. She just didn't know who I was.
"Yes he is quite striking. I am sure the two of us who have gotten along famously... I look forward to our time after the tourny."
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Wardja tries to maintain an expressionless, blank mask, but internally finds his composure slipping under Leprade's cold scrutiny. From both his Arbites and inquisitorial training the seasoned acolyte fully understands the peril of underestimating anyone, but, just the same, he fears he may not have fully appreciated or anticipated the danger posed by this man.
Leprade seems nearly impossible to read. Although he continues to regard the disguised arbitrator in a polite, socially affable manner, Wardja's Arbites and Inquisition-honed instincts, instincts he has learned to trust implicitly, suggest there is something else happening behind the man's eloquently engaging facade.
"I must admit, I am intrigued to learn the identities of our fellow competitors---ah, it seems like another is arriving as we speak."
Wardja turns to follow Leprade's gaze over his shoulder toward the central spiral and observes the cosmopolitan crowd of wealthy elites parting to make way for a pair of brutish looking men, bulging with vat-grown musculature, that look like they were squeezed into their expensive, jet-black lux-suits by some inexorable force that defies other universal laws to keep their tailored clothing from bursting at its strained seams. Each of the well-attired Yellobouros ganger's faces is pierced with golden gelt-coin, that hang, layered in scale-like patterns, beneath their glowering eyes. There is no question in Wardja's mind that they carry concealed weapons on their persons, as they make no effort to hide the conspicuous bulges beneath their jackets. They diligently scan the floor of the Pinnacle of Pearl with the attention to detail of a professional security detail, and are soon followed by two more their ilk.
Immediately behind the Yellobouros enforcers is the subject of Leprade's attention, a haggard and severe-looking elderly man with a mane of white hair that flows past his shoulders, secured in braids and tassels with golden jewelery in the shape of traditional Oremite serpent motifs. His ostentatious clothing is dominated by a full coat of interlocking, golden gelt coins, an onerous weight that he easily carries due to his extensive cybernetic enhancements; gleaming gold legs, his entire right arm, and most of the left. His pinched and perpetually angry looking face is a tapestry of faded blue and gold, decorated in abstract sworls, whorls and even serpentine eyes tattooed upon his eyelids. A lho-stick heavy with a hanging ash dangles from his wrinkled mouth. He regards the room and everyone in it with a contemptuous glare that speaks volumes about his capacity for malice and about who truly holds power in Vaxus district.
Wardja's eyes narrow as a figure steps out from the shadow cast behind Trizo dol Soulard's menacing presence. A freakishly tall and slender female form wreathed in a flowing robe of midnight blue stands beside the gang boss, her hooded head further obscured by a diaphanous cowl of intricately stitched lace that is a deeper blue, almost black in color, when compared to rest of her garb. The only skin exposed on the mysterious woman are the long, corpse-white fingers that protrude from the hem of her sleeves.
Although her features are fully obscured, and her eyes invisible beneath the shroud, you get the unsettling impression that she is looking directly at you for a moment.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Inquisitorial Access Shaft
Although the massive Inquisitorial bulkhead proved a daunting obstacle, the lack of contingency power became its undoing when confronted with the resourcefulness of Vincent, the physical strength of Ryuk, and the technical acumen of Launce. Utilizing a combination of brute force, a small fusion torch on the tech-priest's utility mechadendrite, along with the senior clerk's near omniscient knowledge of the claustrum's architectural vulnerabilities, the massive, sealed door was parted, providing the companions with a meter wide breach to pass through.
Beyond, was the sterile mustiness of a long-sealed passageway, and darkness. Stablights found in a V-Block utility closet provided illumination and the three began their ascent...
For Vincent, it is like walking through emptiness, as the mind-schema he carries from Logis Blakswann has no point of reference for the sealed Inquisitorial Access shaft to the Oubliette. It is simply an absence, a cavity in his consciousness, and it is truly strange to tread within it, as if it exists somehow apart from the remainder of Ylesium Claustrum.
He is surprised that Launce has not commented on the peculiar aesthetic of its construction. Beyond the heavy bulkhead doors, the passageway was revealed to be a huge, pipe-like circular shaft, coated in a once-shining durasteel alloy, now caked in dust, ascending at a precise angle of 36º. Equally spaced, squared grooves, each approximately a meter in width, run parallel to the slope of the shaft at the four cardinal points. The only other feature of note are the equidistantly-spaced skid plates running along the lower portion of the shaft, straddling the groove there, and creating enough resistance so that walking is possible on the otherwise frictionless surface.
It is hard to say for certain, but Vincent estimates that they have been walking for over three weary and monotonous hours along the upward slope of the shaft when he spies the recessed door in the curving wall several meters ahead and to his right. Ryuk, just ahead of him in the shaft, spots it at roughly the same time. Approaching more closely, they can see it is an unmarked, reinforced vault door, windowless, without any handle or other visible method of ingress. A small curving protuberance of metal houses a cogitator screen shielded behind thick plasteel. The Inquisitorial seal is engraved in the gleaming metal beneath it, as much a warning as a means of identification.
Somewhere Dark
Kaltos, sitting upon the floor of the strange cell, feels the floor shift violently beneath him as it rocks into motion again, ascending this time on a purely vertical axis.
From somewhere far above him he can hear the grinding of whatever tracked mechanicism moves the cell through space, and judging by the grating reverberations he feels throughout his prison, he intuits that his is not the only cell being moved in such a manner. His cogitator-assisted reasoning makes the logical leap that the cells are being transitioned incrementally, along a chain, comparable to a manufactorum's conveyance belt.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"I must admit, I am intrigued to learn the identities of our fellow competitors---ah, it seems like another is arriving as we speak."
Can't help but wonder if there is double-meaning in Leprade's words. I nod again, "As am I, Intelligencer."
Wardja's eyes narrow as a figure steps out... Although her features are fully obscured, and her eyes invisible beneath the shroud, you get the unsettling impression that she is looking directly at you for a moment.
Despite the twinge in my gut, I do not move and simply return the gaze briefly. My instincts tell me to get the hell out of there and away from the witch but to do so abruptly may draw more attention than not. Pulled a lot of strings to be in this position... This is right where I want to be--No going back. Do it. For Marco.
Instead I light my own lho and adopt an air of nonchalance. Dammit, Astrid, you know I hate these fancy Menth-lhos.
"What is that seal supposed to mean?" Ryuk asks of his companions, pointing to the stylized "I".
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Inquisitorial Access Shaft
"That Ryuk is the seal of the Holy Ordos, the Inquisition. It is dangerous, don't touch it."
Vincent reaches out and taps plasteel cogitator screen with one finger.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Inquisitorial Access Shaft
Something about the way that Vincent says the word 'Inquisition' causes the fine hairs on the back of Ryuk's neck to stand up, and some element of his deepest, genetic memories begin to stir in an unsettling fashion.
This is even more pronounced when Launce says, "He's right, it is dangerous."
Launce gives Vincent a knowing look and allows him to examine the cogitator panel.
Vincent taps the dusty touchscreen, leaving pronounced fingerprints until he swipes away the grit remaining with his sleeve. The screen displays the following:
[SOLITARIUM ERISHKAGAL-77]
[SCANNING BIOMETRIC DATA: <<<scanning>>> <<<scanning>>> <<<scanning>>>
<<<analyzing biometric data>>> ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ........ ....... ........ ....... ......... ......... .........
"IT IS WE WHO STAND GUARD, OUR ETERNAL WATCH SHALL NOT FAIL."
<<<analyzing biometric data>>> ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ........ ....... ........ ....... ......... ......... .........
<<<biometric data confirmed>>>
....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ........ ....... ........ ....... ......... ......... .........
<<<gene print confirmed>>>
....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ........ ....... ........ ....... ......... ......... .........
AUTHORIZED LOGIN ACCEPTED +++ AUTHORIZATION INTERROGATOR DESIUS KRADE
....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ........ ....... ........ ....... ......... ......... .........
WELCOME, VINCENT SEPHERIS
VOX RECEPTOR ACTIVE, ACCESS PENDING, PLEASE BEGIN:
The last thing Vincent expected to see on the antiquated terminal was his own name, but perhaps the second to last thing is the curious icon of a musical note that follows the demand for vox authorization.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Surprised by the witches sudden arrival, Uriah reacts quickly, somehow managing to shield his mind from the jagged, probing, emanations radiating outward from Trizo's pet psyker. Her presence, this close, is nearly overpowering, and he prays to the Emperor that he was successful in occluding his own psyche from her telepathic grasp.
From his higher vantage in the gallery above, he begins to notice that the patrons on the lower level of the Pinnacle of Pearl appear to matriculate away from Trizo dol Soulard's arrival. At first glance he believes it is just a natural reaction to the ganglord's intimidating presence and the disconcerting psychic miasma radiating from his witch. Despite the fact that the wealthy audience below has its fair share of eccentric and ecclectic personages, none of them compare to the new arrivals. He begins to reconsider as he watches the majority of the crowd coalescing near the cordoned-off portion of the floor below, around the circumference of the recessed circle. From here, it appears that the crowd below is jockeying for position around the empty space, rather than avoiding the ganger's retinue, as if expecting some spectacle.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Still trying to remain the perfect blank of emotion, Wardja groans inwardly in frustration, still uncertain if the Intelligencer is baiting him with his banter. There is something gravely unsettling about Trizo's witch, and he tries to ignore the disturbing sensation of a spidery hand caressing his mind as she passes.
The minty smoke of his freshly-lit lho becomes positively nauseating for a moment as they pass close by, and Wardja notes that many of the audience is following in the ganger's wake now, moving excitedly toward the center of the Pinnacle of Pearl's wide floor.
Looking at the velvet-ropes around the circular depression, the arbitrator at first wonders if this large area has somehow been reserved for the ganglord and the other folk are simply flocking to the spectacle, but this is soon dispelled as one of the Gran Pallazzar's senior gaming concierges mounts a low podium near the main table and speaks in a lisping, eloquent voice over the small brass laudhailer affixed to it.
"Gentlemen, ladies, welcome to the Pinnacle of Pearl! I hope that the refreshments and hospitality match your expectations and the exceptional refinements of your personal tastes. Please do not hesitate to prevail upon our hospitality staff for anything further that may be provided for you, should the need arise. Our glorious tournament is scheduled to begin in short order, but until such time, I direct your attentions to the center floor, where a glorious spectacle has been arranged for your diversion until such time as our tournament commences."
He gestures theatrically toward the cordoned portion of the floor, just as the recessed circular portion, a full seven meters in diameter, begins to slowly slide away laterally, the crescent edge of the one circle disappearing into the edge of the rest of the floor, creating the illusion of two planetary bodies occluding one another during an eclipse. A dark shaft opens below, and the well-heeled crowd gasps in excitement at what is revealed beneath their feet.
The concierge begins to speak again, his voice rising over the spreading murmurs of the assembled patrons.
"The Gran Pallazzar is proud to present a circus of true martial splendor, an epic struggle of life and death played out for your entertainment, with all of the attendant bloodshed you have come to expect from the glorious floor of the Vermillion Ring, for the first time, brought to you here, directly, in the Pinnacle of Pearl!"
The raucous applause is unexpected and drowns out Leprade's voice for a moment, and Wardja leans in to hear what he just said, as the corrupted arbitrator repeats himself.
"Well, well, it seems that a few surprises yet remain. Fear not, Comptroller Wimarc, only those condemned in the eyes of Emperor will serve as fodder for the gladiators. Let us hope they put on a good show for us."
Relieved the witch passed by without incident. The psychic intrusion into my mind seemed fleeting and superficial. Hoping my cover is not already blown.
"Well, well, it seems that a few surprises yet remain. Fear not, Comptroller Wimarc, only those condemned in the eyes of Emperor will serve as fodder for the gladiators. Let us hope they put on a good show for us."
Responding to Leprade, "Intriguing indeed..." I allow one corner of my mouth to lift into the slightest of smiles, "And thank you for the reassurance." Extending my arm towards the pit, "After you, arbitrator?"
Part of me seethes inside. Why did the casino owners fail to notify me of this precursor event? What sort of sway does Leprade have? Have we been sold out to the enemy already? There will be reckoning!
As we move forward I cannot help but wonder if we are about to discover the whereabouts of Ahmazzi's missing agents.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Inquisitorial Access Shaft
Vincent's brow furrows with concern at seeing his own name appear on the Inquisition terminal. The anxiety he feels at this is strangely comporting though, fear of the inquisition is familiar, a welcome reminder of life before the horrors of the warp descended upon the Claustrum. With a faint smile Vincent stars to hum.
'walkabout...walkabout...'
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Savalos moves through the crowd of excited spire-dwellers with the practiced ease of a lifetime hive-ganger, until he reaches the slim velvet cordon that rings the pit. He glances across the yawning void to see the arbitrator, Swinthosa Wardja, in his own disguise, standing directly beside Leprade, engaged in casual conversation, sipping their drinks.
Looking below, his stomach drops. The pit is deep, with a cone-shaped drop to a circular floor at the bottom much larger than the opening the audience peers through, the lustrously smooth walls carved from the same nacreous material that comprises the rest of the Pinnacle. Picter-rigs ring the pit about five meters above the floor, casting their gaze on a featureless, pearlescent plane whose multi-colored hue reminds Savalos of the rainbow pattern created when oil forms a sheen on water. Nine void-grade vault doors ring the bottom of the arena-pit, and the fact that none of them has yet opened fills the milling press of spectators with a bated anticipation that manifests in mostly hissing whispers from such etiquette conscious personages.
Hospitality attendants in the liveried uniforms of the casino bustle about and begin wheeling large, brass-rimmed pict-viewers into place in various spots surrounding the arena-pit, granting even those on the periphery a view of what is to come. Savalos watches Einhardt position one into place nearby, his look of concern showing exactly what Sav is thinking; that this was not part of the arbitrator's briefings on what to expect.
A loud hum sounds from the pit below, drawing everyone's expectant attention, and one of the shining durasteel void doors slowly opens. A burly figure clad in black, undifferentiated flak armor steps out from the pool of shadow cautiously, clutching a fierce looking combat knife in one hand, and a deactivated chainsword in the other. His eyes wince from the bright lights above, and he stares in utter confusion at the press of elegantly dressed onlookers regarding him from ten meters above.
Savalos' stomach sinks.
He glances over at Einhardt and sees the sergeant first looking at the pict-screen that has zoomed in on the prospective Vermillion Ring gladiator's face. At first he shows disbelief, then a simmering anger begins to creep over his countenance. He looks over at Savalos, somehow maintaining his composure in the face of what he sees.
The burly man in the pit is his guardsman, Hurchal.
Another resounding hum sounds from below as the door directly across from the doomed guardsman begins to open.
Somewhere dark
Kaltos feels the strange cell rotate again, slowly, on its horizontally axis, before gradually coming to a halt. With a hiss, the recessed edge of the door slowly begins to open, but it does not reveal the path to escape he had hoped for, but instead a small, rounded alcove dimly lit from above.
Looking inside from where he sits, he can see a metal rack within that holds his monosword, staff, and knife. Draped over the rack is a suit of plain, black flak armor, emblazoned on both shoulder guards and the chest with a stylized, blood-red 'V'.
Looking down in the pit I recognize it for what it is. Hurchal is bait. They caught the surveillance team. Now they are trying to draw out the insertion team. We have to watch friends die, or we all die. It just hardens my heart a little more til the time when I get to give the bastages a bullet.
Deep down I know the Einhardt is thinking the same thing.
I just don't know how to save the man without blowing my cover....
Somewhere dark
Datium:
Their giving me weapons and armor
They have not provided range weapons
They did not return all of my equipment
I did not get greeted by any of the team
I was captured by gangers
Cogitating likely scenario.....
One on One or One on many combat for the amusement of spectators.
Probability of beneficial out come...
12.75% with out weapons and armor
45.33% with weapons and armor
likelihood of one of the members of the squad dieing...100%
solution
The increased chance of survivability dictates putting on the armor and taking up my weapons. Proceed with the first round of the spectacle and gather more data to make escape plan.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Inquisitorial Access Shaft
Shortly after Vincent begins humming, almost muttering the strange song tunelessly to himself, Ryuk joins in, singing it in the same, lilting, melancholy way that the senior clerk remembers hearing it for the first time over his microbead---before it was drowned out by a buzzing chorus of flies.
For Ryuk, the words once taught to that other self on his birthworld of Dusk by the 'Ol Lady of the Swamps come to him almost instinctively, like a nursery tune taught to a child that could never be forgotten.
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...
Then the Stern Man came. He came for him, saw his Gift, saw his Sight, and took him way on up to the sky and then the stars, showed him glorious things such as he had never seen...
...beauties, horrors, and everything in between, in a parade of years that changed him in ways he could never have imagined in his prior life. The Stern Man was at once a savior, a liberator, and a cold, uncompromising master; hero and villain in equal measure...
Ryuk begins to remember again. The other self, the he-not-he, it was the Stern Man who had bound it within him, the daemon, the gloating, jocular behemoth of filth and disease, the impossibly malign foe that they had somehow defeated together...the feeling of betrayal so deep it still lingered within him, little more than a fading echo in the soul that is at once his and not his, but nonetheless inherited by him.
He begins to feel a cold stirring of fear, followed by sentimental loyalty, and finally a simmering hatred, against all reason recognizing the stylized symbol of the Inquisition for what it is, though he is certain he had never seen it before this day in his imprisonment. The feelings are at once apart from him, and his own. Conflicting for both their intensity and inherent contradiction.
Then...and then...he had dropped him in this hole, dropped him in this black pit on another world, a place apart from his home, without the smells of mire and mud, or the the sounds of the zydeco and tzitzikas...
When Ryuk finishes his singing there is a faint tone from the small housing and mechanisms inside the vault-like portal unlock from within the nearby walls. With a sibilant hiss, dusty, long pent-up air escapes from within the once pressurized room behind the door as it slides almost seamlessly away into the wall like a book returned to its slipcase.
Vincent looks at the dusty display and sees the following:
AUTHORIZED LOGIN ACCEPTED +++ AUTHORIZATION INTERROGATOR DESIUS KRADE +++ AUTHORIZATION INQUISITOR AHMAZZI +++
....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ......... ....... ........ ....... ........ ....... ......... ......... .........
WELCOME, VLINST VULST
The dark void revealed by the opening vault door beckons as if it was expecting them.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
As Savalos turns away from Einhardt's glare, Swinthosa Wardja continues to engage in polite small-talk with Leprade, an increasingly difficult proposition given the nature of his disguise and the events that are even now transpiring below. Above, Uriah moves toward the ornate bounding rail for the balcony level to improve his own view, the rest of the gallery on the mezzanine level content to observe on the wide-view picters suspended on golden chains above their heads.
As the door hisses open at the bottom of the pit, Hurchal, falling back on his ingrained Guard training, takes a defensive stance, his broad, bruised face still somewhat baffled by his unexpected surroundings. A murmur rustles through the audience as the Gran Pallazzar's concierge speaks again.
"Feel no sympathy for the accused, the woeful penitent you see below has been given the opportunity of a lifetime, to throw off the shackles of his prior sins for a chance at immortality amongst the gladiators of the Vermillion Ring. Instead of serving his allotted life-sentence in the southern plantation colonies of Unduz, toiling for the rest of his days for his Guard overseers, the prisoner you see below has bravely elected to wager both his skill at arms and his life against one of the Ring's proven gladiators. If he is somehow victorious, he will earn a place in the Ring and absolution for his crimes, washed away with the blood he sheds. Of course, if he fails..."
As if on theatrical cue, the other door finishes opening, and a two-meter-tall behemoth of vat-grown muscle strides out, his tanned and oiled body covered in puckered scars and garish tattoos. He wears an enameled cuirass colored blood-red sporting the stylized, pitch-black "V" of the Gran Pallazzar's infamous bloodsport arena, a broad breechclout, and a brass helmet with a full face-mask that is perforated with dozens of circular holes. Great, curving maulchup's horns corkscrew out from either side of the helm, their tips pointed threateningly toward the wary guardsman. The brutal weapon he carries is easily a long as he is tall, and resembles a broad-bladed, double-headed scythe crafted of shining brass and steel. Even as you watch, the teeth on the bladed edges of the chain chit-sickle roar into life with a screech of metal-on-metal and a puff of black smoke from the exhaust ports on the hilt.
The excited anticipation from the crowd crests with a sustained applause at the sight of one of the Red Ring's most renowned gladiators, and the concierge plays upon this enthusiasm by lowering his voice dramatically and shouting the introduction that follows.
"Patrons and guests of the Pinnacle of Pearl, I present to you, Dohor the Harvester!!!"
The roar of the chain weapon is deafening, even in the deep pit below, and as the smell of the exhaust begins to waft upward to the ringing spectators, Leprade turns toward the "Skaelan-Har" comptroller to his right and quietly opines,
"I would propose a wager to begin the evening, but I suspect this opening bout won't be much of a contest."
I watch helplessly as the Gladiator enters the arena. The symbology of the chit sickle isn't lost on me. So both groups are here. Damn. Have to think of a way to send warning to the others without blowing my cover. Have to keep my emotions in check so the witch doesn't pick me out of the crowd. Can't turn on the microbead or Leprades men might pick up my signal. Guaranteed they are scanning here. Frag I have to think of something or Hurchal is dead. Same with the others from the Surveillance Team.
Nonchalantly I peer around the room as I sip some fruity drink. I try to get a mental layout of how security is set up, and look for a way to slip a note or card to one of our team who can slip out to warn the teams outside.
Unduz II, Oremor 7th Legion Penal Claustrum, Designate Ylesium, Inquisitorial Access Shaft
"Is something wrong Ryuk?"
I look over the contestants as if to size them up. But really I'm trying to learn what I can about who they are. The big piece of meat wields the agricultural tool. Sign of the penal legions. Is he a Plague follower? An enemy to the Yellowbacks' lord? That means there's a good chance the other is one of Trantor's team. His defensive posture shows hints of guardsman training. Skeit. Throne help him. I sure can't at the moment. Are they trying to smoke us out?
The roar of the chain weapon is deafening, even in the deep pit below, and as the smell of the exhaust begins to waft upward to the ringing spectators, Leprade turns toward the "Skaelan-Har" comptroller to his right and quietly opines,
"I would propose a wager to begin the evening, but I suspect this opening bout won't be much of a contest."
Play it cool... Yawn. This is sooo boring. A blatant mismatch. Oh I suppose I can make a wager if the odds are right.
I shrug indifferently at Leprade's suggestion. "Meh. What odds are offered? Feel free to pick your champion."
I finish my drink and wave at Beij to bring me another.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Nonchalantly I peer around the room as I sip some fruity drink. I try to get a mental layout of how security is set up, and look for a way to slip a note or card to one of our team who can slip out to warn the teams outside.
With the sting of Sgt. Einhardt's gaze still upon him, Savalos scans the Pinnacle's layout for a solution, any solution, to what is about to transpire in the pit below.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"I would propose a wager to begin the evening, but I suspect this opening bout won't be much of a contest."
Play it cool... Yawn. This is sooo boring. A blatant mismatch. Oh I suppose I can make a wager if the odds are right.
I shrug indifferently at Leprade's suggestion. "Meh. What odds are offered? Feel free to pick your champion."
I finish my drink and wave at Beij to bring me another.
Leprade arches one eyebrow, seemingly surprised at the offer, as if he had been expecting a more conservative approach from the Skaelan-Har representative. Being given the choice of whom to pick leaves him somewhat incredulous.
"I feel, Comptroller Wimarc, in the interest of full disclosure and fairness, that I need to explain to you just whom Dohor the Harvester is in the somewhat convoluted hierarchy of the Vermillion Ring. While I myself am not one to fixate on the blood-sports, or place many wagers in that 'arena', so to speak, preferring instead games of skill, such as Heretic's Wake, even I know that there is only one possible outcome for the bout below. Dohor is something of legend amongst the fighting stables of the Ring, he has never lost a death-bout, even in grudge matches against his fellow gladiators."
Wardja can see the ruthless calculation veiled behind Leprade's eyes as he considers the possibilities.
"Since the outcome is a forgone conclusion, I have a chrono here, perhaps you would like to take odds against the amount of time that this poor unfortunate penitent will last in these most unenviable of circumstances?"
"A friendly wager, then. Do you still wish to allow me to pick my champion? I am amenable to either, if the stakes are governed by survival time and not a victor."
I am looking at all the players to see if there is any way for us to stop this. If necessary to take out the witch, as quickly as possible.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Savalos scans the crowded casino floor until his eyes alight upon one of the brass trolleys the hospitality staff have wheeled out for the convenience of placing bets on the pending bloodshed. Taking two of the small scrips from the attendant, he pulls the plumed pen in close to his chest and hastily scribbles a warning for the outside team on the opposite side of the small parchment, thanking K'lei-eth in his thoughts for teaching him so much about the written word and language. Satisfied, he palms it, and then passes a second scrip, completed for a modest bet he still can't cover, and probably will never claim, back to the attendant.
Spotting Astrid Beij moving across the room, away from Leprade and Wardja, he moves in her direction, maintaining his facade by almost passing her, and then reaching out to grab another iced fruit drink from her tray. The arbitrator is good, easily palming the card and continuing on before discreetly passing it to one of Wardja's disguised arbitrator bodyguards. The man whispers something to Swinthosa and then excuses himself, moving toward the spiral stair.
Despite the building sense of peril at finding out the members of the surveillance team have been captured, the prominent players; Trizo, Leprade, and the Witch betray no sign that they have discovered anything amiss about the other acolytes in the Pearl or their counterparts.
Surreptitiously lingering near some of the bodyguards from Trizo's group who have wandered closer to the fighting pit, Savalos watches them intently, particularly with regard to their comm activity, easily noting the cruel smirks and knowing glances they pass to one another. The few gloating exchanges he does make out from them while they are answering transmissions from their fellows confirm his worst fears, that the Yellobouros are responsible for the present fate of Hurchal, and perhaps the others.
I watch from a distance as the scene plays out. Hoping the others can save Hurchal and the rest of the team. I must trust in there abilities as I continue a role I am still learning. The part of a noble.
As I watch and pray for Hurchal's safety. I think of another. Sunshine. Where is she now? I see her eyes staring back at me. Asking... Where am I? Come save her. Yelloback or Demon I know I have to find her.
I continue to watch. Come on Hurchal fight!
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"A friendly wager, then. Do you still wish to allow me to pick my champion? I am amenable to either, if the stakes are governed by survival time and not a victor."
"Intelligencer, you are too kind to inform me of the unsurpassed prowess of that gladiator down in the ring. I cannot help but wonder if you are showing mercy now before going for the jugular during the card tourney."
I wink at Leprade, "How about a small, friendly wager to start tonight then? I pick a survival time of a mere 30 seconds. For 500 gelt you choose whether the fight is over before or after that mark. I'm content to take the opposite choice irregardless."
I take a velvet coin purse out of my bag and weigh it in my hand as if to measure its value. Hoping Leprade is distracted from noticing the rest of the team.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Although Uriah only realizes what is occurring in the newly revealed fighting-pit after one of the pict-viewers resolves on Hurchal's face, he does have the advantage of surveying the Pinnacle of Pearl from a higher perspective. The suddenness of his compatriots abrupt microbead silence following his last request of Astrid Beij does not in any way surprise him, however, given the circumstances.
It is clear by the audience's collective enthusiasm, albeit muted and largely constrained by ingrained social niceties, that even the wealthy elites and socialites have a taste for the combat games of the Vermillion Ring. In some respects the baser nature of mankind varies very little across the stringent class hierarchy of the Imperium, a sobering fact that Uriah learned long ago in his early service to the Inquisition.
Still, he is relieved to see both Leprade and Trizo's bodyguards maintaining their former postures of haughty vigilance. The Yellobouros actually have let down their guard somewhat, and seem to be gloating over their part in arranging the brewing spectacle. Neither the Intelligencer, who continues his conversation with the arbitrator, Wardja, nor the Yellobouros gang leader, who stares coldly up at one of the pict-viewers monitoring the death match, seems to have given any indication that they suspect there are agents of the Inquisition in their midst.
The witch remains inscrutable to him though, standing eerily silent and rigid at Trizo dol Soulard's side, like a skeletal mannequin wrapped in a midnight blue funeral shroud, the bizarre cowl and masque concealing her face utterly. Even at this distance Uriah Trantor feels the disconcerting dissonance of her psychic presence; an unnerving fluttering of the Immaterium that seems to radiate steadily from her person.
All in all, it seems that their cover remains intact, at least for now.
Although there is nothing so convenient as a printed program to identify the other major participants in the tournament, the hand signals from his fellow acolytes below and the psyker's astute eye have already revealed some of the players. Savalos in his noble disguise, Wardja as Skaelan-Har functionary, Leprade, Trizo, and the spire-dame revealed by Thul, and now a fat Fulcusian nobleman of lecherous disposition drawn out by Astrid Beij's flirtations based on Uriah's own suppositions. That leaves three remaining of the nine. Keeping one eye on the impending events in the pit below, Uriah continues to scan the crowd to determine just who the other players might be.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
"Intelligencer, you are too kind to inform me of the unsurpassed prowess of that gladiator down in the ring. I cannot help but wonder if you are showing mercy now before going for the jugular during the card tourney."
I wink at Leprade, "How about a small, friendly wager to start tonight then? I pick a survival time of a mere 30 seconds. For 500 gelt you choose whether the fight is over before or after that mark. I'm content to take the opposite choice irregardless."
I take a velvet coin purse out of my bag and weigh it in my hand as if to measure its value. Hoping Leprade is distracted from noticing the rest of the team.
"You again do me a courtesy, comptroller, in allowing me to make the choice. I predict he will last less than thirty seconds. If this is amenable to you, the wager is accepted."
He attempts to smile benignly at your suggestion that he is merely gauging your tendencies for the coming tournament, but is largely unsuccessful. There is simply too much of the opportunist in him to conceal it fully, an overconfidence you yourself hope to take advantage of in time.
Leprade gestures below offhandedly, as if some droll Ecclesiarchy sermon was to begin below and not a fight to the death.
"Ah, it begins."
He clicks a button on his ornate chrono and you watch as the obviously overmatched guardsman below resigns himself to his fate, the grim, indefatigable expression on his features visible even from where you both stand. Seizing the initiative, Corporal Hurchal thumbs on the activation stud of his chainsword and lunges toward his far larger adversary with a throaty, angry roar from his weapon.
Scattered applause fills the Pinnacle of Pearl as the evening's entertainment starts.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Even though I am keeping my cool. I know I am far to distracted to take my eyes off my main quarry, and Hurchal's fate. Best to blend in the crowd as one who is enjoying the spectacle.
Deep down I know if I have been spotted by whoever the other challengers are. The Dowiger is an easy and well known mark which could have marked me as well. All I would need to do is look up and see which eyes are on me, studying me, and not on the pict screens watching the carnage unfold.
My best bet is to keep up my bluff in hopes that they underestimate me. Have the eyes move on. Not giving me a second glance. Rely on the others to be my eyes for now.
My gut tells me that everyone at the card table are going to be pieces of Krades Regicide Board. That this game is merely an introduction of some of the key players to each other. The game within the game. Every player a representative for a different faction that has stakes in the higher game.
Just hope I remember K'lei-eth's and the Old Man's teachings well. Have a feeling I will need all they taught me to get though this night. Keep my cards close to my chest.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
He attempts to smile benignly at your suggestion that he is merely gauging your tendencies for the coming tournament, but is largely unsuccessful. There is simply too much of the opportunist in him to conceal it fully, an overconfidence you yourself hope to take advantage of in time... Seizing the initiative, Corporal Hurchal thumbs on the activation stud of his chainsword and lunges toward his far larger adversary with a throaty, angry roar from his weapon.
Scattered applause fills the Pinnacle of Pearl as the evening's entertainment starts.
The start of the bout is an opportunity to scan the crowd briefly. Not trying to make eye contact but wanting to get an idea where the others are. Is anyone trying to make me?
Letting my gaze settle on the smaller combatant in the ring. I wonder what sort of soldier he is. Where he grew up. What struggles he faced as a servant of the throne. More importantly I wonder if Ahmazzi's agents will allow him to die in this arena in order to maintain cover.
I try to move forward. Ostensibly to get a better view of the combat but also to distance myself from Leprade somewhat. I might need to communicate via vox link. One of my guards carried a message to Gereos and the others. Is there anything they can do?
Solitarium Erishkagal-77
"Is something wrong Ryuk?"
Ryuk does not answer Vincent's inquiry into his well-being, only staring ahead into the darkened room, the final lilting notes of the sing-song cadence falling from his parched lips.
The chamber itself is little more than an overlarge alcove. The dim radiance from their stab-lights reveals nothing more than an oval-shaped room caked in the dust of long neglect. It is furnished with nothing more than a scriptorium-style desk, empty chair on brass casters, and a baroque looking cogitator/vista screen combination, its black display dormant.
To Vincent the room itself is somewhat anticlimactic. It hardly looks like what he had expected from the Inquisition, being rather less appointed than even his own command center on the Administratum level of the claustrum.
Solitarium Erishkagal-77
Vincent walks carefully into the room, choosing each step with care, and leans over the solitary chair to inspect the dusty cogitator.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Making a mental note of the fat, haughty-looking, and presently unidentified Fulcusian nobleman, Uriah takes a decidedly more direct approach to identify the three players yet to be revealed. While keeping one eye on the casino floor below and the events in the fighting pit, he begins interacting with the lesser nobility and other self-important personages who crowd the mezzanine level of the Pinnacle of Pearl.
Just be eavesdropping on other conversations he is able to determine the fat nobleman from the neighboring continent of Fulcus is named Jashar dol Geim, the owner of one of Oremor's largest agri-business manufacturing collectives, and, judging by all the accounts being bandied back and forth by his simultaneously jealous and resentful contemporaries, a degenerate gambler and lecher of notorious reputation.
Most of Uriah's attempt at friendly overtures (social niceties not being his purview) are met with cold disdain or are outright rebuffed by the majority of those he attempts to speak with, in no small part because of deep-seated prejudices that the folk of Oremor seem to have have when it comes to the voidborn.
While inwardly seething over the latest verbal slap in the face, he chances upon a female voidborn, who casts a knowing look in his direction, smirking slightly at the corners of her mouth over his efforts to conceal the effect of such open contempt. She wears an elegant, pleated gown of maroon with gold accents that also seems to double as livery of some kind. The garb is exotic, but not extravagant, and judging from her other accoutrements, she appears to be a ship's astropath. She smiles in chiding sympathy, and beckons Uriah closer to her chair with one, long black-painted fingernail.
This is why I tell Savalos to handle talking to his people. Like I keep saying, It is ironic that a voidborn is trying to save a planet of groundpounders.
I will approach her.
Solitarium Erishkagal-77
Vincent stares at his own ghostly reflection in the powered-down pict-screen, watching as motes of dust, disturbed by their passage, dance like gray wisps in the bright glare of the stab-lights they carry. The faint green light of a glowing Gothic rune on the cogitator's base indicate that it still draws power from somewhere.
Toggling the rune gingerly with a finger that removes with it a thin patina of gray, like ash or soot, they all watch as the screen flickers reluctantly to life.
The cogitator's screen is empty save for the following scroll of green-lit text and a command prompt beneath it:
ERISHKAGAL-77 STATION
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY:
"To defeat the Daemon, you must hate the Daemon. To hate the Daemon, you must know the Daemon. To know the Daemon is to know madness."
<<<AUTHORIZED USER DETECTED+++VINCENT SEPHERIS{error;}[DATA NOT FOUND]{error;}##~!LAk1937777777999999999##[SYSTEM OVERRIDE ENGAGED]+++PROXY AUTHORIZATION GRANTED BY STANDING SUBROUTINE+++AUTHORIZED: INTERROGATOR DESIUS KRADE>>>
>>>
The blinking cursor waits almost expectantly.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
As Uriah approaches the female voidborn, her chiding grin softens somewhat, and she stands rather formally, revealing her tall, graceful build and offering a polite nod in greeting. Her skin is extraordinarily smooth; the pale, milky color of a newborn moon. Almond-shaped eyes of deep lavender, wide enough that they almost seem perpetually surprised or amused regard you in a manner you think is amiable, but you cannot be certain. Although her ship-born clan and its taboos are unknown to you, she interacts in a comfortable, almost offhanded manner, that, like your own, shows she is accustomed to dealing with those not of her peculiar bloodline.
"I would make a witticism asking as to what horse you had in this particular race, but the effect of such a remark is rather disappointing when one is not familiar with either the particular Terran bioform of which I speak or its place in such an idiomatic expression."
"I am Tikeen, and you?"
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
Bounded on all sides by excited patrons riveted upon the events in the pit, Savalos realizes it is futile to try and move about in the crowd to suss out any more of the potential competitors. The disguised acolyte reluctantly returns his own attentions to events below, watching as Hurchal presses on with his aggressive attack, and noticing how easily the hulking gladiator, Dohor, pivots and spins his huge, whirring chit-sickle to block or parry each incoming thrust. Savalos winces at every sparking spang of metal on metal, watching as the very teeth of the Guardsman's chainsword are ground down or broken away by the desperate assault on his adversary.
Twenty seconds...
Both Savalos and Wardja try to maintain their composure, even as their insides turn to simmering pits of dread for the eventual fate of Einhardt's man.
Swinthosa closes his eyes, making a mental count in his head, as he tries to put a few meters distance between he and Leprade. He is about to risk a subvocalization over his concealed microbead when Gereos' toneless voice begins speaking in his ear.
<<<Apologies. Message received. Mission vox-net has not been compromised by the enemy despite your concerns. There is no indication from enemy vox-traffic that they are aware of the identities of the operatives presently tasked to the Pinnacle of Pearl. Prior message, as requested, has been relayed to operatives providing security both within and without the Gran Pallazzar. Vox intercepts obtained confirm that our adversaries have taken four prisoners, in all probability the four in question comprise the tech-priests and Guardsmen tasked by Inquisitor Ahmazzi's acolytes with compromising the cogitator-hub core in the Vermillion Ring hypogeum. This probability is further increased by the fact that there has been no vox traffic received in the interval since their disappearance. I await further orders to..."
Twenty-five seconds...
Wardja turns his head as he hears a ratcheting shriek of metal, and finds himself staring across the pit at Savalos, who cannot help but reveal some of the helpless frustration they share on his pinched face. Looking down into the pit, the pair watch as the behemoth, Dohor, easily slaps aside Hurchal's chainsword, nearly spinning it from the exhausted-looking Guardsman's sweating fist. Whether through planned stratagem or sheer, unadulterated malice, the hulking gladiator no longer looks any part like he is on the defensive, and stalks forward, armored-head lowered like the imposing prow of a ramming battlecruiser, his huge hands deftly spinning the chit-sickle in a blinding, hand-over-hand pattern above his head.
The crowd, at once expectant and exhilarated, seem either not to be aware of the blatantly contrived extension of the the affair below, or are simply uncaring of how they receive their bloody entertainment. Wardja doubts anyone could be so naive, and what is left of his own conscience recoils at the thought of what is to come.
Hurchal makes two more thrusts, both theatrically dashed away by a simple dip of the chit-sickle's humming whirlwind, and then raises the chainsword into a guard position, sensing even before the spectators do, the coming blow. Dohor dips one rippling shoulder, sidestepping with one huge leg and brings all his ponderous strength down behind an overhead swing of the huge weapon he wields, the humming of the scything blade sounding for the all world like the droning of a swarm of flies as it makes its descent. With a sickening squeal of fractured metal, the chit-sickle tears through Hurchal's weapon, the arm braced beneath it, and then his skull, hesitating only briefly on the thick bone of his brow before plunging through his neck, body, and crutch to grind and bite into the floor below. Two imperfect, bilateral sections of the dead guardsman slouch to the floor like twin, deflated dopplegangers of the man he once was, and when the flood of blood belatedly commences, the most enthusiastic of the crowd break into excited exhortations and loud applause.
Literally soaking in the moment as the severed arteries of the poor doomed Guardsman spray his chest and arms, Dohor holds aloft the gore-covered chit-sickle high overhead, one meaty fist thrust into the air in victory. He hardly seems as exultant as the crowd, and halfheartedly tries to whip them into a frenzy of cheers with his limited dramatic flair while retaining some level of professional interest in the scant challenges that still await him in the coming opponents.
Leprade, raising his gaze from his chrono, smiles politely at Wardja.
"Twenty-eight seconds, comptroller, a very near thing."
Somewhere Dark
As he girds himself in the armor provided and checks the heft of his weapons, Kaltos feels the strange cell begin to rotate in space yet again.
The Gran Pallazzar Casino, The Pinnacle of Pearl
<<<Apologies. Message received. Mission vox-net has not been compromised by the enemy despite your concerns... intercepts... confirm that our adversaries have taken four prisoners... Ahmazzi's acolytes... I await further orders to...>>>"
Glad we apparently maintain cover but I submerge smouldering anger at the plight of Ahmazzi's servants... I feel helpless watching the Guardsman valiantly yet fruitlessly press an attack against the pit fighter. Skeit friethan skeit! Sacrifice of the faithful for the greater good of the Imperium is a reality of the Inquisition but I don't have to like it.
Watching the blade halve the man I swear the Emperor will extract His justice. Damned are those that consort with Chaos!
Leprade, raising his gaze from his chrono, smiles politely at Wardja.
"Twenty-eight seconds, comptroller, a very near thing."
I return the Intelligencer's smile. Taking the coin purse I measure out the winnings. "Heh. Very near indeed. Congratulations, Intelligencer, on drawing first blood." I nod at the bag and toss it to him.
Spotting a waiter with a serving tray, I move away from Leprade and towards the servant. Once I get a plate of food, I will use it for cover and communicate with Gereos.