Seeds of Heresy: Dark Heresy Second Edition

Game Master Decimus Observet

The agri-world of Novabella has drawn the attention of the Inquisition...


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It has been a long journey for some of you, and longer for others. Perhaps you are experienced in warp travel, perhaps the idea of leaving your home village was a novelty until some weeks ago. You have been bunking in emptied bunks along a corridor away from the Naval shipfolk.

Shortly after exiting the warp into the Novabella system, an Imperial Navy armsman arrives at the door to the corridor, a creaking servitor hoisting a brass-bound wooden chest next to it.

"The Inquisitor left this for you. Where shall I leave these down?", he asks, producing a sealed, pulp-coloured paper envelope that has clearly has something with a little weight contained within.


Not truly trusting her ability to read at any real speed, Valdear looked to her new squad. She was tall, broad of shoulder, an possessed of lean, practical muscle. The armor she wore was not the sort that her people wore upon their feral world, in fact, all that marked her as being such a savage was the orc-bone hammer that hung from her belt. That, and the various fetishes and talismans woven into her hair.

She really hoped that this job wouldn’t involve too much reading...


HP: 20/20 | AC 14 | Init: +3 | Saves: Str: +0; Dex: +5; Con: +2; Int: +1; Wis: +2; Cha: +2 | PP 14 | PI 09 | Inspiration: No | Conditions:

The man that the warband was introduced to as Enoch has been pacing the small corridor between the bunks, obviously uncomfortable as the ship traveled through the warp. As soon as the ship shudders back into reality, a look of relief spreads across the man's face.

"Finally..." Enoch murmurs to no one in particular, rolling his shoulders to release some of the tension there. He was not a particularly tall at all, standing at a little over five feet and six inches. His skin was a pasty pale, like one who didn't see the sun too often at all. Enoch's eyes were a pale, dull blue and his hair was reminiscent of ash upon both his face and atop his head. Small burns scarred his cheek; nothing too damaging but definitely reminiscent of nearby lasgun fire.

Enoch was dressed in a ragged, dirty brown poncho that only reaches about halfway down his chest and arms with a hood that is currently off of his head. Underneath it was an armored body suit, one that had seen wear and tear over the years but had been maintained. Metal platings and reinforcements were strategically placed to protect essentials while not inhibiting any of his movement. Any armor below his waist was unseen; a dark brown pair of pants with a series of pockets upon them that were tucked within thick leather boots.

The scoundrel was not without his weapons though, all three of them easily seen upon his. Strapped horizontally upon his lower back was a chainsword of unremarkable quality. The weapon was cleaned and taken care of but there was no notable markings or signs of prestige upon it. At his hips and sitting in two holsters were a pair of autopistols, the grips well-worn. It was more than likely that his comrades would have seen him repairing and maintaining these weapons, even reciting the simple prayers to ensure the proper workings for such simple ballistic weapons. His comfortability with these weapons was obvious but he had none of the discipline of an Imperial Guardsman. He was perhaps a bounty hunter or a criminal of some sort. The only strange thing was a soiled, red rag that was tied at just above the elbow on his left arm.

As a recent member of the warband and one of the newer arrivals upon the ship, Enoch would quirk his eyebrow a little bit at the officer. It wasn't often that he was regarded by any proper member of society and to be honest, it was a still a bit of an adjustment period.

"Yeah, give it 'ere" Enoch said, taking the envelope from the officer. There was a little bit of weight within them and to say he was curious was an understatement. He had been enjoying his freedom from the hellish prison he left but he knew the free ride would eventually come to an end. It was time to pay the Emperor his due.

"Looks like we got work, boys!" Enoch said with a wry grin, settling in the bunk closest to him. There he would spread out the envelopes and see if there was enough for all of them. If they were addressed personally, he would just take the one that had his name. Otherwise, he'd divvy them out before digging into his own.


WS (33) BS (31) S (30) T (30) Ag (31) Int (25) Per (30) WP (30) Fel (45) Inf (35) Fate: 4/4 Wounds: 11/11 High born - Imperial Guard - Hierophant

Ven knelt in a corner, his arms cross in the sign of the aquila, mumbling a pray under his breath. There was a slight rattle to his breathing, a stigma from the day he walked through fire and ash with the Emperor. His hair was also ashen, another mark from that day.
He wore a guardman's Flak uniform that was covered in quote from Lectitio Divinitatus and his shoulder pads bore the rank of sergeant.

At his waist he wore a mono-sword and a laspistol.
He looked up at the box.
"Thank you guardsman. We'll take those off you. May the Emperor protect you"


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

Xipil was in bright torquise robes, cowl pulled up around his head. Three mechandrites over around him, the optical mechadendrite flicks out to examine the envelope unconsciously. "Thank you armsman."

A pistol was holstered at his hip. He considered correcting the Imperial Guardsman directly but calculated that it might be detrimental. He could at least identify him to a degree, some of the others came from less obvious backgrounds. From the equipment and heraldry of the guardsman he tried to identify his regiment and likely homeworld of origin.

Common Lore Adeptus Mechanicus 55 or less: 1d100 ⇒ 21


Frontier World Imperial Navy Assassin WS 30 BS 45 S 30 T 30 Ag 45 Int 25 Per 40 WP 35 Fel 20 Inf 30 || W 12/12 Fate 4/4 || Armor 4(7) all

Another man had been sitting on his bunk, dressed in a tank and the lower half of black naval fatigues. His hands work diligently on the rifle across his lap, small tools adjusting minor details. As the armsman arrives, he rises, pulling the top half of his coveralls up and closing it's buttons. His uniform is not dissimilar from the armsman's, and distinctly bares Imperial Naval markings, though has a different cut and pattern to it. He likewise wears his silver hair long and pulled back, something not seen thus far on this vessel. As he steps forward toward the others, he slings a ceramite and thermaplas chestplate on, pulling it's harness tight. His rifle and pack remain on his bunk, but he lifts a stocky shotgun in one hand and secures a short-bladed chainsword on his hip with the other. His face is youthful and slim, though shows the scars of one whose life has been difficult.

The Guardsman and the Techpriest are already at odds, this should be fun. I'm not one for authority, let them battle over that. I am just here to get the job done.

"What's it say, Sergeant?" he says, looking at the Guardsman, settling into an 'at ease' stance, one hand holding the shotgun now sling low across his abdomen.


The armsman hands over the envelope to Enoch, stands out of the way of the servitor, then instructs it to place the chest down just inside the corridor. The servitor does as instructed, with only a slight thump from the chest. The armsman then salutes the group and walks away, the servitor following him out of sight.

The envelope contains a letter a sturdy iron key with a barely visible line of circuitry embedded in its side. It looks like it will fit the keyhole visible on the chest.

The letter is short and to the point.

The Letter:

Acolytes,

Your cell should by now have the key and chest in your possession. Only you six can safely open the chest and its contents are for your eyes only. Ye have been selected for this cell for a variety of reasons but for one purpose: to serve the God-Emperor's interests. Remember your common purpose at all times.

By His will,
Inquisitor Lucius Barrabas


Valdear squinted as she read, as if by naught but force of will she would be able to understand the words faster. Luckily there weren’t any big words to confuse her. Too many little people masked their weakness with complicated words. That, and the message itself was simple. He’d given them something and wanted them to play nice. Easy enough.

”Let’s open it then.” She said, eager to see what payment lay within.


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

As the members of the cell read thee letter a dull metallic thudding can be heard resonating down the outside hallway, along with the rasping scrape of something heavy being dragged against bulkhead. The plodding steps becoming loud as their originator draws ever closer, a silent sense of foreboding seems to descend on all within the room. Slowly the plodding beast draws into the room, a dark figure cast of ceramite and steel.

One could be forgiven for mistaking the man beast for one of the angels of the Emperor's holy astartes at first glance, a being of such size and unmistakable power... clad in armor and bearing holy markings of the Emperor upon every inch of his being. But size and power were the only things this beast shared with the holy ones of legend, for he was not of the Emperor's fury but a regrettable abomination of holy form. The reek of dark sin and old stains of past deeds are splattered across his massive armor, a repurposed geller field workman's armor that had seen centuries if not millennia of use... the venerable design having long past from the memory of all but the most learned of magos-domini. The weapon he had been dragging a simple chunk of twisted metal taken from some unknown machine and repurposed to a more martial purpose. A simple stubber of some crude build sat upon his chest and promised simple but efficient death if he were to draw it. Worst of all were the eyes that stared through the glass of the face mask, black voids filled with the dull burn of distant stars that never were.

Then it spoke with a voice as ancient as the void and just as dark, its voice rang hollow within the shell it inhabited and it was plain to all that this thing was not of the Emperor's design, no voice should sound as alien as this.

"Hello my new friends. I am so pleased to work with you this fine century. I understand I will be traveling in your care and will be required to have a minder. Here..." The thing tosses a sophisticated triggering device to Daxio. "... this is the triggering device for my explosives collar. Should I leave your side, or turn traitor, you are to activate the explosives within my collar in an attempt to end my insignificant existence." The cheerfulness and candor of the statements not matching the ancient hopelessness of the voice delivering them. And as quickly as that, the creature stopped possessing whatever motive force powered it and its eyes became a normal dark and empty.


lost soul

"Only us six? But there are five of-" Daxio's words were cut off as the sound of the heavy footstep and dragging echoed from the corridor beyond. Turning his attention toward the doorway, he saw the dark shadow emerge to reveal the massive monstrosity. Thoughts race through his mind, 'Damn, that's a big twist. Looks worse than most I've dealt with.' "Everyone, get back!" he shouted as he brought his Ironclaw up to unleash the Emperor's wrath.

But then it spoke, so calmly, as it tossed Daxio the strange device. Instinctively his left hand came up and caught it, looking between it and the horror standing before them. His right eyebrow arches impossibly high. "Wait, this warp-twisted behemoth is coming with us?! My job is to put such things down, not be there nurse maid. Can it be trusted?" he glances at the others, trying to get their read on the situation.


Instinctively Valdear already had her hammer in hand. Made with the skull of an ork warboss, it was usually an imposing sight in the hands of someone as large as the feral world warrior. Up against that monstrosity, it looked completely insufficient.

”What is that...thing?” She hissed. Every fiber of her being said that it was unnatural. She wanted nothing more than to be as far away from it as possible.


HP: 20/20 | AC 14 | Init: +3 | Saves: Str: +0; Dex: +5; Con: +2; Int: +1; Wis: +2; Cha: +2 | PP 14 | PI 09 | Inspiration: No | Conditions:

Enoch was looking over the letter when he heard the ominous sound in the hallway, the screech of metal dragging against metal. It sent chills down his spine and his body moved only in the most subtle of ways; his clothing moved to leave an unobstructed path for his hand to reach the pistols at his side. Yet when the abomination entered into the room, his eyes would widen and his chest would tighten. Mutation was not an uncommon thing for those within the colony, gases and other hazardous materials were known to change those. The worst of them would need to be put down, an act of mercy really. This thing was most deserving of mercy. For the first time, but likely not the last, Enoch wondered if he should've just stayed with the firing squad.

When it spoke though, it spoke with such intelligence. It was uncomfortable, the paradox between the friendly voice and the hideous monstrosity before him. It was made clear then that it was going to be joining them; they were its keeper. While the others reacted in horror, a cold laugh escaped Enoch as he shook his head.

"You poor, throne-forsaken beast." Enoch murmured, palming the key as they all stared. "It seems that the rumors of the Inquisition aren't all wrong..." Moving towards the chest that was upon the floor, Enoch would crouch down to it but would not let Pen out of his sight. His instincts were too focused and everything in him was telling him to do the right thing; grab that device and press the button. He kept his pity and revulsion in check though, unlocking the chest. "What's your name, beast. You do...have a name still...right?"


WS (33) BS (31) S (30) T (30) Ag (31) Int (25) Per (30) WP (30) Fel (45) Inf (35) Fate: 4/4 Wounds: 11/11 High born - Imperial Guard - Hierophant

Ven draws his sword but it's the device that draws his gaze.
"I can confirm that it just handed use a serviceable detonator. Xipil ca you determine if it is is a functioning explosives collar?"

"If it's collar functions then I think the Inquisitor means for us to work with this creature, though I ask not that you trust it"
Pens I like your characters implied lore as an ancient Geller field technician


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

The twin baleful lights return to the dark voids of the eye slots, staring out at the gathered group and taking in its new companions before it once again began to move. The ancient suit seamed to lift and fill unnaturally as the being began to take a single step forward before kneeling before Ven.

"My name is Pens, it was short for something but I no longer remember what it was. Unless it was a nickname, might have been one of those, but it is all the name that I still own on these many crossings."

The creaking metal scraped as Pens bowed its massive head towards Ven allowing him access to the overly large collar that has been attached and welded to the corroded metals. The fresh new deterrent clashes mightily with the aged suit, making the venerable piece of protection look even more antiquated in contrast.

"Please, inspect my collar for defect. I would not want it to fail in the sad event that I would somehow be turned from the Emperor's most blessed service. Just do not remove the personal protective gear if you please, I do not know what would happen in the event of a full removal and fear for your safety my new true companions."

And again the giant creature seems to shrink within and the void stars wink out as if collapsing into cold brown dwarfs before disappearing once more. The suit hangs silently holding the position of submission that it had assumed. Quiet as the tomb worlds...


For anyone inspecting the explosive collar who has Common Lore (imperial guard):

This indeed looks like an explosive collar of the sort used on penal legionnaires and looks functional. The device does appear to have been constructed to fit its wearer perfectly.

For anyone inspecting the explosive collar who has Common Lore (tech), Tech-Use, or Trade (technomat):

This is a fully functioning explosive collar and one sized perfectly to its wearer. It is in excellent working condition.


With no relevant skills, Valdear hung back. ”Not getting close to that thing.” She muttered.


Frontier World Imperial Navy Assassin WS 30 BS 45 S 30 T 30 Ag 45 Int 25 Per 40 WP 35 Fel 20 Inf 30 || W 12/12 Fate 4/4 || Armor 4(7) all

Daxio uncertainly looks from the creature down to the trigger device he was given. Feeling it's solid weight in his hand, with an eyebrow raised, "Pens, you say? Do realize I will not hesitate to use this, if you try to harm or betray us. Just so we are clear."

He turns to his newfound companions as he lowers his shotgun, and attaches the detonator to his harness belt at his hip. "I don' like, I won' mix words. I used to hunt these things, back on my ship. But if Inquisitor Barabbas sees some worth in... it... well, then its with us." When his eyes land on the Guard Sergeant, he sticks his hand toward, "Name's Daxio Scavran, Armsman First Class, served on the cruiser Dauntless Spirit. Was a hog jockie back on Luxar Delta 'fore that."

Nodding down toward the chest, he looks across the assembled group. "Letter says only us six can open it safely. Now, I got a mind for tinkering wit sluggers an' blasters, but that things beyond me. Anyone have an idea if there are sensors we gotta touch on it, or some such?"


Valdear shook her head. She was so far out of her league already that it wasn’t even funny. If someone asked her to track an ork and to then engage it in a head butting contest, then she’d be able to do it. And to *maybe* even win. But demon-hosts and locked boxes? Both were outside her area of expertise.

”I’m Valdear, of Gregorn.” She responded to his greeting, figuring that alone should suffice to say all that she wanted to communicate. ”No idea. Should ask the tech-shaman. They can speak to the spirits inside the machine. He can ask the spirits to open it for us.”

She liked tech priests. Because technology, for the most part, was beyond her. But she understood the concept of spirits, and she understood the concept of speaking to spirits. It made technology feel more attainable. More familiar. And given how different life was away from her home world, she appreciated whatever bit of comfort she could find.


Inspecting the chest with a Succesful Roll on Security (Intelligence) +10 or Tech-Use +0:

The solid iron lock does indeeed conceal sensors, which seem aligned to fit the line on the iron key.

There appears to be something weighty attached to the inside of the lock mechanism. It may be a trap of some sort.

The key appears to contain a cleverly disguised geneprint reader.


WS (33) BS (31) S (30) T (30) Ag (31) Int (25) Per (30) WP (30) Fel (45) Inf (35) Fate: 4/4 Wounds: 11/11 High born - Imperial Guard - Hierophant

Common Lore (Imperial Guard) under 25 if needed: 1d100 ⇒ 80

Ven examines the collar.
"It looks functional though with some slight modifications for size. As for the chest. I suggest we put our faith in the Inquisitor and start with the key"


HP: 20/20 | AC 14 | Init: +3 | Saves: Str: +0; Dex: +5; Con: +2; Int: +1; Wis: +2; Cha: +2 | PP 14 | PI 09 | Inspiration: No | Conditions:

Security (Under 20 needed): 1d100 ⇒ 11

Enoch would look over the box for a moment, studying the detail of it. It was cleverly disguised to look like a simple chest for certain but there were little things that made it stand out. The key, supposedly made of simple iron, instead had certain grooves and sensors upon it. Crouching down, he looked over the lock for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah...like I thought...thing is trapped but it should work for us. Key has some tricks to it, seen it before with the w-...with higher society's things. It should work for us...or the Inquisitor has a terrible sense of humor bringing us all this way just to kill us." As the two guardsmen greeted one another, he would take the key and kneel down to the chest. "Name's Enoch. Just Enoch. Now let's see what's inside eh?" Inserting the key, he would twist it until the lock opened or exploded. It was time to see what the Inquisitor had gifted them.


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

Extremely expendable...

Xipil examined the detonator. "The collar was well chosen for it's target" The tech priest took a little while to determine if the device had a particular transmission frequency... in case the detonator was lost he could still see it executed.

"I am Tech Priest Xipil. It could be trapped as a test, lessons that punish the weakness of the flesh can induce enhanced recollection and are a great motivator. But it is unlikely." The techpriest didn't move to stop Enoch opening the potential trap.


Enoch inserts the iron key and it slides into the lock, which it was clearly made for. Turning the key results in a satisfying thunk sound as the lock disengages. It almost but not quite masks a soft beep from near the lock, as if something turned off - or on.

Opening the chest reveals a number of items. The first is a compact melta charge attached to the left of the lock mechanism facing the opener of the chest. It is currently disarmed though it appears that closing the lid and locking the chest with the key would rearm it. It is a fraction of the size and weight of a standard melta bomb but would surely turn the rest of contents of the chest into so much slag if activated.

These contents consist of two dataslates, six bulging leather pouches, and an envelope very similar to the one that contained the key and letter.


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

Pens moves slowly towards the box as its suit clunked against the floor with every step.

"I will happily greet the end of my existence should I harm you friend Daxio. It would seem we each get a pouch although I suggest we read the note first. I do not remember if I remember how to read. I am sure one of you will easily do the honor."


Frontier World Imperial Navy Assassin WS 30 BS 45 S 30 T 30 Ag 45 Int 25 Per 40 WP 35 Fel 20 Inf 30 || W 12/12 Fate 4/4 || Armor 4(7) all

Daxio looks down at Enoch kneeling before the chest. His garb is of questionable nature, and the scars suggest he has seen a fire fight or two. Seems to know about tech, and locks specifically. Could've been a security agent for some noble, but more than likely he's a booster. Will need to keep an eye on him and his motives...

"Well Enoch, whst you say, that looks like it coulda gone bad. Glad we had the key, eh? Why don' you pass up them pouches, we can have a look." Assuming Enoch does, Daxio will unfasten any clasp or tie and look in the pouch, trusting that either Enoch or the sergeant will handle the letter.


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

"As you do not recall if you can read I postulate that you can not recall how you came into the service of the Inquisitor?"


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The Envelope
This is another pulp-coloured envelope though much lighter. The letter within is stamped with Barrabas' official red wax seal and reads:

"Acolytes,

"Several months ago, Archbishop Zedikiah, one of the most important Ecclesiarchy figures within the Askellon Sector, passed away on the shrine world of Ossuar. After a months-long seclusion spent in prayer, the regional Adeptus Ministorum superiors allowed Zedikiah's designated successor to take office, and his servants began the onerous process of clearing the former Archbishop’s quarters and offices. Within his voluminous chambers at the Grand Cathedral, amidst the masses of parchment, scrolls, and tomes they discovered an alarming note.

"One of the servants, operating as a secret informer, quickly passed word of its contents to me.

"The note was a formal request for an investigation on the agri-world of Novabella, a planet dominated by the Adeptus Ministorum. Harvester-Prelate Felissimo, head of the Ecclesiarchy on the remote colony world, originally penned it just over twenty-five years previously. A routine inquiry with the Adeptus Administratum revealed that it has been more than twenty years since there has been any contact with Novabella. There are no records of any Imperial vessels visiting the world in the past twenty-five years, including vessels sent to gather tithes. None understand how the world was so utterly forgotten or why the missive was ignored.

"Archbishop Zedikiah ignored a message hinting at heresy for twenty years - or was actively complicit in its coverup. I will be investigating why and how.

"Your mission is to provide the investigation asked for by Harvester-Prelate Felissimo, discover if any heresies did inspire his request, and eliminate them from Novabella.

"By His will,
Inquisitor Lucius Barrabas"

Possess Common Lore (Ecclesiarchy) or Common Lore (Askellon Sector):

Archbishop Zedikiah is - was - an renowned figure in the Thule Sub-Sector Synod, whose seat of power is upon the shrine world of Ossuar. His role would have been mostly administrative but he was commonly understood to be first among his peers and the likely successor to Ossuar's Arch-Cardinal Bavarus Konseig, leader of Ossuar's Creed of Remembrance and the highest-ranked Ecclesiarchy official in the sub-sector.

Possess Common Lore (Askellon Sector) or Common Lore (Adeptus Administratum):

Each of the five sub-sectors of the Askellon Sector has a Sub-Praefect to oversee it, a high-ranked Administratum official second only to the Sector Praefect on the capital world of Juno. Currently, Thule Sub-sector is without a Sub-Praefect, the prior incumbent having been assassinated by a previously unknown psyker cult calling itself the Brothers of Celestial Enlightenment. This has meant that the Thule Sub-Sector lacks the level of direct oversight that may be expected. Even so, twenty-five years is a long time for an agri-world to be left to its own devices.

*************************************************************************** ***********

Examining a Pouch
Each contains a multitude of pale grey chits, made of what appears to be tough shell, each scrimshawed with an ID number and a set ration value. These are either currency or a fine substitute for it. Either way, these offer an option to trade on Novabella with some degree of subtlety. A few chits would be significant to a labourer, a pouch or two to higher status citizenry.

*************************************************************************** ***********

The Dataslates
One data-slate is smaller and with a case of highly-ornamented silver. The other appears more conventional and even slightly worn rectangular lump of plastic and steel. It would fit in well on all but the most primitive or advanced worlds.

Looks at Dataslates and has Forge World origin or Adeptus Mechanicus background or Common Lore (Tech) or Common Lore (Adeptus Mechanicus):

The silver dataslate is clearly sourced from Cerix Magnus, the most influential of Forge Worlds in the Askellon Sector. Its reputation is for the strictest adherence to the Omnissiah's dictates and patterns.

The steel dataslate is a commonplace item, made in Hive Prime on the world of Desoleum.

*************************************************************************** ***********

The Steel Dataslate
This is a sturdy and reliable model, though read-only. When powered on, it shows a menu of various files to access regarding the world of Novabella.

> Novabella Gazetteer
> Planetary Governship
> Ecclesiarchy
> Mercantile Operations

Novabella Gazetteer:

A relatively unsophisticated agri-world, Novabella is an isolated but loyal provider for a significant portion of the Thule Sub-Sector’s foodstuffs. Located just rimward of the ancient Tributary World of Aventine, Novabella’s wide oceans and endless plains have proven receptive to crops and domesticated animals. Were it not for a near complete lack of materials required for manufacturing, the planet might even be self-sustaining. That limitation has led to a world that depends entirely upon imported goods for all of its tools and technology.

The settlement of the planet began more than four centuries ago, at the current capital of Recompense, and has become an Adeptus Ministorum bastion devoted to tending crops and faith alike. From the start, it had been designated to support the Imperial war machine through food, not men, given the relatively low population. The vast majority of its people live in small, isolated communities, where they can work the fields and seas. Population growth has been steady, but never explosive. Even as their farms and fisheries yield bountiful harvests, the bulk of those goods have been sent off-world. Foodstuffs that could have been used to nurture the world’s inhabitants have instead been devoted to feeding the insatiable Imperial demands.

Due to its small size and relative youth, the Adeptus Arbites have not yet established a presence on the colony. Similarly, the Adeptus Mechanicus only maintain a single Tech-Priest to minister to the agri-world’s technology. Requests for supplies or equipment spend decades in review under the Thule Administratum before they are sent or, more commonly, denied.

Most of the population is scarcely able to live at a subsistence level. Their individual poverty is a sharp contrast with the ample harvests that they struggle to reap as each season comes to a close. With the limited machinery available, the agricultural work depends on the citizens committing to exhausting manual labour. As the population is disproportionately small relative to the size of the harvests, every moment of daylight must be spend tending to the crops. An influx of agricultural machines or new colonists could make the task far more manageable for the populace. Ofcourse, if that were to take place, the Imperium would certainly increase the world’s tithe with each harvest.

Planetary Governship:

Since the planet’s initial colonisation, Novabella has known only a single, unbroken line of rulers. The Kathrinkas have maintained strict oversight over all of the planet’s assets, consistently keeping the population stable and providing the required Imperial tithes. Up until the isolation began twenty years ago, the world consistently returned the appropriate tithes. Though their merciless tactics have hardly endeared them to the world’s citizens, their continued success ensured a modicum of support from the Thule Sub-Sector Administratum officials.

The title of ruling Planetary Governor, also known locally as the Bountiful Lord, has been passed down to the family’s oldest child from a parent—or to next eldest surviving sibling—without military action nineteen times. The Kathrinkas family has relied upon Novabella’s security forces, the Strictionists, to keep the population controlled. These serve as the domestic overseers, and it is their primary responsibility to make certain that proportionate tithes are obtained from all agricultural efforts. Their secondary role is to see to the prosecution of any crimes—especially those that might interfere with productivity. In addition, the Novabella Sworn Protectors exist as the planet’s defence force against any external threats or major disturbances. Governor Everfast Kathrinkas was the last known Bountiful Lord.

Ecclesiarchy:

For the citizens of Novabella, the Faithful of the Harvest Father plays a central role in forming their communities. Not every village is large enough to have a distribution centre for the Agriharvest Sodality, but all have at least one temple. After farm work is completed, citizens spend their evenings in devotion at the temple. Their form of worship involves retelling of ancient legends and a sharing of recent experiences of faith and divine intervention. The regular interactions between the members of each religious community ensure that the workers form strong bonds of faith with one another. Personal conflicts are resolved through sessions of shared prayer and devotion. For many communities without a Strictionist presence, a local Seed-Scribe serves as the magistrate for disputes between individuals. In most instances, these prayer sessions are enough to prevent dissent and the necessity for martial enforcers.

Seed-Scribes play a critical role on Novabella, making certain that the faith is followed appropriately. These individuals are not official members of the Adeptus Ministorum, but instead are those who have demonstrated a very strong faith. They are trained under the authority of a senior Garden-Predicant or regional Harvest-Scribe, and are then granted permission to assume a leadership role within an isolated community. A community’s members typically select candidates prior to beginning their Seed-Scribe training, but it is rare for a candidate to begin training without the approval of the local fane-hall. The planet’s few formal Garden-Predicants maintain a rigorous pattern of travel between the hundreds of small temples within their jurisdiction. The last known leader of the Faithful on Novabella was Harvester-Prelate was Ezzarth Felissimo.

Mercantile Operations:

Novabella is hardly a well-known planet, even amongst those Chartist Captains and Rogue Traders who travel the area. Even within the Thule Sub-Sector, citizens of other worlds may only have seen the name stamped upon crates of barely palatable ration bars and other foodstuffs that the agri-world has exported. The seal on each of these boxes bears the logo of the Agriharvest Sodality, the body responsible for the organisation of all agricultural labour and production on the colony world. This includes small farms and massive ocean harvester fleets alike, a total that numbers in the hundreds of thousands. Requests for seed, fertiliser, or breeding stock go through the Sodality. These are tempered by review from the nobility and the Novabellan Ecclesiarchy. The Sodality’s leader has the right to sit on the governor’s council and has continously pushed for a greater Adeptus Mechanicus presence on Novabella. The Sodality's last known leader was Oversee Evaine Drachenstein.

With each harvest, the Sodality collects all of the crops produced from every farm. The total harvest is transported to Recompense where it can be inspected, sorted, and blessed, a process that often takes many weeks and results in much spoilage. At this point, much of the harvest is refined into ration bars and other processed formats using primitive but sanctified means. Large amounts are left unprocessed and allocated directly into the tithe storage units, all as dictated by rites established at the time of the planet’s colonisation. Once the annual tithe is filled with processed and unprocessed goods, a procedure filled with ancient rituals to bless the harvests that takes months, what little remains isredistributed to the Novabella’s many small communities.

*************************************************************************** ***********

The Silver Dataslate:

When picked up by an acolyte, the genereader is discreet but noticeable. Once activated, the screen displays the following in crisp, stark white characters:

> IDENTITY RECORDED
> TEMPORARY ####### CLEARANCE GRANTED
> BY ORDER OF INQUSITOR ####

> PRESS SCREEN TO CONTINUE

Past this initial screen, there is a photographic copy of the lost message, marked with an obvious ecclesiarchy seal:

"To My Most August Archbishop Zedikiah:

"I can only beseech your lordship for aid, as I am surrounded with souls bereft of the Harvest-Emperor’s spirit. None can be trusted, for I cannot be certain who remains loyal and who has fallen.

"Foul things are stirring underneath the placid spirits of my people. Their smiles are false, and I know their hearts have become corrupted. Our world lives to provide its bounty to others, and should its offerings become tainted so would countless souls fall from the Emperor’s Grace.

"I have served you and my world for many years, and know my people. My lord, you must trust me when I say action is needed immediately. Only sanctified forces from your own orders can prevent the spread of that which I dare not name, even under encryption to our Astropath, for even he I grow suspicious of. Darkness is growing ever greater around me. These are not the
ramblings of the paranoid, these are the warnings of the vigilant against the Dark Forces we strive against each day.

"Heed them and save my planet, I beg you. Novabella is a good world and deserving of the Emperor’s protection, and I eagerly await His forces to come to our side.

"Yours in Devotion to the Harvest-Emperor, Blessed be His Light!
Ezzarth Felissimo
Harvester-Prelate"


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

Pens waits patiently for the others to do what they will with the contents of the box.

"I remember the day well when my new master came. Flanked by the silent ones that made my brain crawl he was, and many things he did ask. How long have you been at your post? Since they placed me here to oil this holy shaft. And how long has that been? I do not know all I know is the oiling of the shaft and the turning of the wheel. The pulling of the nob and the holy burning of the white rock. This is my service and I do it gladly. What did you do before this? I do not remember before this, it has been so long a time I think.... and then they told me my service was over and my new service would begin. They dragged me out of my hole and off the prison ship of witches to see that there was more than the six surfaces that bound my world. Now I have new service... with you."


WS (33) BS (31) S (30) T (30) Ag (31) Int (25) Per (30) WP (30) Fel (45) Inf (35) Fate: 4/4 Wounds: 11/11 High born - Imperial Guard - Hierophant

"The first thing we must ascertain is whether the heresy is from the colonists or the from the merchants who should be collecting the harvest. If the harvest isn't being collected then we have an administrative error, if it is and not being sent to the Emperor we have active treason"


HP: 20/20 | AC 14 | Init: +3 | Saves: Str: +0; Dex: +5; Con: +2; Int: +1; Wis: +2; Cha: +2 | PP 14 | PI 09 | Inspiration: No | Conditions:

A sly grin spreads on Enoch's face as the lock opens just as he imagined it would, the chest's trap not triggering either. It seemed that he was not to die this day. Looking over his shoulder as Daxio, he gave a little shrug.

"The Emperor protects." The scoundrel said, passing out the pouches to them all. The bits jingled inside of them and earned the outcast's attention for sure; nothing wrong with a nice bit of extra coin. Turning towards the sergeant, he would hand him the letter before taking the datapads and sitting on the nearby trunk. Immediately he began to read about this world that they would be arriving at soon enough, their first task outlined to them.

"I agree. Seems like things are rough on the colonists and have been rough for quite some time. Maybe they finally had enough." Enoch murmured as he scanned through the datapad, absorbing the knowledge and names of those within. "Twenty years of silence at least though? That is a hell of a long time for a place to slip through the cracks. We'll want to meet all these important people, if we can. Try to figure out who is lying to us and who knows something."


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

"Twenty years is not so long in the life of the Emperor's glorious Imperium of Man. Travel among the stars and the vagaries of communication may have delayed such things. If not, we will root out the heresy and burn it before the pyre of holy vengeance." Still the creature seems highly interested in what is being done. "I will pray for a routine inspection and prepare for a breakdown too far gone to be saved."


Common Lore (Adeptus Mechanicus) +10 roll:

Novabella is a world barely touched by the Omnissiah's wisdom. There may only be a single tech-priest on the planet, given the figures you recall.

Common Lore (Imperial Guard +10 roll):

Novabella has a low population, as do most agri-worlds, and you have not heard of a recruitment there for the Imperial Guard. The local Sworn Protectors are relatively few but are infantry equipped in similar fashion to Imperial Guard. There were no reports of tanks or even Chimeras deployed to the world.

Common Lore (Imperial Navy) +10 roll:

Novabella is not a world that receives Naval patrols often. Even if it did, they may just enter system, ascertain the planet hasn't been scorched, and depart.

Common Lore (Underworld) +10 roll:

Less than scrupulous free captains, chartist chaptains, and even rogue traders have been known to visit isolated worlds and trade illictly.


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

1d100 ⇒ 69 No clue.


”Hope it’s the colonists. Seems like it’d be easier to bust some heads. If it’s the administratum or the like, then they’re going to be hidden behind a lot of paperwork.” Valdear said, making clear that the latter sounded much more fearsome an obstacle.


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

"There is next to know Adeptus Mechanicus presence on Novabella, perhaps one."

"Additionally I have not seen of any record of a regiment created for the Imperial Guard tithed from this world. The 'Sworn Protectors' are equipped in a similar fashion to a Imperial Guard line infantry but have no armoured support."

"From the Imperial Navy reports I am familiar there is little of note. Few patrols go there and do little more than a cursory examination before departing."

"However free captain, chartist captains and the occassional Rogue Trader resupply and may engage with illicit trade here. It is obviously far enough away from the scrutiny of authorities not to attract their attention easily." Xipil recalled what additional information he could about the planet.

"It is an isolated planet of little import, those are the pertinent details I have to add that aren't mentioned in the dataslate. The Archbishop held a mostly administrative role but would have theoretically been first in line to replace Ossuar's Arch-Cardinal Bavarus Konseig upon his death or removal."

CL Adeptus Mechanicus 55: 1d100 ⇒ 46
CL Imperial Guard 55: 1d100 ⇒ 52
CL Imperial Navy 55: 1d100 ⇒ 46
CL Underworld 55: 1d100 ⇒ 38


Footsteps can be heard in the corridor crossing the entrance to your bunk-block.

Once again, the same armsman stands at the entrance, though this time sans a servitor.

He knocks once to signal his presence and then stands, waiting.


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

Tipil attempted to recall if there were any specific smugglers or cartels operating on the world. It was isolated but as an agri world could easily have narcotics or poisons in productions being shipped out alongside or independent the Administratum shipments.

"Enter." He let the others consider the data he had provided while the armsman returned.

FL Smugglers and Cartels: 1d100 ⇒ 91


Xipil has not heard any rumours about chem smuggling or Faceless Trading interests on Novabella. Its only export is a somewhat grim make of ration bar.

The armsman walks a few metres into the corridor. Close enough to speak and not yell.

"Lieutenant Ostellian has nearly completed the initial assessment of Novabella on your behalf, as per the Captain's orders. The Lieutenant wishes to meet with you when you are ready. I am to bring him your response."

The armsman waits expectantly.


Valdear shrugged. ”Let’s talk to him now. What else are we going to do, sit around and play with ourselves?”


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

"Given time and the opportunity I would instigate an audit of Administratum records. I would anticipate there is a parallel investigation doing as such however. Speaking with the Lieutenant is agreeable at this point."


WS (33) BS (31) S (30) T (30) Ag (31) Int (25) Per (30) WP (30) Fel (45) Inf (35) Fate: 4/4 Wounds: 11/11 High born - Imperial Guard - Hierophant

[i]"Finally a fellow officer" Ven thinks to himself.
Out loud he says: "Yes of course show us to him"


The armsman snaps to attention and replies:

"Of course. At once."

He then touches his head and subvocalises, as if into a microbead, though he makes no effort to hide his lips or speech from the cell.

"Drexel. Over. They are accompanying me now. Over. Meeting Room 14. Over"

"I will wait outside the bunk-block until you are ready."

in case you need to secure any materiel is the unspoken second half of the sentence.

Armsman Drexel proceeds to do exactly that.


HP: 20/20 | AC 14 | Init: +3 | Saves: Str: +0; Dex: +5; Con: +2; Int: +1; Wis: +2; Cha: +2 | PP 14 | PI 09 | Inspiration: No | Conditions:

Having read what he needed and listening to the possible theories of the others, Enoch would rise from the bunk and gather what little belongings he had left there. It was obvious that the man traveled simple and personal belongings were few and far between.

"I am ready." Enoch murmured, the words carrying more weight than just an statement to the others. It was the first test, the first taste of real freedom. Sure, it came with a leash connected to an enigmatic, unknowable master but that had its own opportunities as well. If he didn't die, this could be his chance to seize his own fate. All he had to do was play the game and pay the prices.


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

Pens does not speak, only moves to follow Daxio if he should choose to leave.


Frontier World Imperial Navy Assassin WS 30 BS 45 S 30 T 30 Ag 45 Int 25 Per 40 WP 35 Fel 20 Inf 30 || W 12/12 Fate 4/4 || Armor 4(7) all

"Guess it's time for us to get a movin'. Let's tuck all this in for later." Daxio picks up the rest of his kit, slinging his pack, rifle, and a slim bundle onto his back. As he does, he stows two of the bags of chits into his pack. "Figure we should split up the coin. Techpriest Xipil, would you secure the slates?"

Once the resources provided have been secured, Daxio turns back toward the guardsman. "Sergeant, 'fore we go, p'rhaps you'd share yer name with us? Put us on a lev'l groun?" He reaches out his hand to shake with him, expectantly.

As the others start to depart the chamber, Daxio prepares to take up the rear with his new charge. Looking up at the unnerving metal helm, he nods, "So, yer followin' me, then? You got any way to look less obvious?" Realizing the man-beast seems to be carrying no gear, he reaches down toward one of the bunks and grabs the munition-grey thin blanket. Tossing it over the creatures shoulders, he sighs, "That's slightly better - let's get goin'."


WS (33) BS (31) S (30) T (30) Ag (31) Int (25) Per (30) WP (30) Fel (45) Inf (35) Fate: 4/4 Wounds: 11/11 High born - Imperial Guard - Hierophant

"Before we go any further I believe we should sync our microbeads to a private channel. Does everyone have one?"


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

"I will hold the dataslates. I am going to seek further provisions and materials prior to our departure. My presence on this isolated world will attract a certain level of attention. I estimate that it is likely upon arrival I will be the most skilled member of the Mechanicus on planet."


WS 40 BS 25 S 50 T 53 Ag 25 Int 25 Per 35 WP 40 Fel 22 Inf 20 || W 13/13 Fate 5/5 || Daemonic T bonus 7 Armor 5 all

"I am sorry friend Daxio, I do not have any way to not look like myself. I have looked like myself for longer than you have been alive and I will continue to look like myself when I sadly must find a new minder for you have died. Hopefully either in the service of the Emperor or happily in your bed surrounded by those you love as old age finally takes you." The clanking thing follows behind Daxio as they move, the grey blanket eventually falling from his shoulders as they walk. "I do not possess a microbead, at some later date you may try to install one if you wish and I truly wish you the Emperor's luck on such an endeavor."


@Ven: Just to confirm, are you responding to Daxio's question?

Armsman Drexel leads the cell members through empty corridors. Daxio realises quickly that these should have more foot traffic - any.

After only a few turns, you see a solid metal door flanked by a pair of watchful combat servitors. Their servo-fists and heavy stubbers are freshly burnished and oiled. Drexel waits a moment, standing before then, then they speak in recorded voices simultaneously.

"IDENTIFIED. ENTER."

Drexel withdraws an Imperial Navy cognomen and presses it against a reader panel on the door frame. The panel briefly flashes green, then the heavy door slides open and Drexel enters.

Within, a middle-aged figure with black hair and a beard turning to salt-and-pepper sits at the far side of a round table. Another pair of combat servitors waiting in the far corners of the room. Five sturdy chairs sit empty on the near side.

The figure waves you in and speaks in a voice refined from a hiver, though not highborn.

"Drexel, wait outside. Acolytes, please sit. The captain has asked me to liase with you and get you up to speed."


Wounds: 10/10. Fate Points 0/4. Armour: Head 0, Elsewhere 3. Toughness Bonus 3. WS 30, BS 40, S 25, T 30, Agi 30, Int 50**, WP 35*, Per 38*, Fel 30, Influence 30

"I have several inquiries. Firstly. Will others be going down to the planet? Has contact been made by astropath or vox transmission to the planet? At what point will we be or are we currently in system/orbit?"

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