This is is...each day is a gift from the emperor.
A chance to do his work...
And by my faith, I shall prove myself worthy!
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
You have been gathered inside a small safehouse in one of the upper levels of Hive Desoleum. The vox unit on the table in front of you is your main communication to Inquisitor du Bordaal's Interrogator, Katarinya van der Orm. Her voice crackles out of the unit once more.
"Welcome, acolyte prospects, to Gilead. You have been selected for a special assignment under Inquisitor Vervize du Bordaal of the Ordo Hereticus. I am acting as his agent in this matter, he will arrive on planet within the week. I do not have to explain to you how dangerous this system has become since the Cicatrix Maledictum split the Imperium in half, and how much holy work the Inquisition has performed since."
The vox voice pauses for a second, as if to gather its thoughts, before continuing in its electronic tone.
"Hive Desoleum on the capital hive world of Gilead holds many heresies and horrors, and you are gathered here for but one of them. There are increasing reports of horrible deaths within the hive’s upper levels, with odd items of a possible xenos or archaeotech nature found with each corpse. Fellow nobles have related these were preceded with bouts of erratic and troublesome behaviour, and worry that a hive noble named Lans Guljian has exhibited many of the same behaviours. You are tasked with the Emperor’s Work: to investigate the deaths and possible connections to any illicit artefacts, determine if they are potential dangers of a wider nature, and terminate their distribution. Recover and contain any items uncovered, lest they corrupt others. Carry the Emperor’s Light with you throughout the hive, for there is little proper illumination to be found in this festering, ancient edifice. Desoleum teeters on the blade’s edge of damnation, and one further heresy could topple the entire hive into the abyss. You must not fail in this task."
"Any questions?"
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Ptah had been in the hive for a few days now, staying with a somewhat likeminded fellow tech-adept. It seemed he was overstaying his welcome when the adept asked him firmyl but politely to leave, something about an incorrectly calibrated cogitator. In truth, the man's master had caught wind of Ptah's presence and decided it was time for the renegade priest to go.
Ptah cuts a distinctive figure as he enters the safehouse. A bolt pistol at his hip seems to be his only armament, and two mechadendrites extend from the bulky cyber-mantle on his back, one long and thin with an optical sensor at the end, the other shorter and equipped with a dizzying variety of tools. His skin is a rust-red, and tattooed with barely comprehensible Binaric script. He is quiet, the only sounds he makes are the mechanical timbre of his breathing unit and the tapping of metal-shod boots against the ground.
"[parameter=Items of Interest Registered]Xenotech/Archeotech[close parameter] Purpose of Items=Not Present: Eidetic registry subunits required for further processing. Clarification necessary for optimal outcome-computation of 19.827% increase in chances of success if items can be identified, acceptable increase in margins."
The man ponders for a moment, thinking about how best to avoid dizzying the minds of the Imperials he is with. His voice, much like his breathing, carries an electronic timbre as he speaks, "Points registered and cataloged. Further questioning is required. What is the nature of the devices found on the bodies? Incompatible logic strains exist between xeno and archeotech."
Havelock stands impassively as he listens closely to the debriefing.
He considered himself as much of a weapon as the chainsword hanging at his side, and as such, he needed someone else to direct him towards the enemies of the emperor.
Tall and gangly, almost skeletal, Havelock had been forged in the temple Calix into a fine swordsman, but not much of a thinker.
His distinct Templar silvermask that was given to all graduates hung at the opposite side from his sword.
Secretly, he was glad for the presence of the Adeptus mechanicus, because it exactly the type of person who could do the thinking for him.
Havelock was well aware of his own limitations, and so far, it seemed like he might quickly find a niche in the group of acolytes.
Morvius leans back somewhat indolently in his chair as he listens to the crackle of the vox unit. His eyes dart from side to side, belying the appearance of a man utterly at ease: nothing like the prospect of a death sentence to cut through your life of unearned privilege. Although he would dispute the "unearned" part of that phrase: he works extremely hard, in his own way. It just - until now - hasn't involved much in the way of physical toil or risk to life and limb.
Put another way: life has just become much more interesting. He looks at his new companions, trying to gauge their capabilities just as they are doubtless trying to gauge his own. In the course of a normal lifetime, he would never be in the same building as them, much less the same room. Fascinating.
As the vox-cast winds down and the call goes out for any questions, Morvius languidly raises a hand. Not that the person they're speaking to can see that, but form requires the protocols to be maintained. "What do we know of this Lans Guljian? Is he our suggested starting point for this endeavour?"
Leaning forward in his chair, Calidus tilts his shaven head as he listens to the vox unit.
At junctures in the audio briefing, when mention is made of potential heresy or connection to xenos, the burn-scarred face of the young Adeptus Ministorum’s priest grimaces. It is a reaction of disgust and barely suppressed rage.
At its conclusion he leans back, muttering to himself in affirmation as his boot taps incessantly;
”Emperor’s Work.Emperor’s Light.Hive of corruption.Festering.Horrors.Abyss.”
His whispered mutterings halt. In reply the booted foot stills and he looks to his assembled companions with a nod;
”Brothers. There is much good work to be done. Our beacons will light the way.”
As the mention of unknown tech percolates through his embedded neuro-cogitators and logic subunits, Ptah seems to show the opposite reaction to Calidus, as his cranial cybernetics hum and whir slightly with the added interest.
Ptah gives only the barest tilt of the head to Calidus, "Curious relational and value computation. Canticles of Steel 8.21.9.03, 'What is written in the bonds of flesh is without bearing on the true path of the machine.' Your ways are known but unfamiliar to me. Probability we follow the same..." the tech-priest pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "The same beacons, as you have stated, is low. Precise cogitation upon the number cannot be ascertained. Before any endeavors begin, I require the assurance that the way of the Deus Machina will not be denied by fervor for the God-Emperor."
Maxim sits patiently at the table, listening to the briefing. He does his best to take note of details, and judge the reactions of his fellow team members. 'An interesting bunch, to say the least. An ecclesiarch, a technomagus, a swordsman or bodyguard, and... A dilettante. Guess I am here in a dual capacity -' the thought is abruptly cut off by the techpriest's words to the acolyte. Trying to redirect, he pulls out a dataslate to record notes on as he speaks in reply to the transmission:
"Interrogator van der Orm, you mentioned the other nobles suffered "terrible deaths" - do we have any specific details regarding the nature of their final moments? And these artefacts, are they believed to be the source of their wounds? My skills as a Medicae could best be prepared with any details we can ascertain prior to the next occurrence."
Anyone observing Maxim will note his rather generic look in comparison to the others in the safehouse. He is physically unremarkable, with a lean, athletic build, an angular face, pale almost gray skin, green eyes, and dark hair. He keeps his hair loose and shoulder lengtg, and his facial hair at a heavy stubble. He is wearing gray and black fatigue coveralls, with a hooded flakweave greatcoat hanging over the back of the chair. At the foot of his chair is a pack with a sheathed longblade on its side and a leather bundle on the other. Strapped in a harness on his chest is a compact autopistol, which he barely takes notice of as he moves.
"The same beacons, as you have stated, is low. Precise cogitation upon the number cannot be ascertained. Before any endeavors begin, I require the assurance that the way of the Deus Machina will not be denied by fervor for the God-Emperor."
Morvius leans back in his chair, the rustle of his expensive chameleoline cloak almost lost in his stifled laughter. "Gentlemen, as I understand matters, we are now in service to the Inquisition - willingly or otherwise." He polishes his nails on the front of his elegant frock-coat, which is emblazoned with the insignia of his House. "The likelihood of any assurances, of any kind, is likely to be extremely low."
He gives his friendliest smile. "As the old saying goes, we must all hang together, else we will most assuredly all be excruciated separately. Perhaps we could start by introducing ourselves? I am Morvius, of House Zaan. I am fascinated to make all of your acquaintances and I hope we live long enough to know one another better."
Morvius leans back in his chair, the rustle of his expensive chameleoline cloak almost lost in his stifled laughter. "Gentlemen, as I understand matters, we are now in service to the Inquisition - willingly or otherwise." He polishes his nails on the front of his elegant frock-coat, which is emblazoned with the insignia of his House. "The likelihood of any assurances, of any kind, is likely to be extremely low."
Havelock's eyes blaze (quite literally), and when he speaks it's with true conviction.
"The only assurance we can expect is to be put where we can do the most good.We are weapons, wielded by the inquisition. Our lives are more or less already spent at this point.
But before we go, we shall do much good."
Clearing his throat, Havelock composes himself, and when he continues, he is much calmer.
"I am Havelock Iacton, of the Templar Calix. I am looking forward to serving with you all."
”Affirmative. I am well aware that our use to our masters is that of a tool. It is the station of all things to be tools of higher powers. Reflections on the Logos 90.12.3, ‘All are tools to propagate the Machine God’s will.’ The standard deviation of doctrinal meta-patterns between my faith and that of our ecclesiastical companion simply raised the need to state plainly what I felt needed to be clarified.”
Ptah gives a curt nod to the other men as they introduce themselves, ”I am designated as Ptah 7-Kappa, magos-errant and devoted follower of the truths of the Machine God.”
At Ptah’s words, he smiles - an almost pained expression of scars and flashed plasteel teeth.
”Our beacons are indeed different follower of the Machine God. The artificial illumination of glow-globes guides your quest for knowledge. My path to martyrdom will lit with the pyres of burning heretics…”
His voice rises in intensity, before he nods again to himself and continues, his tone less fervent;
”Master Zaan has the right of it, Ptah-7-Kappa. The only assurance I will give is I have learned to temper my zeal when executing the will of the Father…”
Havelock’s words give him pause;
”One of the Templar Calix. Truly our righteous endeavours are blessed.”
Proudly he then introduces himself;
”I am Brother Calidus. Once of Hive Gulgotha here on Gilead Prime, I toiled as a simple line worker until the words of Confessor Vagaris showed me the light. Now I go where the heretic, daemon and xeno require the gift of divine redemption.”
The voice is silent as the group discusses amongst themselves for a bit, but then the sound crackles out again.
"We know little of the nobleman himself, as he is one of the last of his declining line. The Guljian family is a shadow of its former glory, having lost most of its wealth and standing in recent years. It is a possibility that this is a factor in why mister Lans has fallen into the heresy he takes part in."
"In the same way, we know little of these dangerous xenos artifacts. They have caused a number of particularly gruesome deaths in the higher echelons of the hive's nobility in the past ten years, yet they do not appear to be any sort of actual weapon. The connection of these artifacts to their deaths is unclear, for if the victims were murdered for possessing such objects, then why didn't the assailants take the artifacts? Yes, much is obscured in this case, which is why Inquisitor du Bordaal has brought in his agents."
"He wishes he could be here at the onset of the investigation, but the urgency of the issue means you must act immediately. I recommend you start your investigation with mister Lans Guljian, and work out from there. His family owns a one Hesentanz Manor, where we believe Lans resides. Be careful, there is a significant likelihood that there is a larger trade group at work here, and you shouldn't flash your true credentials around. Asking questions of his fellow nobles may bring some results, but asking too many questions of the wrong people could cause problems."
Havelock frowns as he considers what the new information could mean.
This sort of thinking wasn't his strong suit, but he can sort of understand how it could fit together.
"A declining line, a powerful family on it's last leg, and an heir that is desperate to try and salvage something from this...
It's not an uncommon story, is it?"
"Is it possible the artefacts are simply...poisonous? Perhaps they are made out of a material simply dangerous to the perfect human form? Or manufactured in a way that makes it harmful to mankind?"
"That could explain the deteriorating mental faculties as well I suppose..
Either way, we shall cast the emperors light over these dark shadows."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Maxim's right eyebrow creeps up as he listens to the posturing between the techpriest and the acolyte. "This better not go sideways before we even begin.' His back eases a little as the pair seem to reach something of an accord.
After the others have each had their say, he leans forward with a nod. "Maxim Ashvayne, Medicae and former sergeant in the Merydian Iron Guard. I am here to keep you covered, and patch anyone back together that gets in too much trouble."
Turning back toward the vox unit, "Thank you Interrogator, this work will be done."
Morvius smiles at Maxim, genuinely relieved to have at least one companion who isn't some sort of fanatic or weirdo. "A medic! How wonderfully useful, although - no offence - I hope we shan't need your services immediately. Or perhaps at all."
Looking around at the others, he spreads his hands. "I can make our way to Hesentanz Manor. Given the need for secrecy, I suggest that we pretend to be there on behalf of House Zaan - given that this chap seems to have been behaving erratically, it's a reasonable bet that he hasn't been paying his bills. Talk of dispossessing him from his house should be enough to get us in the front door, at least - and nobody will link us to the Inquisition, I would hope."
He presents the idea and waits to see what they make of it.
Havelock allow himself a momentary smile.
"It would not even be a lie. You are a member of House Zaan, you work for the inquisition, the inquisition wants to investigate Hesentaz manor, doing what the inquisition wants is vital to keep House Zaan living well.
Ergo, we ARE there on behalf of House Zaan."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Cadlidus nods in acknowledgement toward Maxim, before giving his thoughts on the mission ahead;
"Subterfuge will allow us to assess the level of heresy exhibited... and castigation most fitting."I will defer to those more familiar with such methods on how we should proceed and the roles we should assume. "
Deadpan he looks toward Ptah;
"Perhaps our Tech Priest companion could be disguised as a Servitor?"
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
If Ptah had flesh-and-blood eyes to narrow, he would have, "I do not think so. It is a sin to disguise the function of the mind as an expression of mindlessness. Think, for a moment, if my skills were needed in the course of our investigation. Would you truly wish to be seen alongside a servitor expressing what could only be assumed to be abominable intelligence? It is a purely irrational proposal."
Maxim listens intently as each part of the proposal begins to come together. "Indeed, we would not want our deception to crumble should we need any of our skills. I am not well versed in the ways of nobles, certainly not on this world, but Morvius, would it make sense for you to come escorted with retainers possessing a variety of skills? If you've heard of the trouble for the Guljian family, your House could be making a proposal of assistance in return for some later boon, and the assistance you bring includes a priest for spiritual guidance, a techmage to assist with repairs, a chirurgeon to treat any who may be ill, and of course-" gesturing toward Havelock, "what noble would travel without security?"
"Those terms are acceptable. My skills at deception are insufficient for most tasks, but those of the wider Imperium expect little by way of normalcy from those who tread the iron path."
Morvius gives an easy smile. "As a noble of House Zaan on business, nobody would expect me to go alone - it would be expected for me to have some..." "Lackeys" is probably the wrong word to use, as is "hangers-on," and "peons" is right out. "...gentlemen such as yourselves in my company. I can't imagine anyone would pay too much attention to the specifics of who or what you are."
He stands up in one smooth movement, brushing imaginary specks of dust off his clothing as he does so. "Shall we depart? This matter seems urgent."
Havelock puts one hand on the hilt of his Chainsword, and smiles grimly.
"I stand ready."
Maxim pulls on his greatcoat and buttons it across his chest. He then slips his rifle back into its sheath and shoulders it underneath his medikit on his back. Turning to Ptah, he picks up the small vox unit and holds it out to him. "I would assume you would be the one to carry this?"
Turning back to the others, "I agree, time is of the essence. On the way to this House, perhaps it would be smart for you-" gesturing to Morvius, "to speak to your fellow caste? We know precious little about this family, even a few rumors might prove useful."
Calidus stands with a nod of agreement.
"My Monotask-Skull is designated as a Laud-Hailer... Should our the scion of House Zaan require a resounding introduction..."
Pack across his back, hand flamer and chainsword at his hip, the young priest flashes a scarred smile;
"Let the good work begin."
The vox crackles once more, after giving you a chance to discuss amongst yourselves. "I won't be able to contact you once you leave this house, as things are still being set up planetside. Once I and the inquisitor are on planet, things will be more connected. If this matter was not of the utmost urgency we would not need tp move so soon. You will be on your own until you return to this house, so do be careful. The Emperor protects."
You learn a slight rain has begun to fall when you leave the safe house, and the drops sting slightly when they land on exposed skin. Not enough to be worrisome, and its quite normal on these levels of the hive.
From the directions the interrogator gave you, Hesentanz Manor is a short hour walk away from the safe house, which is probably why they chose this one to hold the operation. Arbites presence is high in this section of the hive, as its aimed at offworld traders and the nobility of the planet. You know as soon as you leave this section of higher-end housing and head towards the manor it becomes less and less attended.
Morvius gives it some thought, although he is distracted by the unpleasant nature of the rain in this part of the hive. Back on his homeworld, rain is a pleasant experience - this is not that.
"If we were really auditing him, we would expect to turn up already knowing his credit rating, his most recent expensive purchases, key names for members of his staff, and basic security measures he has in place." He frowns as he mulls it over. "If anyone else can think of anything, speak up and be heard. We should be able to get most of that from a few questions to various people in the trading markets. I think it would be an hour or two very well spent."
Calidus seems barely bothered by the inclement conditions, as a Hiver himself he was more than familiar with the caustic rain.
At Morvius' suggestion, he nods curtly;
"Makes sense. If a measured subterfuge is required, then so be it."
Exiting the safehouse with the others, Maxim is quick to flip up the hood of his greatcoat to offer coverage against the acidic rain. He quietly comments on the weather, though to no one in particular. "Shale winds in the outlands of Merydian, acid rain within this accursed hive - it seems every world has some way its trying to kill you... Well then, Master Zaan, lead on."
”If we can locate an access point, I can attempt to coax forth that knowledge from the data-sprites of the hives archival stacks. Lecticio Cogitorum 1.1.9, ’The wisdom of the machine supercedes all the wisdom of the flesh. My skills with the blessed machine are considerable.”
"Aren't noble mansions often known for having secret escape paths and such, or is that just something made up for vids and stories?
I am merely wondering if our suspect might bolt the second we arrive."
"It all depends on how guilty he feels I suppose..."
The minor nobles spread throughout the market can answer the more simple questions you have about Lans. His manse is situated at the lowest level of the Apex- meaning that in the eyes of most of the nobility, he is little better than the merchant princes and wealthy gentry of the Upper Hive.
For many weeks, he has been rarely seen outside of Hesentanz Manor, his formerly opulent manse. He has refused visits even from family friends and important business associates. His family has grown concerned about Lans’ expenditures, with great sums of money being diverted to unknown purposes. He has been sighted descending into the Main Hive, something the majority of nobilitiy usually avoid unless they have unavoidable or pressing business reasons. When he does appear in public, his appearence has been dishevelled and unkepmt, with an air of urgency and irritation.
A small search of the merchant areas reveals a data center that anyone (with the right clearences or permissions, of course) can access, with multiple dataports to connect to.
Ptah likely lacked any official clearances, but for most of the Imperium, if a tech-priest was on their way towards anything even remotely technological, you cleared out of their way and let them get to work.
He lights the censer attached to his utility mechadendrite and gets to work, trawling the holy data-streams of the hive to find any relevant information as he murmurs binaric canticles to keep the machine spirits calm.
Morvius glances at the dataport uncertainly - his expertise is with people - and gladly defers to the tech-priest. While Ptah is accessing the data, he looks around at the others. "It would seem that dear Lans is ripe for a visit from the people he owes money to. I can't see that a visit with that ostensible intended purpose would attract inappropriate attention."
The skills of the techpriest is more than enough to access the information you require, and a few minutes of searching through the records reveals a glut of payments from accounts loosely linked to Lans through various slightly hidden names and aliases.
These payments are all heading to something under the title "The Wheel", although any searches on this topic or who the account receiving the deposits is inconclusive.
When stealth is not possible, misdirection can help. It is not an Inquisitorial delegation that makes its way to Hesentanz Manor - it is a representative of House Zaan, richly attired in an outfit emblazoned with its crest, who marches boldly up to the front door accompanied by a few unmemorable lackeys.
He knocks on the door as if he shortly expects to own the place. Which, given the debts that the nobleman seems go have accrued, probably wouldn't be too difficult.
Havelock straightens up, and takes a position close to Morvius.
He might only be playing bodyguard, but it was just as much real caution as keeping up the pretence at this point.
Robe collar high, the good brother lurks at the back of the group. His shaved skull a glistening from the caustic weather as he waits... impatiently recalling an apt canticle;
Greater is the evil hidden behind closed doors. Greater too the retribution that shall be delivered.
It is clear at a glance that Guljian’s manse has seen better days-crumbling stonework and tarnished plasteel show a shocking degree of neglect. Two lumin-globes, one flickering intermittently, illuminate the large arched doorway, which houses a set of heavy wooden doors inlaid with elaborate carvings of mythical wasteland beasts from Desoleum’s most ancient legends. A short flight of broad steps leads to the doors, set with a knocker cast in the form of a coiled serpent.
Within a few moments of Morvius knocking, a noticably surprised servant in the livery of House Guljian opens the door and seems shocked to see visitors.
"May I...help you?" the servant says, eyes darting between the members of the band.
Morvius idly polishes his nails on the front of his coat as he smiles indulgently at the servant. "I'm here to speak about your master's debts, House Zaan always collects in the end I'm afraid."
He tilts his head to one side, speculatively, as if weighing whether to bring this servant into his confidence. "Between you and me, it's just possible that if I can work out an arrangement with him immediately - right now - he will have enough left to be able to pay your wages tomorrow. If not..." He trails off, meaningfully. Servants who don't get paid have few good options available to them - and lots of bad ones.
Even before you introduce yourselves or say a single word, you can tell the servant is afraid. Of you, or something else, you cannot tell.
A moment of silence passes, and then the servant smiles somewhat warmly.
"Welcome to Hesentanz Manor, Sir Zaan. I was not aware that you had any involvement with master Guljian, but unfortunately he is not in a state to receive visitors today. Perhaps you could come by next week?"
Morvius has enough sense to know that the servant is hiding something, intentionally or not, and is extremely nervous to see anyone outside of the staff at the manse.
Havelock considered stepping forward to strong arm the servant, but hesitated.
He was trained in interrogation, not intimidation.
Besides, a good weapon stays in it's sheath until it's drawn by it's owner.
Over-protective servants are a given; but they can usually be overcome one way or another. Often they can be browbeaten, but this chap seems far too nervous already. What is going on in there?
Instead, Morvius gives a relaxed, knowing smile to the rest of the group. "Next week. How charming. He thinks we can come back next week."
He refocuses his smile on the servant. "I'm terribly sorry, I obviously haven't made myself clear to you. There is a very, very good chance that he won't own this house next week - which means that you will not have a job. Or decent job prospects. If he goes bankrupt because you kept me away from him - well, how exactly would that look on your resume, do you imagine?"
He allows a significant pause, to let that sink in, before unleashing another friendly smile. "Please - help me, to help you."
The servant seems to understand the threat implied to his employment and sighs, his head dropping almost imperceptibly before he nods and opens the door the rest of the way. He ushers you in, and grudingly takes you to a welcome room that has seen better days.
"Please wait here, I will go inform the Master of your arrival, and will return shortly." The servant then disappears down the hall and then up a spiral staircase.
The room is furnished with ageing and ill-kept trappings of finery: dust-covered paintings, verdigris-coated brass sculptures, decorative rugs, tinted lamps, and curios imported from across the sector. Above you is the second floor balcony, where a much tougher muscle-looking figure in rough black combat armor stands leaning on the rail looking down upon you. You can see a hand cannon in a holster at his hip, and some handled melee weapon in a sheath over his shoulder.
"Mornin'." he says, simply, sipping a liquid from a plain mug.
Ptah stays silent, much like Havelock. His use would come, but it was not now.
THAT there is most likely why *I* am here.
Havelock makes his best effort to keep the armed figure in sight, without being too obvious about it.
In addition, he begins to plan out a route towards him, should things go south.
Calidus listens intently, then deep in thought turns his gaze around the room;
Opulence. Leads to Decadence. Leads to Heresy. Leads to Retribution... Retribution requires fire and iron...
His gloved finger subconsciously taps the canister of his hand-flamer, before the group are hailed from the balcony.
The zealot-in-priests-robes turns his shaved pate towards the rough watcher and replies;
"Blessed Morning to you also... friend."
"I'm not sure whether we're friends or not, not yet." the gruff man replies, looking down over the group.
"Depends quite heavily on what you're here for, I suppose. Name's Sank. Who are you and what do you want?"