With the conversation about the spoils over Cremutus spent a few moments repairing his badly damaged body. Resetting bones, sealing wounds with synskin and repair cement. The warpsmith was prepared to move on the enginerium again after a short rest. Hefting his Combi-Melta, Slaughter spitter, again he advanced down the hallway keeping an eye out for more Skitarii or other ambushes.

Keeping his vision system in the infrared spectrum helped him see in the near darkness of the hallway. Quickly he came upon the door to the enginerium, which was locked and sealed. The large blast doors protecting the rest of the ship from the volatile plasma generator inside, these walls where impenetrable to Cremutus's weapons and his systems where not meant for this sort of intrusion.

He stood there for a second considering his options when over the ship vox a message was received. "This is Prince Alaistair Godwin Lafayette Captain.....” Cremutus stopped paying attention for a few seconds while triangulating where the voice was coming from. “.....Forces who once served Beraesh, surrender yourselves to the forces of the Dark Desire and be welcomed as future brothers aboard my magnificent vessel," the voice finished. Surrender? The Warpsmith did not remember the last time he had heard that word.

Deciding then and there he would meet this prince and see what he was made of Cremutus looked to the Sniper and said let us go to the bridge. Along the way they met up with the Apostate Pontifica Atremisia. Whom with Cremutus got in an argument with. Realizing that he was wasting words with a human who specialized in weaving them Cremutus took the higher road and stopped talking to her while she turned her back on him in perceived triumph. The Sniper, Apostate and Warpsmith as well as their cohort of guards and servitors proceeded to the bridge enforce to deal with this prince Alaistair person.

Calistarius paid enough attention to the conversation between the Warpsmith and the sniper enough attention so as to not to take an inferior share of the cybernetics that he was scrapping off of the bodies of the skitarii's bodies. Once that was done he returned to his task, the blades on his hands scrapping off what little flesh remained on the warrior's bodies and taking care to not too damage the holy machinery that what unfortunately embedded on the body of such blasphemers. Once that was done he used the faculties of the medicae deck in which they where to take the appropriate measure's to ensure that no damage would befall to the cybernetics.

He was looking at the part's that had gone to him on the distribution of the cybernetics: one arm, one of the valuable autosanguine's along with a set of legs, a respiratory system along with a cybernetic ear and a MIU that seemed of good quality and to top it off and integrated hellpistol. Deciding that the distribution of the cybernetics was good enough, he turned towards his impromptu comrades -noticing that the Warpsmith was finishing repairing his bodies- and was bout to suggest that they push on forward to the Engineerium when a vox transmission interrupted his thoughts. He vaguely remembered the name of the vessel that the voice spoke of and the voice also seemed slightly familiar but he couldn't remember it and he had not the time, nor was he in the right place, to consult the memory banks of the ship; he was about to speak but apparently the Warpsmith and the sniper had already made their decision and were heading towards the bridge without having consulted him and despite feeling slightly offended he realized it was probably because of his own inactivity and as such he quietly followed the duo towards the origin of the vox transmission with his servitor following shortly behind him but ready in case of any sign of danger. Along the way they encountered an Apostate with a cohort of guards "Hmm, interesting, this changes things" He said in a low voice, calculating what would be the most advantageous course of action, if to try and convince their group to try to take control of the ship that had just recently joined or to pledge their loyalty to this supposed "Prince" Alaistair person.

Vexing was this extremely ornate and flawlessly polished artifact; the liturgies and incantations engraved upon the sword's fuller were not trivial prayers as Castiel had initially thought. She removed her helmet to get a better view and scrutinized the inscriptions, stitching together scattered scraps of lore to decipher the seemingly innocuous designs. Piece-by-piece the picture became clear: it was a well-crafted ward against the influence of heresy and sanctified to protect from the taint of Chaos. Without a proper desecration, no heretic could ever hope to wield it, let alone touch it. Though, she was still very curious as to what effect it might have.
She cast a glance at one of the Khornate cultist who had just entered the room. "The spoils of war!" She gestured to the sword. "You're entitled it! I'm sure it will serve you well in battle."
The warrior strode toward the holy blade, at first with confidence, but as he drew near his features began to tense and the brimming confidence turned to abject terror. He stopped a few paces away.
Interesting~
A smug grin tugged at her lips, but she hid it with a stern grimace "Does a mere sword scare you, little one? The Blood God has a low opinion of cowards."
The heretic gulped as beads of sweat formed at his neck. So unsettling was merely being in the presence of this sword that words failed to move him.
A rare find indeed, this accursed blade
A twinge of need went through her; a feeling not born of lust, but of an instrinsic drive to corrupt and destroy. Like a child want to tear the wings from a helpless insect, she wanted to defile this holy relic more than anything, but under the circumstances the task was beyond her.
Bitterness welled inside her. Better to destroy it than waste my time.
She unleashed her frustrations upon the blade with a brutal kick, but the sundering went awry. The hardy armor of her boot did nothing to protect her from the searing heat which burned her foot. Throbbing pain licked at her heel. "Damn, this blasted ward!"
Knowing better than to touch it directly, Castiel mused for a moment to calm herself and evaluate the resources at hand. Hand...Ah! She quickly strode over to the motionless corpse of the priest she'd battled earlier. With a simple swipe of her sword, the priest's hand was neatly severed at the wrist. The cunning sister tested the blade with this presumably 'holy' appendage. The fingers didn't catch fire or explode violently. No effect.
She realized then, the priet's garbs might be sanctified as well; they seemed exquisitely crafted, so it was likely. As the ideas fell into place, her mission became clear. She would make it her personal goal to desecrate this relic. She'd learn its mysteries, corrupt its sanctity, and gift it to a particularly vicious warbard out of spite.
Castiel tore the holy robes from the clergymen and cut off the other hand, using both hands as tools to methodically wrap the warded antique in the sacred cloth. She tried to pick it up herself but the gold in-lay of the robes burned the apostate's hand. Again? She had no intention of dragging this damnedable object around behind her. She relieved one of the dead armsmen of his fatigues and cut the various straps and belts away. Covered and bound in mundane materials, with the sacred robes acting as a buffer, she finally was able to heft the loot onto her weapon harness.
Feeling rather accomplished and confident in her ingenuity, Castiel scoured the room one last time for anything worth looting - something portable, which won't be too much a burden. Two bowls of holy water caught her attention; she might be able to use them for rituals later. Recent memories flashed in her mind and suggested the two dead armsmen have no need of their standard issue water flasks. She put them to better use.
The only thing left that truly invoked her wickedness to do some daring was the garish hulking statue of the much beloved 'emperor'. If left undisturbed, she knew she would regret her inaction. With a sigh, she drew her blade and carefully carved a series of Chaos Runes at the statue's base.
Smearing the slightly congealed blood from armor and blade into formulaic patterns, Castiel prepared a dark altar through which the power of the Warp could infuse her unholy prayers. If the Ruinous Power see it fit, corruption would mar this idol - a wonderful gift for the imperialists sure to find and salvage the remnants of this wrecked ship.
She began to sing a vile chorus meant to twist the energies of the warp and dispel whatever blessing was upon the statue. A stale, frigid wind flailed about Castiel as her song became more feverish, matching the intensity of her prayer. Words and lyrics poured from her lips in a language none could comprehend, save only her dark gods. Her rhythmic lines of pseudo-gothic brimmed with power and hate, slowly whittling away the holiness of the statue. When at last she finished her ritualistic melody, she eyed her work with an impish grin. The idol's bright golden sheen shined with a subtlely darker hue. The polish seemed dull and the shadow clinging to its many crevices and moldings seemed darker. The Chaos Runes at the base glowed with the red of smoldering coals.
"The Gods are good!" she breathed with sarcastic giggle.
Much of the shrine was vacant when she finally decided to leave. The looting had begun and they were scarcely interested in her esoteric rituals. First priority was to secure an exit, but with both ships entangled in a heap of ruined metal that would prove difficult. Perhaps there are some undamaged shuttle craft... I-
Her musing were cut short by the heated words being exchanged between two different groups of cultists. One party was the familiar khornate warriors she had lead before, and the other were slaaneshi. The argued endlessly over trivial matters: whose patron god was better, which beliefs were more acceptable, whose god could kick the other's ass, but it seemed the subject of who deserved the spoils of war was the primary point of contention. Their incessant rambling and ruckus could be heard all down the corridor.
With a petulant scoff, Castiel resolved to end their petty squabble with word or blade, whichever got the job done quicker. She approached the group with her dark-feather wings spread wide and bellowed aloud. "Bickering over such trifles?! Do you not know, that all Chaos is glorified by your efforts? It doesn't matter if you murder in the name of Khorne or Slaanesh. The blood flows the Khorne, and Slaanesh indulges the suffering. You can't kill anyone without exalting them both."
Their initial reactions were of surprise and hostility, but the wordsmith sister overpowered them with force of personality and undeniable tenants of heretical worship. None could oppose her. Their dispositions gradually lulled into awestruck silence, as Castiel gave a brief sermon and instructed them on the nature of Chaos, playing equally to each group's individual proclivities and beliefs.
The slaaneshi cultist, however, caught her attention. Their uniforms were well-maintained and their armor finely crafted; they carried a different air, a different temperament than the ones she had met aboard the Unrepentant. They're obviously from another vessel...The question is whose?

Although silent until now, the apparent leader of the Slaaneshi group approached Castiel, took her measure, and declared their allegiance to Prince Alaistair Godwin Lafayette of the vessel Dark Desire.
Too easy~
"I am the Scion of Chaos, Pontifica Castiel Artemisia, bearer of the unholy word. You may serve a prince, but never forget the Ruinous Powers are your true masters."
The Slaaneshi leader bowed in reverence. "Pontifica, it is my honor to stand before you. Allow me to take you to see my Prince. He has said to bring all truly wonderous things to him."
Almost as if on cue, a message blares from the ship-wide vox. "This is Prince Alaistair Godwin Lafayette Captain and Lord of the vessel Dark Desire.... Forces who once served Beraesh, surrender yourselves to the forces of the Dark Desire and be welcomed as future brothers aboard my magnificient vessel."
The leader turned to Castiel with a smug grin on his face. "Our Prince has taken the bridge, we will lead you to him."
Seeing no other way out of this forsaken place, she acquiesced. "Very well."

Castiel and her escort from the Dark Desire preceded leisurely towards the bridge. Along the way, she ran into Cremutus, a warpsmith she'd only met in passing. He kept to work - quiet really. He mistakenly addressed Castiel as "Apostate". While an accurate descriptor, the title was not fit for this sororitas. She would have let it slide, but not in present company. She had a facade to maintain, guests to entertain.
The two shouted back and forth, trying to assert authority over one another, but in the end Castiel overwhelmed the taciturn legionaire. Outclassed and disadvantaged, he very quickly believed it better to hold is tongue. Wise decision.

While the Warpsmith patched himself up and they squabbled over their shares of the augmatics and tools that the sniper had not laid claim to, Atreides kept to the shadows, rifle already reloaded and waiting for the other two to finish up with their plotting and scheming. The plan to use the facilities on board the ship was a smart one, so he made no protest to it, instead merely helping shift the bodies and, when the time came, fell into the shadows surrounding the two of the more obvious of the three man group, moving to hear out this rather interesting message that came from the Princeling. Well, that was a new and interesting situation. Surrender? Not the most tactful of demands, but this ship and its warlord were done, and it was probably high time he moved on anyways. So, if this prince indeed had his own ship, and wasn't some puppet, and use for a renegade sniper, then he would have no problem with an arrangement being made. The exchange between the Apostate and Warpsmith, while entertaining from some perspectives, meant nothing to the sniper either, who took some time to snoop around and found nothing of note, instead sticking to the shadows, determined to remain out of sight of this escort of hers, who had now encompassed the Warpsmith and the other fellow as well. Atreides would keep his element of surprise as long as possible, since that alone could win wars, let alone battles and instant moments of transient, but very real, violence.

The Pirate Prince was expecting Warlord Beraesh to come stomping through the door into the bridge, instead he was taken off guard as the first people to come through the door were a handful of his own soldiers who were escorting a cadre he was unfamiliar with. At the sight of an astartes though both his plasma pistols came up, it was possible that his soldiers had been compromised in some way and looking at those who came through the door now his feeling on the odds of easily taking the ship and forcing those who once served Beraesh seemed like they could very well evaporate. With the six man squad who escorted them to the bridge he had a numerical advantage if his soldiers were not fully suborned by the group. Looking across them, an astartes of some kind, a woman in power armor with magnificent wings, and some sort of heretek with a servitor in tow. Something drew him to the woman but he had to focus on the greater threat, the astartes towered over everyone in the room and Alaistair took him to be the likely leader of the group or if nothing else their most powerful member.

Keeping his pistols ready but not pointed at them he prepared to order his men when one of them suddenly spoke up, "My prince, this is Sci-"

"I will learn who they are and they can introduce themselves sergeant, secure the room and prepare for enemies," The man jumped slightly just then began to set his men up around the room. Their lasrifles and flak armor may not help much but it would buy some time at least. Turning his attention back he looked upon the astartes, "I am Pirate Prince Alaistair Godwin Lafayette as you no doubt heard over the vox and perhaps have heard of me elsewhere. May I ask who you are?"