The council had been called... it was only a matter of time now... Rokurou sat at the head of the great table in the Council chamber at the center of the Star Fort. He had called the gathering a few standard Terran days hence. Most of the Captains were on the Fort now, and today was the appointed day of the gathering... they would be here soon.

Rokurou looked down at his hands, the massive chainfists silent and cold against the table, they had lain idle for a long time now... months had passed since their last campaign Rokurou had had more pressing matters. The room itself was lit very dimly, the cahpter master himself sat in near pitch blackness, not but his pale white face and black eyes could be seen, as well as his hands and chest. This was for good reason... few knew of his... additions, only Chief Apothecary Serviel Cantus and the Master of the Forge and captain of the Engineseer company Constantine Drustos. He wished to keep the sobering new fact from his chapter until absolutely necassary.

He sat, enshrouded in dark as he had learned to be all those centuries agon when he was a Raven Guard, even his great Terminator bulk was largely hidden from view... it was but a few hours longer before the Captains and other command staff would arrive... this was perhaps the single most important event in the young Chapters history, and Rokurou wished it was not him who had to place such a burden on his sons.

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He waited for the Captains to become settled around the great table, some of whom had never even seen this chamber, and they needed the short time to settle. After a few moments the door to the chamber was shut and sealed as the Chapter Master raised his hand for silence, nd cleared his throat.

"Captains, Chaplains, Librarians and all... you may be questioning the purpose of this gathering. Why I have not told you, why you are here... the Chapter stands on the edge of a Knife. Our Gene seed had... devolved, mutated and now over 90% of our Chapter has changed. Even... even as we learned the third generation of scouts was tainted it was already spreading, even to those previously pure... most of you have your own mutations. And now... even I have succumbed.", the Chapter Master stood, and the great emaciated wings jutting from his back. They moved slightly, shrouding his form before they returned to their position behind him. He looked to his assembled council, "And now, I must reveal to you a far worse consequence. I have instructed Serviel to give only our purest Gene seed to the tithe fleets since this all began. Now, we have but a handfull, not enough to satisfy the fleets. You may beleive me foolish or not for this action, but now it has forced us to a crossroads. If the Inquisiton discovers our Gene seed is tainted there will be... investigations. They will not tolerate our rampant mutations, and they WILL take drastic actions. This gathering is to decide our fate, our course of action... what will we do?"
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"How much longer Captain?", Lord Inquisitor Vera Kilrit stood on the bridge of the great tithe ship, horrendously impatient and ready to be where she had been sent. "Not much longer Lord Inquisitor, it should be but a few more Terran hours!", the young captain was honoured to have a member of the Inquisiton aboard his vessel... but had finally worked up the courage to ask why, "But... Inquisitor, why are we travelling to the Warp skulls now? The tithe is not due for quite some time... and why do you accompany-", the inquisitor cut him off, "You will be informed when and if I deem it fit. Yours is not to ask questions of the inquisiton.", the man bowed deeply to her in apology before slinking back to his command throne.

In reality Inquisitor Vera was accompanying this early tithe because of a number of... distressing rumours about the Warp Skulls, a chapter of Astartes. She had heard of Librarians coated in glass, third eyes and scales... and worse. It was not all that unlikely that such rumour was no more than superstitous fear and awe at the sight of the Angels of death... but Vera did not take chances on rumours... all to often tey were far to true.

Medeis was restless. He'd decided against showing up to the meeting in his armour. He was certain the Chapter Master would be there in the full glory of his tactical dreadnought armour, but the Chief Librarian saw no need for such extravagance. Especially considering that it was a lot harder to hide what had been happening to him in armour. In just his plain black body glove under a heavy, loose-fitting robe, he was nearly invisible, and no one had to see that he appeared to be made out of some kind of crystal. They also wouldn't accidentally catch a glimpse of his internal organs if they stared too long. While not normally one to be self-conscious of such things, he didn't know how badly things were going for the rest of the Chapter, and the Chief Librarian's position was precarious enough as it was, the senior Astartes wasn't going to allow himself to be cast down from any sort of carelessness on his part. To that end, what time he had left before the meeting was spent deep in meditation, channelling all of his emotions into the Warp. The Warp was always kind enough to hold onto them until he needed them, often in the form of witchfire.

Right now, though, he needed the serenity of the void, and he found it just in time. Once the Librarian had what he needed, he headed straight for the Council Chamber. He'd used it only rarely before, but knew its location well. It was very nearly the central command hub for the Bastion of Arrogance, and certainly one of the most hallowed rooms on the vessel. Once there, just early enough to have beaten everyone but the Chapter Master, it seemed, he took up his seat to the left of his commander, and sat silently, trying not to fidget too much as he sought to assure himself that there was no evidence of his mutations, aside from the fact that he was obviously trying far too hard to hide something.

It wasn't long before the meeting started off with a bang. Rokurou explained that the entire Chapter was mutating out of control, and pointed out that the Inquisition was starting to ask questions. The Warp Skulls were on the brink of extinction, it would seem. "We fight." Calvaria spoke just loud enough for the Chapter Master to hear him. The Captain on his right would hear too, but he was unconcerned with that. More concerning were the warp-born sparks that flew from his lips even as he spoke of defying the Imperium. "The Explorator fleet will rally to our cries. They can delay the Inquistion. They might even be able to stamp out the mutations... And if all else fails, we fight." The determination in his surprisingly soft voice was unwavering. Whatever "justice" the inquisition might bring, he clearly didn't agree with it...

Magos Ravion Hybris was somewhat intrigued with the recent events occurring around the Warp Skulls. Recently, the entire chapter, or what was basically equivalent to that, had been recalled, and were arriving in droves. This had Ravion busier than ever, rushing about to fix the bolters, chainswords and armor of those returning from combat, and thus had little time to mingle with others on the reasoning for the meeting. This did not stop his natural curiosity from speculating, however, and that coupled with some of the odd damages sustained by the Astartes' power armor suits had him suspecting some of the wildest things, from betrayals in the ranks, to rampant mutations, for wasn't it odd that this suit's left arm had severed at the wrist, or that this suit had jagged tears on the INSIDE of the armor... This carried on for a while, before Ravion realized how it was distracting him from his work, and ceased the thoughts almost immediately, though they still lurked in the deeper corners of his mind.

Later, while performing maintenance on the Bastion of Arrogance's scanners, he noted a peculiar oddity. The sensors indicated a ship heading in directly to them from the warp. Quickly checking the ship's computer for any info on who it might be, Ravion came up empty-handed. Sending a notification to the most senior members of the non-Astartes crew, and to the Chapter Master, of an unidentified ship approaching, Ravion went back to work, finishing up on the scanners, and moving on to work on other systems aboard the station, hoping that things didn't get TOO exciting in the coming time.

"Strike me, if you dare."

Three Astartes hurtled forwards, one going left, one straight and the final strafing right. They were dressed in tight fitting, high collared tunics of rough grey hessian, black trousers and cloth shoes. On their chests, the Chapter Emblem stood proud in purple paint. Each Marine was a wonder to behold, imposing slabs of gene-bred muscle and sinew, their arms bare and eyes glinting with concentrated purpose. Charging towards their solitary opponent, every controlled movement gave no clue to their plans and spoke only of many hundreds of hours rehearsal for this moment. To see them charge was to fear, to stand against them was to die. Truly humanity's finest warriors.

They failed to land even a single blow.

Against them stood a lone warrior, dressed in the same simple training gear. L ike them, he wielded a training sword though he also bore a burnished metal shield in his off hand. As the three Space Marines closed in on him, he barely seemed to shift his stance, as though he already knew their plans. In fact, he was still right up until they struck. As the three blades flashed towards his torso, head and legs respectively, he became a blur of lightning motion. His sword parried one blow, his shield another as he neatly sidestepped the third and kicked out the Astartes in question's legs. As that one fell, his two companions hammered a flurry of blows at the single Marine, giving the fallen one time to regain his feet. For a fraction of a second, each of the fighters stood still and took a breath. With the opening moves out of the way, the dance could begin properly.

The fight ranged back and forth across the training circle as the four combatants hacked, slashed, hammered, bludgeoned and stabbed. The three Astartes working in tandem were like a well oiled machine, covering for each other's weaknesses and striking as one. Even by the high standards of the Warp Skulls, their close combat skills were magnificent and had their opponent been almost any other Marine, they would doubtless have triumphed. But Skyrax the Undying, Veteran Captain of the Vanguard Company, never even allowed their blades to mark his body. He wove an intricate web of steel around himself, knocking aside or dodging blows with almost contemptuous ease. When he struck out against the three rallied against him, augmented bones cracked and enhanced blood flowed. When the last of the three who had attacked him mere minutes earlier was sent crashing out of the training circle, he finally stopped his ceaseless movement and tossed aside his weapons.

"Well fought, my brothers, though your form could use some work and I thought your attacks were a little flat." Skyrax's voice had slightly a sibilant note to it, as though he was forcing the sound from a constricted throat. Around him, chapter serfs scurried to gather up the discarded weapons and return them to their places on the racks lining the walls.

The defeated trio had each picked themselves up and now kneeled in front of the Captain, eyes down and swords held in their right hands. The warrior in the middle, who had been the last to fall, spoke up. He had a trimmed beard of silvery brown hair and an aquila tattooed on his forehead.

"Your skill humbles us, brother-Captain. We must train much harder if we are ever to breach your defences."

"Don't be so glum, Lieutenant Gamriel" smiled the Captain, putting a softly patronising emphasis on his subordinate's rank. "You gave a good showing and gave me pause for thought more than once. With a few more months of intensive training, I have no doubt that you will give me a more challenging battle." The Captain's mechanical eye clicked and wurred, zooming in on Gamriel's face. If the Lieutenant had taken any offence at Skyrax's dismissive comments, however, he did not show it.

"Indeed, my lord. As your seneschal, I feel I must remind you that the council meets in but a few short hours. Shall I send the armourers to your quarters to clad you in your armour?"

"Yes, see to it. It is my fondest desire that we will soon be free of the fortress, free to spill the blood of the enemy once again. I only hope that the Chapter Master will allow us to sail the stars for blood, honour and glory once again..."

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That was several hours ago. Now Skyrax sits, resplendent in his azure Power Armour, at the long table of the Warp Skull captains and listens to Chapter Master Rokurou ask them what path the chapter should take. As the cloaked and hooded Librarian to his right lapses into silence, Skyrax rises and speaks thusly in his clearest tone;

"We are the sons of Corax, the chosen warriors of the Emperor. We are loyal. We have always been loyal. We shall continue to be loyal. The same cannot be said of all Inquisitors nor even of all humans. I advise that we allow this Inquisitor aboard our ship and let them see our loyalty and valour with their own eyes. And if their eyes refuse to see, we should put them out. We do not need the permission of the Inquisition to fight in the God-Emperor's name and we do not serve at their whim.

Let them come and let the Warp take them."

Despite the bellicose, not to say treasonous tone of the speech, Skyrax's voice was calm and low throughout. His mind raced, flicking through memories of his previous dealings with Inquisitors to memories of his own mutation. It took all of his self control not to let his hand drift up to his throat and feel for the scales that were even now hiding under the seals of his armour. He would not let the witch hunting fools stop his good work, they would have no understanding of how vital it was that he continue to serve the Emperor. They would see him as being touched by the foul blemish of chaos, not gifted to better serve the Emperor. No, it was better they never got a chance to judge him, lest they be found wanting in their pronouncement.

Lowering himself back into his chair, he mutters again.

"Let the Warp take them..."

The Chapter master listened as his Captains called for war, his veterans advocating the Chapter fight against the Inquisition, believing a positive outcome could arise from it. Perhaps that was the only way he thought... perhaps no other choice was present. Until the Forge-Adept Valius spoke up, followed by Master of the forge Constantine, advocating they run. Rokurou though on this... and made his decision. He raised one of his great gauntleted fists up, calling for silence within the room. Once the assembled chapter command fell quiet, Rokurou addressed his Chapter, "It would appear, as if only the Master of the Forge and his adept can see the truth. We cannot simply 'fight' the Inquisition, and the Explorators are not likely to support us if we do. We must avoid contact with them at all costs. But... this brings its own questions.", the Chapter Master paced about the room, his wings absent-mindedly furling and un-furling against his back, showing he had at least some control of the great emaciated appendages.

"Where can we go? What place is safe? Where will the Inquisiton not follow us. and where can we continue to serve the Primarch and the Emperor?", Rokurou feared he knew the answer... feared what it would mean for his chapter.

It was then he recieved the notification... a ship was incoming, currently un-known. One ship? It quickly dawned on the Chapter master who exactly it was. He turned to his assembled council and spoke of this new development, "It appears as though the tithe will come eraly brothers... a ship approaches, I believe it may be the inquisistion... Serviel,", he turned the massive bulk of his terminator armor to face the chief Apothecary, "You must recieve them. You are one of the pure, you must stall them whilst we deliberate further. Once we are finished we may... discuss what must be done with whatever, or whoever arrives.", Rokurou hasd the council doors opened to allow the chief apthecary to exit... he was going to be needed quite soon.

@JBcool[@Everyone]

Medeis was glad to have Skyrax on his side. The Vanguard Captain was often more abrasive and rash than the Chief Librarian liked, but at least the man had his head screwed on straight. Both the Master of the Forge and the abomination he'd been tasked with babysitting advocated retreat in the face of resistance, however, and the idea brought him as close to physical illness as he'd ever been brought by something someone had to say. The left side of his mouth curled up slowly, forming an unforgiving snarl as he listened to their traitorous words. "Cowards..." he grumbled, having to fight to keep the Voice of the Legion out of his whisper. Then, as if to throw the veterans' loyalty back in their faces, the Chapter Master agreed with the horrific construct sitting across from them. Now he felt physically ill. It didn't last long, thanks to his physiology, but he'd never been closer to throwing up in his entire existence as a space marine. Not only had he been saddled with a sickening psychic automaton that he was supposed to keep alive and functional, now the Lord of Battle he'd followed without question for decades, the one person he respected above all, was refusing his advice in favour of that most heretical thing he'd ever seen in the Light of the Emperor.

"Ships get lost in the warp all the time." he observed casually, but with a tone that implied he wasn't talking about some disappointing news he'd heard from someone who's friend's distant cousin had mentioned it in passing over drinks. There was barely-veiled venom in his words as he continued to speak, though no supernatural power entered his voice yet. "The Opulence Excelsior incident wasn't all that long ago... Maybe they got caught in an aftershock or something?" purely conjecture on his part, but a decent story, and once that the Inquisition wouldn't have much choice but to buy, assuming the evidence was disposed of properly. Even the best ships could succumb to the warp, seemingly at random.

He wondered how obvious it was that he was now fighting simply to prevent the repugnant atrocity that served as a Forge Adept, from being right. Lucky for everyone involved, he had yet to be able to physically manifest his hatred. The closest he got was feeding it like promethium into his psychic flamethrower, but he couldn't very well unleash that in the War Room. Instead he was stuck hoping that something else catastrophic might happen if he focused hard enough. Even if he could just get that abhorrent obscenity's excuse for a psychic hood uncomfortably hot, maybe the thing would get the picture. Then again, it was still here, and he was pretty sure he'd made it clear his stance on the whole issue.

Letting his humours get the best of him, Calvaria stewed silently in the depths of his robe, the air in his immediate vicinity roiling quietly and beginning to smell faintly of ozone. The Chapter Master had said this would be a meeting, but he was beginning to think it was going to be much closer to an issuance of orders. The man in charge just needed a sounding board before he interacted with anyone in an official capacity. Slowly containing the rage he normally attributed to Skyrax, the Chief Librarian resigned himself to yet another ignominious duty, and hoped this one might get the loathsome, heretical construct hiding behind the Master of the Forge to disappear.

Skyrax was the first to leave the meeting hall after Apothecary Serviel. As the master of medicine moved to intercept the Inquisitor, Skyrax strode off towards his company quarters with his brows furrowed in anger. His seneschal, Sergeant Gamriel, fell in behind him.

"Brother-Captain, may I ask what matter the Chapter Master wished to discuss? Are we to ready the company for battle?"

His voice barely above a whisper, Skyrax answered his subordinate without looking back. "No Gamriel, we are not to ready the company. The Chapter Master wishes us to... fall back. To flee from the foe." As always, his voice was quiet and cordial but now ran through with an undercurrent of contempt.

"Surely not! The Warp Skulls do not run without meeting the foe! What enemy has forces the Chapter Master's hand so?" Unlike his commander, Gamriel's voice openly showed his disbelief and dissatisfaction.

"This enemy is not like our normal foes. Not a brutish ork, nor a bloodmad heretic."

"What does it matter who are enemy is, brother-Captain? We are the Warp Skulls! It is the enemy who should flee before us!"

"You are welcome to approach the Chapter Master with those words Gamriel, but I said as much in the meeting to no avail. It seems we must wait still longer to once more feel the joy of battle."

"I... I would not presume to doubt the Chapter Master's word. I misspoke and will hold my tongue in future, brother-Captain."

Skyrax waived a hand dismissively "It is no matter, think nothing of it. Tell the Veterans of the council's decision, I intend to go and greet the ship that has just docked."

Bringing one fist sharply up to his chest in a warrior's salute, Gamriel turned off down a corridor to carry out his Captain's orders. Skyrax continued to walk towards the docking hangars. True, the Chapter Master had ordered Serviel to greet the Inquisitor but he had not expressly commanded that Skyrax not do so as well. So Skyrax would go and see the one appointed to judge him. And his battlebrothers, of course. And should Serviel falter in doing what must be done, he would assist him...

"You must receive them. You are one of the pure, you must stall them whilst we deliberate further. Once we are finished we may... discuss what must be done with whatever, or whoever arrives."

For the entirety of the meeting, an assemblage of every one of the Chapter's highest ranking members, as well as their most decorated warriors, Serviel had sat himself in silence - half concealed by shadow and silent throughout - not too far from the side of his Chapter Master; he had listened closely to each course of action that was proposed, his angelic and untouched features never shifting from an expression of utter neutrality, not even when some of the more militant among them began forming a 'war faction' right before his very eyes. These particular Astartes had always been of the violent type, so it came as no surprise to him, nor did it shock him as others declared under the guise of a suggestion that they should flee into the far reaches of space and avoid any potentially combustible situations.

When Rokurou finally turned and addressed his Chief Apothecary, the warrior-healer had been deep in thought, yet once his superior gave him an order, well, he really had no choice but to obey it. Swiftly, he lifted himself from his seat and gave the sign of the Aquila to all present, moving around the table and through the open doors and into the hallway; it was here, in the more open spaces of the fortresses decks, even as his feet carried him toward the hangar where a member of the Emperor's Inquisition awaited him, that he ran scenarios through his mind as to how best to distract them. None seemed all that suitable, they were trained to detect lies...human lies, he was a Space Marine though, and he knew that it was more difficult for mere mortals to read them.

Before long he was present at the doors of the hangar, momentarily considering whether to conceal his face behind the helmet in the crook of his elbow, then deciding against it. No, instead he took a breath, a nice long one, and while slowly releasing it he made his way into the hangar and across the expanse to the entourage of the female he could clearly tell was in charge here.

"Lord Inquisitor Kilrit?" He asked once he was only a couple of feet away, his voice carrying over any distance as it rumbled from deep within his chest, "it is an honour to have such an esteemed member of the Holy Inquisition here but..." letting his words hang in the air for but a moment, his tone changed to one of quite genuine puzzlement, "our tithe is neither prepared, nor is this collection as per our agreed schedule, at least that is why I assume you are here?" Cutting off any further words, he simply allowed his eyes to rest on the smaller figure and his face to once more become as expressionless as a statue of marble.

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