Oskar sat in his cell with several other Guardsmen, all of whom where convicted of the same crime. Disobeying orders from an officer. It would get them time in a penal legion, but he had done that already and had the tattoos to prove it. So he was trying to figure a clever plan to get out of being a penal trooper. It was not a great life after all, too many commissariat with itchy trigger fingers. when he heard, and felt, something large strike the vessel near the brig and heard the mag clamps activate locking whatever hit them to the hull, That was certainly interesting. A boarding party probably, which was unfortunate because he was in no position to repel a boarding party. the rest of his squad where talking among themselves worried that an eldar team would come through and kill them all, but Oskar sat on his bunk and ignored it. It wasnt like he could do anything to stop them so, no point in worrying. He simply took a long puff on his cigar that the rest of 'his' where still wondering how he had managed to get, much less light.

"Look lads" he said to the Guardsmen who used to be in his squad "If it is a raiding party one of two things are going to happen...
The party is going to come through and shoot us dead in our cells. which we cant do anything about.. or the commander is going to vent this area to space to launch the bastards into the void... which we also can do nothin about. So you all shut the hell up and break out some cards or something." Each of his men looked at each other evaluating his expectations for a moment before concluding that he was probably right and they where probably all going to die anyway. "we aint got no cards sir" said one particularly dumb trooper. "Emperor damn you boy." he said reaching into his pocket and retrieving a deck of cards. which drew some quiet mumbling through the squad, as they had all been fully stripped of any possessions before being placed in the cell. Oskar tossed the cards to the trooper without any explanation as to how had the cards, a cigar or a lighter. among the other odds and ends in his pockets.

The air lock opened and a heavy thump of power armor sounded on the plasteel floor, and that got Oskar's attention. An Eldar team wouldn't sound like that, nor would guardsmen or any Enginseers. He watched as the lights activated due to movement and watched a battered Dark Angel walk up next to his cell. He coughed, half on his cigar and half out of surprise. "Well, well, well" he started, and sticking his arms through the cell bars revealing a mess of burn scar tissue and damaged hive gang tattoos. He was too far from the marine to reach him and he moved his arms slowly enough that he was obviously no threat. "What do we have here? a Dark Angel on this ship? Now this is interesting" He said half expecting to be executed for not showing the utmost respect and reverence for a Space Marine. Before the Marine could reply he leaned forward, showing his face in the light which was another mess of scar tissue, some cybernetic plugs and penal legion tattoos. he continued "You didnt come in from the front door" he indicated by waving vaugely at the 'proper' entrance to the brig "And i heard the mag locks when whatever you where flying hit the ship which... seems to me like a hostile boarding action" Oskar barked out laughing "Which is strange because you could have simply ordered this ship to come help you... Are you taking the ship?" he finally asked, fully expecting a bolt round splattering his head across the Cell. His squad where not quite as brave and stood behind Oskar also expecting their sergeant to be summarily executed for mouthing off.

@Sophrus

Xepherial turned to see a pair of human hands reaching through a unique cell door with bars on the front. The forearms were scarred and marked, like his own damaged flesh, and accompanied by a soft but rugged voice that gestured toward him. Red eyes shone from his hulking black form as he scanned the man. There were a few others in the cell with him, all male, and most of them cowering back with accellerated heartrates... but not this one. It was clear this one was of a different class than the rest of the criminal scum. He was intelligent and deductive with a formidable bravery that should have killed him years ago. The man probaly would have made a fine Astartes.

The battered warrior approached the door and stood just outside of it as he addressed the prisoner. "You know my legion?" He asked, more of a statement than a need to verify what he had just heard. Mortals generally didn't know the differences between space marines, so that was unique. "Have you served with us before?" Xepherial was intrigued but short on time. "... I know not why you are imprisoned here, but my need for you may warrent your release, if only temporarily. Neither I nor my legion are commandering this starship. In truth, I have been separated from my brothers and am operating alone. At this very moment, your ship has been boarded by enemies intent on causing great harm. It is my duty to stop them. If you come with me, your chances of survival are less than 15%. If you do not... they are less than 5%." He gave the prisoners a moment to consider this. "I leave the choice in your hands. Now please, back away from the door."

The Dark Angel didn't have to ask twice as he squeezed his right glove into a fist and drew back to pound at the weakpoint between the door and the cell wall. Each swing hit like a battering ram, ceramite denting into the relatively thin plasteel, one fist after another. With each swing, an subtle rage grew within Xepherial, making each punch more powerful than the last. It wasn't long at all before the door broke open with a thunderous slam.

Xepherial growled, bearing his teeth beneath his helm, forcing control of himself to return. He seemed angry, but managed to find his voice again. "Now come! I need you to take me to the commanders of this vessel at once." He stepped back into the cold metallic hall, an electric light flickering pathetically above him, and then, sudden realization hit him. He stood in shock for a moment whle the prisoners filed out and looked down at his own fist.... He hadn't used his plasmacutter.

Urgrugg had remained silent after killing the ogryn. He was somewhat disappointed that the large creature had died. Though, if he was not strong enough to survive, clearly he did not deserve Nurgle's blessing. Rethinking it, he assumed it was instead for the best the monster had been slain, and what luck that he'd been allowed to do it.

Largely not paying attention to what was going on with the space marines, he heard a strange sound coming from the side. When he looked up, he saw his 'ally' exiting the craft. Moving towards the door, he'd hoped to make it there in time, but was too slow. The little cretin had not waited for him. Though, when he looked out to see they were only hovering in space, he realized the little fool likely just didn't know an ork to survive alongside him. Or, at the very least, he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Unfortunately, Urgrugg had not seen how the magus had opened the door, so had no idea how it was done. Fortunately, while staring at it, wondering what to do, someone else decided to leave. This time, Urgrugg had the perfect spot to watch from, as the single-minded tech marine exited the craft. Walking up, he looked from the thick glass to see how the second door was opened, then waited for it to close again.

Once the tech marine was out, and the door could be opened again, Urgrugg quickly did so. With the other marines still more focused on each other than the seemingly powerless, half-crippled ork shaman, it was easy to sneak away. When the door closed behind him, he took a step forward, to look out into the emptiness of space. He had not had reason to do it in quite some time, but he remembered how much it hurt. There would be no time to waste once he was outside the null field. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

Getting sucked out of the airlock, he quickly looked around. His lungs burned as he kept them from surrendering their precious oxygen. Twisting around, he felt the warp connect to him again. He would have screamed in joy, were he not to determined to not die. Luckily, he managed to see the tech marine. In space, he knew he would not be heard, and the marine was still focused on getting into the other ship. Summoning his newly returned power, he forced the spell out of himself, breaching a hole into the warp to teleport him into the ship.

It was quick, but once in the warp, he had to focus. Feeling for the presence of life on the other side, he waited until he felt for sure he was close enough that he would be inside the ship. Mork was with him, and his aim was true. When he reappeared, he quickly inhaled, feeling his lungs fill with new oxygen. Looking around, he saw he was in a long hallway, that took a sharp turn to the right up ahead.

Suddenly, from around the corner, he heard the loud ring of metal smashing against metal. Before it ended, though, something shot him in the shoulder. Turning to face what it was, he saw a man holding an auto-pistol and wearing a long trench coat with red and goal hems. The shot had only grazed him, having hit his armor at a poor angle. It still hurt like hell, though, and in anger the ork cast out his fist. Reaching for the warp energy that was once again flowing readily through him, he quickly cast a biomancy spell he had not used in a long time. Using the energy he had gathered, he punched into the man's body, forcing the spell through it and tearing the very vitality from him, only to pull it into himself.

With the surge of life, he smiled as he was able to direct it to his arm. Reinvigorating energy flowed through the shriveled limb, making it thicken and grow, once more taking on its full size. Looking over, he smirked at the shriveled corpse on the ground, glad to see that Gork favored him this day.

Then, from around the corner, he heard the tech marine speak. Though he was unsure what had started the conversation, he did not like what he heard. That fool had plans to turn on them, after everything they had done for him? It was his Imperium that had shot him down in cold blood, only for Urgrugg himself to save him. Then, the ork had not only carried him to safety, but kept him from foolishly killing the only one who could save his life. He had even been improved by the whole process!

He felt a primal, orkish rage flow through him. Without even calling on it, warp energy poured into him, as his emotions slipped from his control. His eyes started to burn, as blood leaked from them. In his mouth, he could taste the awful, acidic, familiar heat of the very first spell he had ever cast. Knowing what would happen, he stepped around the corner. There, not ten feet away, stood the tech marine who had the nerve to betray them after all that had been done. Even with the rush of warp energy, he knew very well this would cost him, casting so many spells so quickly. But, he couldn't stop it now even if he wanted to, not that he did.

As soon as he was within site, Urgrugg threw his head forward. From his maw burst warp-plasma, blowing its way through the hall, filling the hallway from wall to wall and floor to roof. It burned as hot as any plasma cannon, and reduced the walls and door to slag in moments upon hitting it. Everything between him and thirty feet down the hall had been hit, and was currently melting. Even as he smiled at the destruction he had caused, though, he felt the effects of his actions taking hold.

The warp had taken its price. In his mouth, his tongue felt burnt and withered. His lips were raw, and he knew without trying he could not speak. He was also tired, the repetitive casting taking the wind from his sails. What movements he could make were slugish, and all his limbs felt heavy. Seeing as his little stunt had just opened no less than three prison cells, not counting the one that the tech marine had already open, there was a good chance things were about to go very poorly for him.

--Never mind Necroes posted before i did--

Because he was quite sure he'd have gotten himself furious again if he looked over to Xepherial, and in particular what the blood-red Marines were doing to him, he refused to so much as glance in his brother-Marine's direction as he strode over to one of the various weapon racks in the room. His two blades were all well and good, of course, but as recent events had shown, they were insufficient for requirements. He needed a gun - his own gun, not one stolen from another person - and since this was an old Space Marine ship after all, the ship's armoury was packed with bolt weaponry. Not just bolters, but bolt pistols, and even heavy and storm bolters, though the idea of firing either of the latter two outside of power armour was realistically infeasible even for him.

And the variety of patterns! Crusade, Tigrus, Umbra, Umbra Ferrox... oh, if a Phobos-pattern bolter presented itself to him, he might just be able to die happy despite everything! Alas, it did not, and he did not see that he had the time or space to check around for one, if he needed to perform maintenance on whatever weapons he selected. Perhaps for the best, since to his knowledge, the Phobos pattern actually used a slightly smaller bolt caliber. Odd, of course, that he could remember minute details such as that, and yet not know so much of his history. So, being forced to pick and choose, Lucius grabbed a Tigrus-pattern bolter and bolt pistol, as well as the holsters for them and enough magazines for both to last him at least a few engagements, if he was picky about who and what he chose to shoot (and that was how he should treat them, of course, for the Tigrus pattern was renowned for its accuracy compared to standard bolter patterns).

One round of gun maintenance later, and it seemed there was little else to do but prepare to enter their new ship. The Mechanicus priest had already left, it seemed, and from the look of things, Xepherial was keen to exit through an airlock, despite his armour's condition... which reminded Lucius that he was still wearing naught but cloth. And with a badly damaged body, at that. He would surely die if he stepped into the void in such condition. But, surely a ship such as this ought not to be so unprepared? Surely he ought to be able to find voidsuits... perhaps, if he was lucky, even a suit of power armour to call his own?

---

He was not. Mere voidsuits aplenty, for both Astartes and human serfs- he grabbed one for his follower too, not that the wimp really deserved it- but apparently, power armour was in short supply. Not unexpectedly, he supposed, but even so, he might have expected at least a few spare.

And after putting his suit on, he simply followed the route taken by the others in his group, exiting through the airlock, trudging with mag-locking boots across the surface of the enemy ship, and then into another airlock, and ultimately the ship proper. Was it the same airlock? He had no idea, and he didn't see his fellows in the vicinity. All he knew was that his minion had followed him, and once inside refused to just shut up about how grateful he was that his almighty lord master had so cleverly yadda yadda yadda.

'You know,' Lucius began, drawing his bolt pistol, 'now that we aren't at risk of drawing any Genestealers to ourselves, you could put that telepathy to use in guiding us around, perhaps? I'm sure figuring out where the life in this ship is would be useful.'

'Ah- o-oh! Yes, of course, lord sir Scion sir,' the worm snivelled, 'I'll see if I can use it to that effect, though I worry of course that my recent, ah, deprivation may have affected my abilities- just a little bit of course, no setbacks to what I can usually do, of course! Ahaheh...' Admittedly, he did seem a little bit better for being out of the null field. Less pale. Less crying, too. Not an excuse for failure on his part, evidently, though a failure to possess a particular use of a particular ability at all might be questionable as a "failure". Maybe. Either way, without asking whether he was succeeding, Lucius began to wander, weapon ready to kill whoever needed killing. And, hopefully, his physique would hold out for long enough until the ship was under his control. If he was lucky, he might even come across a physician with the skill to heal him who wasn't utterly mad. Wouldn't that be something.

@Necroes@Sophrus

A kind of grunty, huffy sound that might have come from a large animal drew Xepherial out of his shock at himself, and he quickly turned his head to see the ork that had appeared far down the corridor to his right. He recognized the xeno witch from before, the one that had conjured up a wicked blast of energy in the previous battle that nearly killed him. How had he gotten here so rapidly?! There wasn't even time to ask this question as the imminent danger became apparent. The ork witch was clearly angry and Xepherial knew the look of an enemy drawing his weapon...

"GET DOWN!" He ordered as a ball of warpfire manifested from the creature's face and grew into something a collosal dragon would have breathed. As it rushed down the inescapable long hall, Xepherial knew he had only one option. He ducked and rapidly forced himself inside Oskar's cell, barely fitting as his body somehow knew to contort itself as a desperate measure. His metallic bulk fell on top of the imprisoned guardsman, Oskar, who would have been utterly crushed had Xepherial not caught himself on his hands on either side of the man. Heat and daemonflame burst inside of the room as the door behind them and much of the wall both melted and vaporized in the sorcery as the fireball passed. Human screams jolted the air around them as the other prisoners were instantly badly burned, unable to benefit from Xepherial acting as their shield. Many were killed in their cells down the entire deck until the fireball fizzled out before it could breech the hull itself.

Everything that could burn was on fire. Alarms blared loudly at this point, pipes were severed, billowing steam, oil, and toxic waste into the brigg. If the crew hadn't known something was up, they did now. Before Urgrugg knew it, a large shape marched out of the smoke and he was kicked over onto his back by a big, black foot. Xepherial pinned him against the floor. The perfectly round barrel of a muzzle came into focus between the ork's eyes, a clear signal that he was living his last conscious moments.

The instant of fear passed as acceptance of death set in for the ork, yet the moment tarried like some kind of psychological torture. Xepherial was hesitating. This ork... he was lying on the ground, dying, no... Xepherial himself had been lying on the ground, dying... and this was the creature that had lifted him up and out of the fire, away from thousands of bloody Tyranid maggots that wanted to swarm his guts. He... he couldn't kill him. What kind of tratorious heresy had come over him?! Everything he had ever learned, everything loyal in his body demanded that he pull the trigger, yet he was at a moral impasse. In fury, the Dark Angel roared at Urgugg and the bolter fired at point blank range... One round wasted. The Angel had shot the floor instead.

Sickened and furious, and deliberating over his sanity, Xepherial stormed away from the ork and looked to see if Oskar was still there.

Ensign Thorpe was walking towards his quarters. The ship had gotten itself into a massive firefight and Thorpe knew it was bad. He had however been lucky enough to get an hour off before entering the battle proper.
Right now he was returning to his room to get the ensign badge that was supposed to sit on his cap. He had no idea how it had come loose but it had not been there when he walked past a shiny coolant tank he usually used as a mirror each morning to make sure he looked the part.
Unlike some of the other officers, he shook his head at the thought.

He was passing by some voidsmen and some menials as the lights suddenly flickered, Thorpe stopped and looked around him. Something was awry, he could feel some sort of presence.
The lights flickered once more and it was obvious the menials were nervous, Thorpe tried to calm them with a hand motion as he skeptically moved forward.
Suddenly a light exploded, followed by a rasping exhale that echoed through the hallway as the normal lights went out and was replaced by the red emergency lights.
Out from the vents black mists began to move like tendrils along the walls towards the floor. The voidsmen clamoured to get to the closest locker with Ironclaw shotguns to arm themselves. The menials ran, hugged the walls or collapsed on the floor.
The voidsmen however failed, as the locker opened black mist poured out from the locker which made the voidsmen hesitate and one of the trio ran.

Thorpe drew his autopistol, stood like the commissars he'd seen on the recruitment posters trying to make the crew nearby regain their posture. It was here however he noticed how the black mist was moving from all directions towards him.
From all directions it moved with several tendrils showing the way, he turned quickly and noticed he was surrounded.
With a roar he began to fire unto the floor, as the shots hit the floor small shockwaves made the surrounding smoke move away as if making a crater.
But as some places went slower, other went faster. Thorpe began to scream and fire at full auto as black tendrils began to climb up his legs. The menials were panicking like Thorpe and the voidsmen were frozen with fear.

With a sickening sound the smoke began to enter Thorpe's mouth and force its way into his lungs. He was in pain, could barely make sound as all the smoke moved faster and faster along the floor up the poor man's body and into his body, through the mouth, nostrils ears and eyes.
A silent chuckle grew into a sickening laugh as the final smoke went into Thorpe's body which was deathly pale with visible blood vessels stained black.
He fell with a thud unto his knees. From inside did something form and seemingly materialize.
It was however too large for the body to contain and from the remains from poor Thorpe did a stained robed former man stand tall. Oil dripped from under its hood and its face was a horrid mechanical form which shone with a single red eye shining with a deep red light which cast light even within the red gloom of the emergency lighting.

-"Liber Mechanica, sapiens mortis, corpus machina rex." Zuriel said with an augmented voice which echoed through the hall with a mechanical echo with a strange susurrus in the background.
As he said this, he raised his hellpistol which was hissing with anticipation, after rex he fired at one of the voidsmen.

The purple beam struck the poor mans left arm which blackened instantly and began to ooze with sizzling slag which fell away from the body like orbiting debris.
The man screamed as the hand began to claw his own face off as the man fell to the floor dying.
Zuriel then shot the voidsman who ran for the weapon locker, however this mans life was also cut short as the hellpistol shot hit him in the back. Creating a small local singularity which sucked the man into it with sickening crunches leaving a hovering small sphere in the air for a moment which a second or two later fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Zuriel gazed upon the last voidsman, who clambered away from him along the floor. Began to scream and ran along with the menials.
Good, he had dealt with these people. Now he had a moment to feel the veil.
There was psychic activity, another gateway. It was probably the ork.
Followed by a large discharge of something, it burned brightly across the minds eye. After that a presence with psychic potential entered the ship. Zuriel felt it pulsing.
Like a radar he thought, showing it were everything was, but also showing everything where it was.

It seemed the best bet, perhaps it was the pathetic heretic the unarmoured marine had brought? Perhaps a new interesting person or beast?
It was best to check it out.
With echoing clangs zuriels footsteps were heard in the corridors he walked through moving towards the pulsing mind of the heretic psyker.

(Just realized we need more dialogue)

"Foul xeno sorcerer, why did you save me?"

(Sent from phone lol)

Oskar was flattened to the floor, his mind hadn't really caught up with current events. The marine's reaction time was fast enough that Oskar hardly heard and processed "GET DOWN" before the marine want on top of him knocking him to the ground. Once him mind finally caught up he looked up to watch a jet of plasma scorch its way down the hall. "By the Emperor" he mumbled first before he decided that he, and the other Imperial Guard, had to get the hell out of there.

Once the Marine got off Oskar he bolted up too and called out to the Guardsmen, "Come on Lads, time to go! This here is a jail break!" He gathered, maybe 20 soldiers. Several of whom he would have to execute when he got a weapon, as Oskar would not allow them to be free men. The thought made him laugh quietly, Oskar was a bad man and he knew it but there where things that he simply found unforgivable. He ignored them for now, and the Marine fighting with the ork. He assumed the Marine was about to slaughter the Ork sorcerer.

"Weapons, we need weapons. They are going to coming down here to figure out what is going on soon." Oskar said thinking aloud. "MARINE" he bellowed in that way only a sergeant can now that he was a good distance away "ARMORY, 4 DECKS UP 3 JUNCTIONS STARBOARD" he shouted, hoping the marine heard him and would follow. He would need the Marine to open the doors if they where not already open. Oskar and his cadre of guardsmen took off at a sprint trying to reach the Armory before it was cleaned out or had too much traffic to be taken by force. They ran through clusters of servitors and human servants working on the ship, The servitors payed them no mind but the servants seemed to recognize those from the brig and dispersed when they came through. Oskar hoped that the Marine would catch up to them after killing the Ork. If not, he could just try and take the Armory by force once it was opened.

Urgrugg let out a loud, grunting cough when he got kicked in the chest. To his annoyance, the marine had not died from the attack. The one time the ork wanted him to die, and he refused to do it. As tired as he was from expending so much warp energy, he hadn't even been able to get in a good swing before the marine had come at him, either.

The barrel that had been put to his face was background noise to him. As soon as he'd felt the kick, he had begun constructing a final spell in his head to be unleashed upon his death. Given his state, it wasn't even guaranteed to work, but the distortion of warp energy should it fizzle would be enough to draw the attention of the daemons he was contracted with to come for him. It was petty, at best, but it was revenge none the less.

He was ready to release the power when the weapon fired. Having not expected to be alive after, he was surprised to find he was still capable of thought. When the marine got off him, Urgrugg stood up, using his staff to help get him to his feet. Looking down the hall, he could see the humans that his attack had released running further into the ship. From what one of them said, it sounded like they were headed to arm themselves. Urgrugg couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

When the marine barked his question at him, Urgrugg was quickly reminded of the damage that had been done by his last spell. It would heal, no doubt, but that would take time. However, the marine would still want an answer, and he was in no shape to fight him. As he wanted to keep living, he reached out with his staff, and pressed the diamond-hard tip against the wall.

With an annoying, high-pitched screeching sound, he began to write on the wall. His understanding of low gothic's written form was bad at the best of times, but he knew enough to get by. On the wall, he wrote out, "WICH TIME?" If the marine were to question the writing, he'd simply reply by opening his mouth to show the blackened flesh-nub that was once his tongue.

The pulse was simple to follow once one knew it was there. With trained ease Zuriel travelled towards it.
Sure, the deck plans were not the same as on a cruiser, but the design philosophy was similar enough that he could easily navigate, even within the ventilation systems.

At one place he had to materialize, to open a sealant duct which formed a vacuum seal. It took a mere few seconds.
Being so much closer and with no interfering walls, Zuriel could now easily see that it was indeed the pet psyker of the unarmoured marine.
He was positively glowing, being this close to him was even invigorating.
Behind the two a billowing cloud was spewing down upon the floor, in complete silence. It moved towards airflows, defied gravity and once it had formed behind the pair it began to close with the psyker.

A mere couple of feet behind him, a pillar of rotating black smoke shot up, formed the dread magi whom stepped forth and took his left arm around the shoulders of the heretic psyker.

-"You should be careful with your gift, you never know what monsters lurk in the shadows." Zuriel said loudly to the panicking psyker, who gasped for air after the complete surprise.
The marine of course did not, being of sturdier stuff than a mere human.

The vice grip of one of Xepherial's servoarms spun once in expression of the techmarine's agitation. He questioned whether or not his sanity was broken. "So, your reasons vary, or maybe you don't have a reason. No matter. Seeing as how you just tried to kill me, and I just spared your life, I'd say we're even now." By all rights, this creature was a xeno, a witch, a danger to the crew, and highly unpredictable. He should kill it and be done, but a Lion-like sense of honor and justice ran deep within him and could not be denied. He'd be dead without this fickle creature. Killing it felt like treachery.

"That being said, from now on, if you give me any reason to kill you, I will. So don't test me. You will not harm any more humans on this ship. Understand? Keep in mind most of them will kill you on sight, so if you'd like to live, you'd best lay very low. If I can speak with the cpatain, then maybe I can get you dropped off somewhere. *I* am going back to the Imperium."

Xepherial risked taking his eyes off the lipless ork. Surely he'd grow those back again, and then he'd probably talk... which would be unfortunate. Xeph didn't look forward to having his consciousness assaulted by some half-human butchered form of the language. He left the ork behind and began following the escaped cons toward the armory. Xepherial had heard the directions Oskar had shouted and began to walk that way. Great. Several dozen escaped criminals all free and arming themselves. The Dark Angel hoped the guard would take care of them. He didn't want to start killing people.

Up 3 decks, Xepherial found Oskar again, now flanked by several allies.

@Sophrus@Wraithblade6@Necroes@Klomster@BCTheEntity

Vedius could not have planned it better himself, mulling over the details of his execution of the small group of Red Corsairs in his mind as he walked, his steps oddly light for one clad in the bulky armour of the Astartes. The details even now began to become fuzzy in his mind, but he had managed to convince the Corsairs and their Apothecary to lead the way out of the shuttle, pulling one of the heavier weapons from the nearest rack and, once they were crushed between two walls nearby the door of the lander, had fired a fully automatic magazine of explosive-tipped bolts straight into them; it had not been clean, it had not been clever, but it had worked and had gotten rid of a rogue contingent within the 'group'.

Were they even a group?

Such thoughts evaporated as he continued following the trail of the Dark Angel tech-marine and the brutish Greenskin, a bolter clutched in his hands while a smaller version was mag-locked to his hip, his sleek blade which had given his unit its name poking out from his other hip.

He could hear movement up ahead, then the whump, whump of shotgun blasts, his legs beginning to quicken and his steps to become heavier as he urged his body to reach the scene of the action.

---

The Pride had been on its way out of the fleet battle when the warning runes had began to flicker, Captain Isaiah – who had been perfectly happy just to ignore such things, they were bleeding into space after all, riddled with Eldar shuriken rounds – being alerted by one of his bridge crew that the alert was not coming from exterior damage but from the forced opening of prisoner cells on one of the lower decks; this was mere moments before the master of the Astropathic choir had reported a small but sudden fluctuation of physic energy somewhere inside the vessel.

If there was one thing that the Captain refused to believe in, it was coincidence. He had been a military man for far too long and witnessed far too much, and he knew that nothing happened separate of something else, that was just the way it was. When it was said that both these things came from the same deck, area and corridor, then he knew this was no random occurrence. Out here, away from the battle, so close to jumping back through the warp and to his home base, there was time to focus on such small matters that would otherwise have been missed.

“Dispatch a Commissar and several teams of Armsmen, I want to know what's happening immediately.”

---

Commissar Krike strode along the corridor with his power blade activated and his bolt-pistol held ready, his own team of a dozen shotgun-wielding Ratings converging on the brig section from one end, another team of a similar number moving in from another. A third team had been sent toward the armoury to secure it, but that was none of his present concern. In his imposing uniform and peaked cap he was an impressive figure, calm and collected and as ardent a worshipper of the God-Emperor as could be, and he knew that his men would fight and die for him.

“What the-”

The shock of finding a Greenskin, one that had burnt simplistic text into the wall no less, alone amidst the remains of a prison block – one that now looked charred and blackened by some unholy rite – caused even the Commissar to temporarily halt in his footsteps. It was only for split second, just long enough for the ingrained impulse to kill all Xenos to kick into action, his bolt-pistol rising and firing as if he were on a practice range back in the Progenium.

“Open fire! Open fire!”

A dozen shotguns opened up on the hulking fiend, their shots rocking the Ork back even as he tried to come forward, the bolt-pistol taking chunks of flesh and tissue from it. From behind came the second team, another bellowed order and further shots from autoguns, lasguns and shotguns doing there own fair share of damage.

In a matter of minutes, minutes of near constant firing, all that remained of the Orkish psyker was a twitching and mutilated corpse; three bolt rounds to the creatures cranium saw an end to the nerve movements, but having found it here just raised more questions for the Captain.

“Tell the Captain what we found here,” snapped Krike to the closest comm-operator, “and the rest of you will follow me to the armoury. Escaped prisoners and arms do not mix. Quickly now!”

A bio-hazard disposal team was dispatched to the deck to remove the body, Captain Isaiah grinding his teeth together in frustration.

What the bloody Warp was going on?!

When he'd woken up that morning, Vespin knew he was going to have a bad day. He knew this, because his left ankle was acting up. Not the actual ankle, of course, that was off on some moon in a system he'd likely never see again. No, it was a phantom pain, that hurt just enough to put him in a foul mood on the days it decided to act up. Which seemed appropriate, given it only ever seemed to hurt on days that would put him in a foul mood anyway.

As the morning began, though-morning being a relative term-he couldn't quite tell what it was that seemed like it should go wrong. His group had been picked up for deliver to another system some time ago, and were on their way to the drop off location, along with a group of penal legion. A friend among the navigator's retinue, a very well payed one, had informed him that they would be exiting the warp for a short time. While they hadn't said why, it wasn't all that important. Sometimes ships needed to exit warp space for a short time, for any number of reasons.

Morning beyond that was business as usual. A commissar had been invited to take breakfast with a company commander, and the commander had payed Vespin to prepare the meal. Doing as best he could with what little he had, he managed to whip up two lobster-tail omelettes dressed with chives and shredded cheese. Or, more specifically, something that very much tasted exactly like how someone who'd never had the real thing would likely imagine it tasted. He knew, because he had tasted the real thing, and what he made tasted like what he'd expected it to. Of course, he had had a rather hefty sample for himself to make sure of that, along with a stiff cup of 'coffee' to go along with it.

Once that was out of the way, he'd begun to make his rounds. He had goods that he needed to sell, and they weren't going to do it themselves. Having planned to make his way around the ship, stopping by the places he was known to spend his time at very specific times, the usual routine had him near the prison area right about the time everything went ass-up. While he'd been down there to open negotiations with some of the prisoners to see if they were interested in trading off what little money they technically had left to their name for something useful, a call for hands to battle stations had gone out.

It wasn't until he managed to make it back to his barracks that he found out what had them leaving warp space. Apparently, someone had put out a call for aid in a battle against Eldar. While definitely not good, from the sounds of things the Eldar weren't likely to win, and their ship was only there to provide support. No, the real issue was that some uppity commissar had come along and taken his men to go hunting for psykers.

Having made the decision to go in light, Vespin managed to catch up to the group of his fellow ratlings. It had taken a lot of leg work, and a very helpful schematic of the ship, but he'd managed to pull it off. Unfortunately, the sound of gunshots told him that they had found something. Only carrying his shotgun, a dozen rounds for it, his armor, knife, and nothing more, Vespin suddenly felt somewhat naked. He had his usual tools squirreled away in his leg as well, of course, but none of that was going to help take down an Eldar.

Making a decision, he held back in stead of stepping up to join the group. When he heard that the prisoners had escaped, and were making their way to the armory, he knew his men would be walking into a killing field unless someone got there first. Taking out his schematic, he looked over it quickly, long enough to mark his route in his mind before heading out. It would have him squeezing through some tight spaces, but if he managed to judge it right, and it hadn't been too long since the prisoners had left, he should make it there a couple minutes before they do. What he was going to do in two minutes, he had no idea, but that didn't matter until he had them to work with, so he decided that was a bridge to cross if he got to it.

'Sir, master lord champion! I can sense people nearby!'

Finally, he spoke up. Lucius was getting a tad bored of moving around in seemingly aimless fashion, even if the mutant claimed to be heading towards an incredible surge of psychic power, or at least in that sort of direction. 'Are they our people?' he asked, hands moving to his bolters regardless.

'Uh... I-I'm not sure, O lord high master Scion, I'd need to-'

He was interrupted as a small troop of men, dressed in the same armour as... God-Emperor, had it really been so little time since he'd been on that wretched space hulk? And the details of the soldiers his former Ogryn minion had been part of were already fading, only to be renewed by the details from this very similar group, sans abhuman brute or notability, and apparently sans willingness to listen too judging by the lasguns immediately aimed at him.

'Ho, Space Marine,' the leader called, not that much different from his minions. 'I did not believe we had any of your number on our ship... explain yourself, or I will be forced to believe you're a renegade.' Lucius was highly tempted to roll his eyes, but wondered if he could convincingly trick these men into believing he was on their side, at least for long enough to bring them into melee range. Certainly, they couldn't be allowed to tell others he was here.

'I beseech you to relax, Armsmen,' Lucius uttered calmly, hands loose and slightly out from his sides to show he meant no harm. 'I am Thorn, a Marine of the Dark Angels, and the man beside me is a serf. I've been sent as an emissary, of sorts.'

'Oh yeah?' one of the other soldiers asked, far less respectfully than if he had been truly taken. 'Where's your armour, and what's with the voidsuits?'

'A necessity to get here. I was in disguise for a prior mission, which I had no time to dress out of before being called away without my armour. Would that I could-'

'What, you had no time to-'

'Is this how you treat all Space Marines?' Lucius asked coldly. 'With such minimal respect that it'd be within their rights, my rights, to slay you for it?' He couldn't let them figure out the holes in his story; he had to push and push and push until he could get in close. 'And you, commander; do you allow your troops to simply walk roughshod over you whenever they so please?'

'Uh... I don't-'

'And furthermore,' Lucius continued, casually walking toward the soldiers, 'I'm hard-pressed to believe that this equipment has been maintained properly. Just look at the barrels, they're so badly tarnished it's unbelievable, and the powerpacks barely connect to the ammunition ports.' At first, they'd aimed their weapons more sternly at him, but at the mention of their weapons being poorly maintained, a large number of them brought the lasguns closer to their eyes to see what the Marine was talking about.

Not all of them, but enough. Before the leader could chastise them for dropping their guard, Lucius' hands dropped to his blades as he charged the last couple of meters into the crowd.

No more than five seconds of flashing blades and minimal lasfire later, the guards were dead to a man, and Lucius was no more than sore from his pre-existing injuries. Cleaning the weapons off and sheathing them again, the Dark Angel strolled lightly back over to the cowering psyker who called him by too many titles for his own good, and lifted the man to his feet by the scruff of his neck.

'If we have more random encounters like that, I will hold you personally responsible. Do you have any means that would let you figure out where the others are more accurately?'

'B-b-buh... m-master, I don't- wait, I do!' he realised with a mildly relieved smile. 'M-maybe. I can contact them via-'

'The other Dark Angel, now,' he responded, dropping the man back to his feet and turning to move on. 'Ask him where he is, and we can figure out his location from there.'

Alternatively, a pillar of black smoke could shoot up behind the worm, the dread magus from before stepping out and placing an arm round the minion's shoulders, drawing a gasp, and then what seemed to be a mild panic attack.

'You should be careful with your gift, you never know what monsters lurk in the shadows,' the Heretek explained, almost as if he'd known what Lucius had just said... although, if he'd been here all along, perhaps he had. Or he was just sensing the snivelling coward's own psychic abilities, since the man had been using telepathy for an extended period of time.

'You'll probably give him a heart attack if you go about like that,' Lucius said bluntly, 'and I'd much rather he remained alive for now. He is of minor use to me, after all. I suppose your presence is somewhat appreciated, though, if you happen to know where Xepherial and the others are... did I ever get your name, incidentally?' he asked, not certain he'd even spoken to the psyker yet.

The dread magi let the heretic psyker go and stepped into the open.
-"Zuriel. Zuriel Ganymede Quillos." He said while making an almost mocking bow seeing how overemphasized it was with arms pointing to his sides. He returned to his normal posture.

-"As for a heart attack, i could probably resuscitate the beacon telling anyone who is not a psychic null on this ship where you are. I am trained in medical emergency response as well as mechanical." The jab was told in his usual slimy polite voice, which simultaneously mocked the marine and his ally while also warning about an all to real danger the two probably hadn't thought about.
Then Zuriel added.
-"As for your frater astrotechnicus companion, i do not know his current whereabouts, angel." The last word was emphasized differently. But it clearly referred to the nickname for the astartes.

The oily robed machine man began to follow Lucius, completely ignoring if he'd approve of that or not.

'...Thorn. And don't think yourself immune to retort, verbal or otherwise,' Lucius warned, annoyed by Zuriel's uppity tone in spite of his good advice. 'I am not infinitely patient, nor are you or anything else in this galaxy infinitely long-lived.' Glancing disdainfully toward the coward, he continued by saying 'The other Dark Angel, my minion. Go on.'

'Uh... right, of course, my lord and master,' he acquiesced, before his eyes began to roll up into his skull slightly. With an impatient roll of his own ocular spheres, Lucius grabbed the man up and began walking, once more addressing the bastard child of the Omnissiah and the Chaos Gods by asking 'And out of curiosity, do you have any means by which to detect Xepherial's location?'

@Klomster

---

Mere seconds after Xepherial caught up with Oskar and his new allies, a voice rang out in his head, one that seemed to be aiming for ostentatiousness and power, but in doing so managed to reflect even more distinctly the generally pathetic nature of its owner.

Artificial Angel of Darkness! it called to him, Your companion the Scion seeks to meet with you once more! Speak, that he might hear through me!

@Wraithblade6

Vespin went flying down the long, narrow corridors of the large ship's various service hatches and air vents. It had taken a great deal of time to learn to properly read the extremely elaborate schematics that went along with Imperial naval craft. However, it was time well spent, as it allowed him to move at what many officers thought of as an almost supernatural pace. As it happened, and as with this case, that rarely proved to be a bad thing, when he was suddenly in need of an alibi somewhere else in the ship.

Before too long, he had found himself coming out on the upper-floor of the large armory. Here was stored the various heavy weapons platforms, ready to be lowered down into the waiting transports below as a moment's notice. His memory had served him well, as he was happy to find the room's layout had not been changed since his company had come on board.

Going across one of the many catwalks acting as the room's second floor, he couldn't help but grin when he found what he wanted. Using the pulley to tug it onto the metal of the walkway, it takes only a minute or so to get the tarp off and the hoists clear. Underneath was the autocannon that had been taking up so much space in the chimera he'd ridden aboard in. As soon as it was on level footing, he jumped behind the gun shield and slid the firing mechanism into its rarely used single-fire position.

Aiming down at the room's closest entrance to the brig further down, he waited. Cursing his luck for the lack of a proper scope on the large gun, he had only the sights to go off of, and just had to hope it was properly aligned. Just as he considered taking a single shot to get an idea of its accuracy, he looks down the barrel to see the first prisoner entering the room. Without warning, he lets fly with the first round, turning the man's head into smear along the floor behind him, with a rather large dent in the middle of the spray pattern.

The forward display had the effect he'd hoped for. Though all criminals, each had served at the least on their world's PDF. An autocannon was designed almost specifically for cutting swaths through hordes of infantrymen, and a choke point would mean their death if they were dumb enough to just rush in.

Luckily, a quick look told him the man he'd shot happened to have been heading to trial for shooting his squad mates. In the guard, that was unforgivable, even among penal legion troops. That meant he had a chance at talking with them, as no one would morn the man's death. Calling out across the room, he introduced himself, hoping to catch the ear of someone with a brain between their ears. "This is Vespin Longshank, Corporal of the Cadian 534th! I'll give you lads one chance to try and talk this out. I've got enough ammo and the right angle to take out all of you as soon as you pass that doorway. My men are hot on your tails, escorting a commissar with an even bigger stick up his ass than usual. You boys are gonna want to figure out terms with me, before you get pinched between me and my men, and I'm forced to hand command over. Send someone out with a white flag to talk terms. No flag, and whoever steps out gets a bullet between the eyes."

Oskar rounded a corner with a couple troopers ahead of him, one of them a murdering psychopath who gunned down his own squad for the fun of it. Oskar was going to kill him as soon as he had a weapon more useful than his fists. The trooper hopped through a bulk head and was immediately knocked down by an auto-cannon with his head missing. Oskar flattened against the wall and poked his head out just far enough to clear one eye. he spotted the auto-cannon down the hall, a perfect spot to pin them down forever. "by the emperor" he mumbled to himself trying to think. He didnt know the lay out of the ship well enough to find a quick way around this obstacle. He heard a familiar voice yell at him from down the hall.

Vespin shouted at them from down the hall, detailing the situation that Oskar had already worked out for himself. basically he was fucked, but Vespin was giving him an out... for some reason. So he decided that it was his only option. He used battle sign to tell his little gang that they where to hold position, and if he where killed that they where to scatter and run. He pulled off his service cap and waived it out the doorway. "Im coming out!" Oskar shouted, he waited a couple heart beats before stepping around and through the door. He clenched his teeth and took another step forward ready to recieve an auto-cannon shell to the face. When he didnt he held his arms out, in a universal sign of 'I am unarmed' while he walked calmly but quickly to about the half way mark before shouting at Vespin. "Im Oskar Rolt, Sergeant of the uh-.." he faltered, because he wasnt technically a seargent any more, nor did he belong to his regiment any more. "Sergeant of this penal corp" he finished, it sounded good to him. Before vespin could say anything he started again, carefully crafting a true story "The cell block took damage, we where released and The ship has been boarded by hostiles" Which was technically true, "We have come to get weapons and repel boarders." which was half true.

It was the best he could come up with on the fly, he knew Vespin was a criminal who probably remembered Oskar. However there was no time to barter and carefully craft a position, not that Oskar was any good at that kind of thing, he would rather set the little bastard on fire until he got what he wanted, no time for that however. He hoped Vespin would accept his story, if not... he might try the truth. 'We are coming get weapons to take the ship and start a merry pirate adventure' somehow didnt sound very convincing.

It was a bit surprising, seeing Oskar Rolt of all people leading the group. Not that he wasn't capable of it, the man had lead teams before. No, it was just strange to see him sticking his neck out like this. Then again, all Vespin knew about him was his rank and that he got himself put in the penal legion. That, and his penchant for going in to things flamer first, whenever possible.

"Oskar, I've heard of you. Have to say, you don't quite live up to your reputation. I bet you're shit at cards. Little advice for you, never show your hand before you know what game you're playing." Keeping the cross hairs aimed at Oskar, Vespin made sure to keep an eye out for the other prisoners, and an ear out for his own men.

"It was my men who got sent down here to deal with you. We were given shot guns, not collars. You don't send a commissar along with demihumans to and no collars to get penal legion ready to repel borders. Now, be honest, and maybe we can make some actual negotiations. Lie to me again, and I'll see if the next 'sergeant' your group sends out can't get things done before you all get gunned down."