“There are those brave, industrious souls that, armed only with a Warrant of Trade and the wits to survive alone in space, ply their trade and fortune through the stars. These hardy souls, men and women alike, take many forms and it is not unknown for them to be snagged by the vestiges of fate! Horatio Drake, youngest son of the House Drake family line, was...cogitator, cease recording.”

Horatio Drake, youngest son of House Drake and all-around disappointment to his esteemed father – a man who had claimed countless swathes of unknown space for the God-Emperor and the greater Imperium, who had fought eyeless horrors in the Vinci Gulf, and Eldar pirates near the Pharsalus Stars, a legend in his own right – reclined somewhat in his chair.

Silently he twiddled with a thread coming loose from his fur-edged military pelisse, part of a 'full dress' uniform that his father had gifted him, though he had never fought in the Guard and which had remained his dashing and gallant clothing of choice ever since, his slender face pinched in a temporary expression of cerebration.

“Is it arrogant to speak of oneself in the third person?” He asked the silent air of his personal chamber, running a hand over one long-but-slender sideburn of deep brown hair, his eyes roving over the various trophies of enemies he had never slain or even actually met, “I am quite sure father would have said so.”

“Cogitator, continue re-”

A soft beeping shook the young warrior-explorer from his reveries, one gloved hand depressing the acknowledgement key, the other resting itself beneath his slightly pointed chin.

"My lord," spoke a voice, seemingly far away but actually right before him, the gruff First Mate of the ship causing him to tumble back into the world of blinking lights and shifting figures, of sights, sounds and Astropath choirs.

"Mister Briggs," acknowledged the slender man in his clipped Terran accent, one slender hand adjusting his deep green uniform while his other brushed the jet-black hair back against his skull, "what is it, that you must disturb me in the middle of my musings?"

First Mate Briggs sighed inwardly, looking at the figure that was his master and sighing again, "forgive me lord, but we have come into orbit of Escalon Seven; I thought you might like to know." Briggs had the air of a former Naval officer, straight-backed and straight-talking, and never yet had he failed House Drake or its offspring.

"Quite right," agreed the attentive noble, "please, let me see it."

Buttons were pressed, and the command-throne whirred about to look directly out of the viewing window, Drake narrowing his eyes into no more than slits as he rested an elbow on a knee. For moments that seemed to last forever he observed the slowly turning planet, a mass of colour that formed into all manner of continents of varying size, a civilised planet of the Emperor's Imperium that was both without law and prime hunting-grounds for the more...unscrupulous inhabitants of the galaxies fringes. Briefly he pondered, would the Imperium ever try to reclaim this planet from the clutches of corruption and vice? Why, it was only a few light-years from Port Wander, and he had seen first hand the efficiency of the Imperial Navy.

"Lord?"

He had known this moment would come, the moment when he was required to leave his ship and descend to the planets largest landmass, but it was not as easy as he had imagined it would be to remove himself from the relative safety of his floating fortress and the protectors aboard; he knew he must go though, for he did not know the Koronus Expanse - into which he intended to travel - and knew full well that most of his bridge crew, as handy as they were with a ship, would not be able to assist him with those duties he could not do himself. Finances for example, one of the greatest joys for many Rogue Traders, was something completely alien to him - Horatio Drake spent currency, he did not study it! Then there was protection from raiders and pirates, networks of contacts to form across the Expanse, as well as issues of not entirely legal nature, and so forth. All these things could go smoother, faster and with greater efficiency if he could find personages more capable than he to work for him; in order to do this he had been directed to Escalon Seven, for he was told that in all the sector there was no more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

"Have my shuttle prepared, Mr Briggs, and tell Medicus Gamael and to meet me in the hangar."

"Aye lord, as you wish."

It took half an hour for Drake to fully prepare himself, giving his resident religious fanatic time to ready his things and head toward the hangar bay, a small shuttle - able to carry Drake, Lazarus Gamael and a dozen Armsmen - would be waiting there, bedecked in his House crest and their colours of black and white.

Bedecked in his deep green uniform, trimmed with black at the epaulettes and lacing - one in the style of a Colonel of the Imperial Guard no less - and his fine trousers with there broad central stripe of crimson, he took long strides through the corridors of his ship; beneath this uniform he wore carapace armour, an auto-stubber on one hip, his family chain-axe, an heirloom handed down from the times before the Horus Heresy, on his other.

Upon entering the hangar, a vast expanse the size of a cathedral, he noticed not for the first time just how small he and the multitude of servitors seemed in comparison. "Indeed," he quipped to himself as he moved, "the Emperor does like to make us feel small..." in the distance he could pick out the shuttle and at least a dozen figures around the open ramp at the rear, one that would be his three-eyed passenger, his steps echoing loudly as his boots clanged against the metal grating of the floor, noise blocked out by the sheer amount of activity taking place around them; here some servitors were lifting and moving empty storage crates, others making snap repairs on otherwise functioning pieces of venerable technology, and above all the all-pervading thrum of the engine.

Picking out the Medicus as he made his presence felt - the Armsmen moving aside to flank their superior, salutes thrown up by every man of them, each then forming the sign of the Aquila - Horatio greeted the former First Lieutenant with a smile, one hand gesturing to the shuttle, the other resting on the butt of his stubber.

"Tell me Lazarus, are we ready to go? Are you ready to go?"

In the heart of Lord Horatio Drake's vessel, the Golden Aquila, Lazarus Germael was performing and perfecting his craft on yet another unfortunate soul cursed with the bane of injury, which needed immediate treating. The patient in question was a senior member of the security crew, a minor officer and someone actually important enough to warrant treatment from the good Medicus himself, rather than an assistant or other member of the medicae staff aboard the ship. The officer was missing an arm due to an accident in one of the storage bays, a stray crate dropped from on high led to a crushed, and now amputated, appendage. A mask providing precious anesthetics was cupped over the man's face, as the machine and his lungs rasped in unison. Lazarus, dressed firmly for the occasion in protective gear over his usual attire, carefully mused over the bionic replacement the officer was to be issued.

Bionics like this were always a pleasurable procedure for Lazarus. Working the nerves of the human body, uniting man with machine, it was a gift of life he had learned from his dear friend Obel, and one he always paid homage to his old friend with. Every limb, mechadendrite, actuator, and every other bionic and cybernetic piece of hardware Lazarus would install was faintly marked with the letters 'F.O.', For Obel. Lazarus carefully hefted the limb from its initial placement on the delivery cart to just beside the treated, gaping shoulder of the man.

Lazarus began the arduous process of attaching the limb to the patient's body, connecting nerves to wires, bone to metal, and sewing shut the skin around the bionic connection. After a lengthy amount of time, the limb was properly and finally connected, with Lazarus having him carted away to the recovery ward as he stripped himself of the compromised cleanliness gear, restoring his more normal garb, and carefully scrubbing his reflective glasses. The operation was yet another success in a long list of chiurgeries under Lazarus's proverbial belt. As he dried his hands of the antimicrobial water, he saw the ship's First Mate, Briggs. Lazarus let out a faint sigh, facing the fellow former navy man.

"Is this a medicae check-up, Mr. Briggs? Or shall I presume you've come on behalf of Lord Drake again?"

Briggs informed Lazarus of the request in question, which Lazarus responded to with a simple "Thank you, Mr. Briggs." and a dismissive hand-wave. Returning to his quarters, located just a brief walk away from the medicae section, Lazarus would gather up his supplies, namely his various field medicus tools, and his autopistol and accompanying magazines. After gathering his needed accoutrements, and working his way to the shuttle bay, Lazarus was greeted by an entire band of armsmen, who directed him to the shuttle. After a brief time, Lord Horatio Drake stepped onto the deck. As he approached, Lazarus took it upon himself to greet the man who had so graciously employed him for this stretch of time.

"Lord Drake, a pleasure to see you again, sir."

"Tell me Lazarus, are we ready to go? Are you ready to go?"

Lazarus lowered his spectacles enough to make his eyes clearly visible to all watching, glancing over the other members of the shuttle party, as well as the shuttle itself. After a brief pause, Lazarus would press the rims back up onto the upper bridge of his nose.

"Well, my lord. I wouldn't presume to speak for the armsmen here, but I am fully prepared for the voyage at hand. I should also inform you that the nasty bit of trouble involving Sub-Lieutenant Sicus and the crate of autorifles has been resolved. The damage suffered by Mr. Sicus has been rectified with a bionic replacement, and the guilty party has been scheduled by his assigned Bosun for servitor conversion as soon as I'm next available. But enough about such trifles, shall we board the shuttle?"

Karl knelt silently on the floor beside his bed in the crew quarters as he prayed. He could not sleep properly on the beds that the vessel had. It was too soft in his opinion, it felt like it would collapse under him at any given moment. While the others may appreciate the 'decent' bed, Karl did not and opted to sleep on the floor beside his bed. The cold and hard surface of the floor eased his worries and aided him in his pursuit of rest. He followed his morning routine, like he had done every day in the past twenty eight years of his life. At 0500 he woke up and began his morning prayers to the God Emperor of Mankind. He may be no longer part of the guard, but no one could remove the guardsman out of Karl. By 0530, he began maintaining his equipment. Disassembling and cleaning his lasgun had become second nature to him and he needn't a second glance to each part to know which part goes. Karl was sure the machine spirit of his weapon would be satisfied with his dedication to keep it clean and functioning.

Unconsciously, he grasped his long sword and his whetstone and was about to begin sharpening the blade when he stopped himself before the stone abrasive touched the blade. Karl frowned and put away the whetstone and simply observed the near snow white sword that laid on his hands. This part of routine was no longer necessary. The rogue trader had upgraded his long sword to have a mono-molecular edge, as a welcoming gift he claimed. The Iothean white steel blade was already sharp as is, but it wouldn't do Karl any good by refusing the generosity of his current employer. Returning his blade to it's sheath he set his attention to his armor. He owed his life to these pieces of armor. In respect to them, he polishes and maintains the armor pieces with utmost care. He finishes his morning routine and suits up with his armor before the morning meals are served at 0700. The meals served in the vessel was leagues above the meals he remembered in the guard, from tasteless grey slop he was used to consuming on a daily basis to a meal that actually had flavor.

It had been a few hours since Karl finished his meal when the announcement was made that his lord Drake was getting a shuttle prepared. Without question, he headed straight to the hangars. House Drake had hired him to protect his lord from whatever dangers he may face in his travels and Karl had no intention to let his lord face them alone. A number of men were already prepared to board the shuttle along. He had taken position near the rest of his fellows and greeted lord Drake with a salute and the sign of the Aquila. It was then his lord turned to face the man named Lazarus and inquired if he was ready to leave. Karl need not reply when Lazarus said he could not speak on behalf of the armsmen. It was a given that wherever lord Drake goes, he would follow.

At last, with a peep around a barrel shipman Bauke gave a relaxed exhalation to the world in general. He'd heard some bigwig from one of the Adepta was going to see the ship, and that - at least in his head - was the biggest sign that someone without a soul had to get the feth out. He checked his pockets, counting his rather pathetic amount of Thrones and miscellanous currency. Then he looked in the small pocket sewn into his coat's armpit and removed the magazine from the stub-pistol, counting the bullets. It was a poor thing, ricocheting off of flak armour right back at you and causing just minor bruising against mesh-weave. But he'd learned to hide it right and proper, and knew to draw it at reasonable speed.

After a few moments of thought and respite, Daniel stood. He was still quite far from 'Nab' as it was called, and he didn't want to pay to get there by faster means. A second jogging on the spot and getting his breathing in rhythm, and he was off.

---

It was hours later, but he made it. He was sweating buckets, his breathing was raspy, and his movements had become slow, weak. But he was where he needed to be. Daniel had heard a Rogue Trader was coming, and this was the perfect chance for life to take a turn in the right direction. What sort of rich bastard doesn't want someone without a soul, whether as an ornament or as a tool? After this thought hit him he quickly tried to beat the possible negative connotations of the words out of his head, for they were terribly unsettling for a young lad with quite the imagination at hand.

Daniel sat, eyes hazy as he tried but failed to catch his breath. A quick shake of the head was followed by him abruptly rising, and then striding over to the first person who passed by. "Oi, you know where the Rogue Trader that's coming could be found?"

So often in this world so much of fate rested on the head of a pin, so much was up to chance. If it should lean one way you might find yourself dining among the powerful and fucking among their wives. If it should go the other way you might end up shot, run through, mutilated, chopped up, reconstituted, and serving some prick who steadfastly refuses to simply let you die. A single moment could change your whole life, the lives of your future children, everything. It all rests upon the head a pin.

Such is a slightly cleaned up version of Raold's thoughts as a sweaty out of breath young man walked up to him, causing him to stop short and very nearly indeed spill his beer.

"Oi, you know where the Rogue Trader that's coming could be found?"

"Fuck," Raold, summed up that previous paragraph into one word, "Almost made me spill my beer."

The young man was wearing unappealing but practical clothes, dirty sweaty, tired, and looking for some Rogue Trader's. He was Raold's kind of people.

"Yeah," he replied with a grin and took a long drink of his beer, "Ah know where they'll be. Name's Raold, what you running from kid?"

@ReedeThe23rd@Searat

Lazarus Germael...

Drake liked him, liked him quite a bit actually, if only because the middle-aged physician had the requisite culture and sophistication – not to mention the education! - that reminded Horatio strongly of himself. It helped that, at least at first glance (and honestly if you were nearly blind), Lazarus and the Rogue Trader could be mistaken for one another – each was at least six-foot tall, angular and narrow facial features, and the general standing of more patrician citizens of the Imperium.

"Well, my lord. I wouldn't presume to speak for the armsmen here, but I am fully prepared for the voyage at hand. I should also inform you that the nasty bit of trouble involving Sub-Lieutenant Sicus and the crate of auto-rifles has been resolved. The damage suffered by Mr. Sicus has been rectified with a bionic replacement, and the guilty party has been scheduled by his assigned Bosun for servitor conversion as soon as I'm next available. But enough about such trifles, shall we board the shuttle?"

Sub-lieutenant Sicus? Who in the Warp was that? Germael was treating him, so he must be at least a little bit important...dammit Briggs, he was usually the man to deal with such things.

“Of course,” exhaled Drake, with a little more gumption than he would have liked, one cheek twitching ever-so-slightly as he glanced to the medicus and then back to the shuttle, “thank you, Lazarus, it seems that bringing you aboard was a most wise choice in the long run, ey?”

One arm then proceeded to move out and half-slap the man of medicine on one shoulder, “yes, let us board, should be a quick trip down to the surface.”

The Trader has no idea if the former Biologis understudy was bothered by being called by his first name but, with something of an internal shrug, he threw away the matter; either Lazarus travelled with him, in comfort and with ample materials and space to pursue his 'career', or he left the ship and took a plunge into the God-Emperor knew what.

It may have been that Horatio would simply make his way past the feudal worlder, ignoring him and proceeding into the belly of the shuttle without a moments hesitation and yet, for all his faults – and there were many of those – Horatio Drake never ignored a loyal follower, seeing in Karl the warrior that he honest-to-the-Emperor believed himself to be as well. He may not have had the breeding or education of the medicus, but something about the Iothean seemed to click just as neatly.

Once more it had been his First Mate that had chosen Karl Ockmann for his employers personal protector, the old space-dog more than happy to sift through the survivors of Yairus Prime until he found someone he believed was up to the task. Indeed, more than a half of his 'armsmen' were in fact not Naval at all, but ex-Guard chosen for their combat skills rather than their spacefaring expertise.

Who knew, there may even have been another of Karl's folk amongst them?

“Private Fist Class Tolzen,” greeted the Trader, giving the armoured man a small rap on the chest-plate, “you will keep me safe down there, will you not?” It was a rhetorical question, and the Rogue Trader did not expect him to answer, but it made Horatio smile nonetheless.

Gesturing for the group to follow – assuming his place at the head of the group, as was his right to do – Horatio strode up the ramp.

Once they were all aboard, the passenger section closed in with a hiss of the rising ramp and a loud thump as it sealed the shuttle, Drake took a moment to compose himself. Making sure that his weapons were within easy reach, his green and black jacket - taken from the stores of a Guard regiment he had never even been a part of, the Ninty-Sixth Sasan Rifles - free of creases and his trousers, a deep blue with a crimson stripe down the centre of the outer leg, held well in place by his belt. Lastly he checked his hair, tied in a top-knot on his head, his lips curving into a smile unseen within the darkness of the shuttle bay, devilish red light being the only thing illuminating the shuddering interior.

It was not long before they landed, setting down a mile or so outside of a settlement known planet wide for its less-than-savoury inhabitants. Some might well have seen the shuttle, some may even be on their way, but Drake was not really concerned about much at all...at least not until he exited the shuttle, his eyes looking toward Nab's Holdout, and had them widen somewhat when he saw the absolute state of the place.

"Emperor's shrivelled bollocks," came the expletive, one hand already reaching for the chain-axe dangling from his hip, "I come here for experts and what do I get?” He said to no-one in particular.

---

---

@Andreyich@BangoSkank

Daniel had been right...perhaps too right.

Nithin Michalis made a small shudder of his own as his gun-cutter entered the atmosphere of Escalon Seven, his pallid visage unable to be seen within the thick black folds of his habit and cowl, two milky white orbs nevertheless scanning the interior of the shuttle as if they possessed fully functioning sight – much to the unease of those sighted individuals flying the machine.

“We are nearly there, Cenobite Father,” the older (and therefore less squeamish of the pilots) informed him in a steady voice, “estimated we shall arrive in ten minutes.”

Father Michalis raised one hand wearily and dismissed the man, bored with him already, having scanned the minds of both he and his younger companion as soon as they had arrived in his hermitage; both were more-than-loyal servants of the God-Emperor, their faith resolute, and that was really all the good Father needed to know...though he had found out everything anyway.

It had been a week now since he left his station, a small one-man hermitage on a backwater Imperial planet, Abbot Gerrit Ahti sending him a transmission not a day before.

Why then had he been chosen? Well it was quite simple, apart from being a firm member of the Adeptus Ministorum, he was also a psyker of some considerable talents. Not for nothing was his nickname 'the scourge', his exploits well known to his more doubting brethren, men and women who hated him simply for the curse of being born as he was – blind, and yet with a greater clarity of sight than any of them.

“We're here, venerable one.”

The cutter landed on a small outcrop not too far from the ramshackle settlement, the hundreds of minds already opening up to the unseeing holy man, and some not so much...

Quarter of an hour later, and in full view of any that may be watching, he – swaddled in the thick folds of his robes, moving with all the grace of a wraith – moved down the ramp and into the open.

“I shall go alone from here,” he urged the pilots, “remain here until my return.”

Unknown to him – as of yet – Horatio and his entourage had landed on one of the official docking platforms and were already making their way into the small town.

There was a pariah up for grabs, and more, but the question was who would get to him first?

As Daniel bumped into the Ratling making him spill his drink, his arms instinctively flew forward to catch the falling beer for him to lap up greedily from his hands. The Ratling spoke, and Daniel shook his head as he looked for the speaker, failed to find him, looked down, and at last located him. He wiped sweat from his eyes before he squinted at Roald, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then opened his eyes wide. "'ere, you're a damn short one." He remarked matter-of-factly, his tired state pushing most manners out of his arse.

"I need to find the Rogue Trader 'cos I got no soul, I thinks anyway." He said, eyes quite suddenly widening once more as survival instinct caused havoc in his brain, telling weariness to take a metaphorical break. "I'm an unscrupulous worker so me ma'am says, I'll do the dirty business he needs done which I hope will get me some real pay, honest work be damned." He explained, the deflection coming quite naturally to him. "You looking for work too?" Daniel asked with an upraised eyebrow, changing the subject. "If ya don't mind me asking, you an abhuman or just really bleeding short?" The words were added almost right after the question to further the impression of the blank being "thick."

At the same time, Daniel was aware that one party was looking for him, most likely one of the Commissars of the vessel he had come from and some angry armsmen. While not as frightening as the other party looking for him with nefarious intent, it still meant he had to stay on his toes and find the Rogue Trader. As such, while he spoke he made sure to keep walking and leading Roald along with him. In the distance, Daniel saw landing craft descending outside of the borders of the town, and that was where he was leading Roald so as to be closer to his theoretical salvation. The fact he was walking right towards a nightmare did not quite cross his mind, until he noticed the official docking platform.

"Maybe one of these flyers is our man?" he wondered out loud.

Karl was rather shocked at the sudden attention aimed towards him by his Lord Drake but it was not uncommon for the rogue trader to interact with individuals he recognized as fellow warriors and loyal followers. He rapped the polished chest plate of his cuirass and then asked the veteran guardsman a rhetorical question regarding his safety in the planet below. "That is a given, my Lord Drake. My blade and my life are at your disposal." He answered the man with wholehearted truth, in his service to his Lord Drake he will also indirectly serve the God-Emperor of mankind. Lives were the currency of the Emperor, and Karl was not willing to squander his. He was unsure if Lord Drake had heard his answer, but he followed him into the shuttle.

A cold sweat had formed on the brow of the former guardsman when he had taken a seat in the landing craft. Fear was something he was not allowed to show when he was in the guard. A sign of fear would have meant disciplinary action from their commissar and possibly a summary execution to make an example of the 'cowardly' guardsman. His face remained stoic and calm underneath the visored sallet, though the amount of sweat dripping down his face told another story. In Yairus Prime, the Valkyrie drop ship he was on was attacked by stormboyz and was forced to perform a crash landing. He didn't fare any better in Molov, the Tetrarch heavy lander his regiment boarded sustained critical damage from heretical anti-air batteries and crashed into the icy surface of the planet. Hundreds upon hundreds of lives were lost in the initial crash and hundreds more when chaos mutants came to prey upon them.

It was a safe assumption that flying was something Karl found extremely uncomfortable. Each shudder of the lander he gripped his harness a little tighter, as if expecting the warning klaxons to go off. But they never did, soon the shuttle landed and opened and displayed the acrid landscape of the planet. His lord was the first to leave the craft and expressed his dissatisfaction with the state of the planet. Doing his best to unbuckle his safety harnesses, he quickly follows Drake outside of the landing craft. Quietly thanking the Emperor that it was a rather uneventful landing.

Kharon's current situation in Nab's Holdout wasn't ideal, to say the least. His venture into the Kronus Expanse in search for xeno-tech to bring back to Stygies VIII and further the xenarite cause had been a resounding failure, stripping the Magos of what few resources he had managed to scrap together, due to a combination of losses to attacks from both xeno, and human, pirates and to the depredation of corrupt bureaucrats and other such individuals that characterised a vast majority of Imperial governance throughout the Imperium, and leaving him stranded in Escalon Seven, where Kharon had seen himself forced to repair the settlements machinery to sustain himself while he looked for an opportunity with which to salvage his disastrous endeavour.

And such an opportunity had seemingly manifested itself, as if by providence of the Omnissiah itself. Despite his present situation, Kharon was still a magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus and, as such, information still reached his ears both through rumours and unprotected data-transmissions. Which is how he had managed to hear about the arrival of the Golden Aquila to Escalon Seven's atmosphere, a vessel that, based on its schematics, belonged to a Rogue Trader if Kharon's estimations were correct. Still, Rogue Trader or not, the arrival of the Aquila presented the Magos with an opportunity with which to leave Nab's Holdout and, if necessary, eventually return to Stygies VIII, which was precisely why the magos now stood in front of the landing site amidst a very small crowd of people who had seen, or known, about the landing shuttle and had headed towards the area where they knew the small vessel would touch down. The reaction from, who he guessed was, the owner of the Aquila wasn't unexpected, given the reputation that Nab's Holdout had, but, even so, the fact that the man was clearly reaching for a weapon was something that wouldn't stand.

"Peace my lord, none here wishes you harm." Kharon said while making his way to the front of the gathered group, knowing full well that, given the chance, more than quite a few of the gathered individuals would be more than happy to hurt the occupants of the landing vessel for any riches that they might have. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Nab's Holdout." The magos said, raising his mechanical hands to make the sign of the aquila in, what he hoped was, a placating gesture.

Lazarus had always found Horatio's friendliness and camaraderie a fresh, if ultimately irrelevant, change of pace from the usual spic-and-span, overly formal nature of the Imperial Navy, and upper-class Imperial society at large. Lazarus also found Horatio's courtesy to the common folk of the vessel a peculiarity as well, noting it when Drake directly addressed the armsman Karl. As the shuttle drifted down to the planet, Lazarus made a mental watch to keep an eye on this armsman, finding that if Horatio would acknowledge such a man, he must be important enough to regard as an asset.

When the shuttle landed, Lazarus quickly disembarked alongside Drake and the armsmen...and was very much unimpressed with what he saw as he did so.

The squalor of the...he couldn't even bring himself to call it a settlement, was astounding. Most of the habs were simple structures barely fit to house a grox, the smell was appalling, and the majority of the residents they could see looked like they hadn't held more than a single throne gelt in their entire lives. Lazarus reached into his coat and thumbed the holster of his autopistol as Drake reached for his chain-axe. Horatio's disappointment was very noticeable in his tone of voice, and Lazarus wasted no time in making his own thoughts known. "It would seem, my lord, that whatever informant you received the information about this place from was greatly exaggerating."

As he finished speaking, a person garbed in the red flowing robes of the Adeptus Mechanicus would come approaching from the crowd, seeking to appease Lord Drake with kind words and the sign of the Aquila. Lazarus carefully withdraw his hand from the autopistol under his coat, instead clasping it together with his other hand behind his back, eying the newcomer carefully, and awaiting what would happen next.

Roald smiled, the lad was headed the same way as he. Toward adventure, booze, women, hopefully a generous fortune, albeit for a better and more pressing reason. "No soul huh, folk have said the same about me." he replied, though the kid did have that look about him. Didn't seem to be a jest for Daniel as it was for him.

Roald didn't have too much trouble keeping pace with the lad, he was used to moving quick from scouting about, but he did find it difficult to keep up with the full sized youth who set a proper pace while also keeping his drink divided between his glass and his belly. While the lad explained a bit about himself and his situation Roald dealt with the pressing matter of that drink.

Belching after downing it rather quickly he replied, "Unscrupulous, dirty, soulless, in search o' real money an' dishonest work. Pleasure ta make your acquaintance an' you was right on all accounts. I'm lookin' for work, I'm a abhuman, and one a them flyers is surely ours."

The lad is almost too big for it but Roald moves to grab a hold of the lad who was leading and pull him just off toward an alley as they continue on. Daniel could resist easily if he'd a notion to but as Roald continues on, assuming the lad followed mostly of his own volition, he explains between robust burps.

"Skies been busy of late, docks are sure to be full an' flowin' through with folk," he peeks around corners, continuing to speak to the lad who is hopefully with him, "If'n you really ain't got no soul we should stick together. Word gets 'round fast out here. Lot of low folk like me heard about the Traders comin' into town. Folk might be lookin' for ya, shouldn't be lookin' for me but if they see me I might be in a spot. Got duties here I ain't real keen on seeing to, ya hear me lad?"

@Searat@ReedeThe23rd@Mortarion

"It would seem, my lord, that whatever informant you received the information about this place from was greatly exaggerating."

Drake was about to readily agree with his chief chirurgeon, his brows a tad furrowed as he surveyed both the ragged state of the gathering crowd and the equally lamentable view that was Nab's Holdout – this was until the servant of the Omnissiah pushed through the crowd and presented himself without hesitation.

"Peace my lord, none here wishes you harm." Stated the odd creature, forming the sign of the Aquila and thus immediately gaining some manner of trust from the Rogue Trader, "let me be the first to welcome you to Nab's Holdout."

A thin smile creased the nobles aristocratic features as he gave a curt nod to the half-man – the expression centred about his lips and not even reaching his eyes – letting go of his axe, which dangled from the leather thong about his wrist, long enough to connect his hands together in the sign of the cog.

“My gratitude,” he was unsure with what rank to address the Mechanicus servant, and so forged ahead without worrying about such quibbles, “what brings you to me, my Martian friend?” As an afterthought he gestured to the slender man nearby, “this is my chief medical officer, Lazarus, by-the-by.”

He had not been making idle conversation, only half his mind on talking, the other making note of those gathering around them in a semi-circle. Unsavoury, rough-and-ready, exactly the sort that would slit their throats and take all they had if given half the chance...he did hope that Karl was making a note of the very same.

---

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@BangoSkank@Andreyich

I will find you.

Nithin shuffled through the street of the Holdout almost at will, those that may have sought to claim his life wisely thinking better of it once they saw him. Those that were either too stupid or arguably too brave to use such common sense were turned aside, as if by their own mind, and went to do something else.

Some may wonder how one located a Pariah, especially if one were a psyker and therefore adverse to them, but it was a pretty simple procedure – you simply followed the trail of ruffled minds, most blanks causing irrational fear or irritation to those near enough to them to be affected, and slowly-but-surely the cloaked cenobite would close in.

Yes, there...something was bubbling below the surface...

He had to get closer.

Exaggerating would be an understatement to the description of the settlement, even the smallest of towns in his home world of Iothea shines brightly in comparison to the settlement. Though Karl was not here to judge the state of the settlements in the planet, he was here to keep his lord from danger. May it be xeno or heretic, those who would endanger his lord will have a taste of his steel or the fury of his lasgun. His lord was speaking with a man from the Adeptus Mechanicus, strange folk that slightly unnerved Karl. He knew their devotion to the Emperor was undeniably stalwart...but how could he fully trust a man who was mostly machine? Though if his lord would trust the magos, he too shall see the man as someone worthy of his trust.

Sadly he could not say the same for the rest of those gathering around the shuttle. These men and women were servants of the Emperor, though he wouldn't be surprised if they would rob a man for a hand-full of Imperial Credits. They lacked the honor and dignity that he and his lord had. Laying a gloved had atop the pommel of his long sword, Karl quietly scanned the group. He observed and inspected for even the slightest amount of aggression aimed towards his lord and his company. A gleam of a sharpened knife. The dark colors of a gun. A clenched fist. Even a scowl.

If they were so brazen to do so, Karl would make sure that it would be the last mistake of their lives.

"Haha, you're a funny one!" Daniel remarked at the halfling's words, for now making sure that what was said by both parties was interpreted as a form of jest. He walked firmly onwards, letting in just a shred of cautious optimism to his stride, expression and mind.

The shipman was just about to speak before Roald pulled him into an alley. He was mildly startled, then confused, and then at last annoyed but as he listened his mollified. It seemed the Ratling really had managed to pin down his words about his soul, or rather lack thereof and latched onto them. Daniel briefly considered dismissal and denial, but thought better of it. The halfling didn't seem too bad a sort, and if he was a ploy to lure him into the hands of someone that desired a blank for their own devices nefarious, then resisting now probably would not get him too far anyway. Thus, with no better alternative he kept on with Roald. "Alright then. Me name's Daniel." The lad raised his eyebrows to indicate that this was a prompt for Roald to reply with his own name. Once he hypothetically received it, he would continue. "Alright then, you seem likes you got more brains than me, what do you suggest we do?"

The lad asked the question with quite sincere anxiety, the Ratling's speech somewhat chilling his hopes for the near future. As if from nowhere he drew his stub-pistol, taking off the safety. "I got me this to fight off any bastards what might come after me. I'm a fast shot and draw, even if not a very good one. I can keep off the worries of this cuttthroat world for a little, but I need to get to the Rogue Trader, and get to him fast. Together we'll have a better chance, right? So what do you say we do, where do we go, which of the flyers do we check?"

"Roald," the Ratling introduced himself to the lad, Daniel, and stuck his hand up to shake while looking around.

Happily the lad was still with him, Roald figured they'd both have a greater chance of finding and being accepted by the Rogue Trader group together. Numbers were less suspicious, a big group was easier to trust than a small one but a small group was still drastically less suspicious than a lone recruit.

"Brains're the thing lad," he said formulating a simple but executable plan. Turning back he saw Daniel had a gun and learned he wasn't too afraid to use it. The lad was ready to go, which was a damn good thing to be right about now. It was hard to guess how well Daniel moved but he at least had the will to move.

"Here's what we're gonna do," he leaned in to Daniel and explained his plan. A simple plan really. They'd start from the outside and move in checking out the ships. It would be hard to tell for sure which ship was a Rogue Trader and they would have to be careful not to draw attention from anyone on board the ships, but they could both blend in pretty well. Some of the ships could be counted out pretty quickly, clearly military or clearly enormous shipping vessels. If they moved quickly between the remaining ships they could hopefully find the Traders before they themselves were found.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Lazarus." Kharon said, bowing his head slightly in the direction of the slender man that the Rogue Trader had identified as the chief medical officer of the vessel. "As for an answer to your question my lord." The magos said, pausing for a brief second before continuing on. "What brings me to you is what I'm sure brings most people towards a Rogue Trader such as yourself. That is to say, I'm in search of new horizons and the opportunities that they bring." Kharon continued on, moving closer towards Drake at a slow pace so as to not arouse any undue suspicions regarding his intentions. The fact that the rest of the Rogue Trader's retinue had kept their hands close to their weapons hadn't escaped his attention, and he couldn't truly blame them given their present situation but, still, the fact that they were expecting trouble at any second wouldn't help him in his goal of striking a bargain with Drake.

"Perhaps it would be wise to move this discussion to another place my lord?" Kharon offered to Drake. "Your retinue is welcome to come with us as well if you so wish." He added, hoping that would win him some trust with the noble. "I do not know about you, but I would prefer any further discussions to take place somewhere where we might not be disturbed by inopportune meddlers." He said, turning his back to the Rogue Trader briefly to glance at the gathered crowd of lowlifes his mechanical eyes glinting with green light. While he had come with no weapon in hand, aside from his mechadendrites, he hoped that his rank as a Magos and the long time that he had spent in Nab's Holdout would be enough to intimidate some of those gathered in the crowd enough to prevent them from doing something foolish.

@Searat@ReedeThe23rd@Mortarion

Drake listened and watched the magos with the keen interest of someone who, while maybe not all that bright in the broadest sense of the word, was nevertheless the offspring of a Rogue Trader Dynasty – and therefore utterly enraptured by the new, the unusual and the out-of-place.

"Perhaps it would be wise to move this discussion to another place my lord?" Kharon offered to Drake.

"Your retinue is welcome to come with us as well if you so wish." He added, hoping that would win him some trust with the noble. "I do not know about you, but I would prefer any further discussions to take place somewhere where we might not be disturbed by inopportune meddlers."

“Of course my retinue will accompany us,” gawked the Trader – as if such a statement was against the very laws of nature themselves - “I would not leave them here!” He said, giving both Lazarus and Karl an overacted roll of his eyes. He was sure that Kharon would see it, but he simply did not care, it appeared that the Martian needed his help, and he would do anything he Emperor-damn liked.

The crowd about them certainly seemed to be moving with a life of its own, surely moments away from exploding into some sort of violence; the 'prize' of Imperial armour and weapons, as well as a Rogue Trader hostage, clearly worth more to some of those present than their lives.

“Lead on then, magos...” as soon as the group was in motion, a gesture from Drake causing the retinue to form a hollow square about himself, Lazarus and the Martian, he leant a little closer to the robed figure – more than aware of the mechadendrites, and not altogether comfortable with them either – before half whispering, “I take it you know somewhere safe, yes?”

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@BangoSkank@Andreyich

“Where aaaaare you...”

If the voice reaching them from nearby did not cause some consternation within the minds of Roald and Daniel, well, then they were not nearly frightened enough!

It was a voice that bought with it, by its tone alone, a promise of pain and suffering inflicted on those that would not submit to the whim of the speaker...and it was coming their way.

“Come out and we can settle this like men, but run or flee and I will not be so lenient.”

While his lord spoke to the machine man, his gaze was fixed upon the crowd of locals. Karl could feel the uneasy atmosphere as the locals eyed his lord, his retinue, and the lander with greed. Attacking their superiors was something Karl was not expecting the crowd of locals to do, but not held it above them. Taking a quick glance to Drake, he sees the man offer him and Lazarus an overly exaggerated roll of the eyes when the magos asked. He nods to show understanding before looking back at the crowd that was steadily getting more restless by the moment. Most times he would humor his lord with a smile of acknowledgement, but considering his visored sallet, Karl was unsure if Drake could see the serious look he was giving to the crowd.

They then began moving to where the machine man was taking them. The armsmen took position to form a protective box to shield the lord and the others from the crowd of locals. He was positioned at his lord's left side. Maintaining a good distance of 5 feet from his lord, Lazarus and the martian. He cast each individual a hard but analyzing glare as they passed through the parting crowd. For the most part, majority of the locals were smart enough to value their life. Though, sadly, it cannot be said for others present. Karl saw a large and unsavory fellow return his hardened gaze before reaching into his coat. Time seemed to slow as he saw the brute draw out a large stub revolver.

Though before the man could even draw out the gun completely from it's holster, a glint of white flashed briefly as Karl drew his long sword and in an instant the man was relieved of both weapon and arm from the elbow downwards. As the man fell to his knees, screaming his throat raw as his bloodied stump of an arm continued to spill forth copious amounts of his life blood, Karl announced an open threat to any more would be attackers in the crowd unwise enough to act upon the urge. "First and final warning. Let it be known that any weapons brandished against Lord Drake or his retinue, will be met with deadly force." As if do drive the point through, the wounded attacker slumps to the ground with a dull thud, dead from shock, moments after the veteran guardsman finishes his warning.