“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?"
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?"
