POOHEAD189

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt found he quite enjoyed the ride along the estate. Despite the occasional jumping of his steed, he felt confident in the saddle. Perhaps he really was getting used to being a rider. Before his heroic escapades in saving the duke, he could count the amount of times he had mounted a horse on one hand. Silke was a good teacher, slowing when he needed and speeding up to challenge him. Galt was nimble enough to be a fine rider, but it was hard trusting someone not himself. Somehow with Silke it came naturally, but with a beast it wasn't a sure thing to his eyes.

They really had grown up in different worlds. He felt the scenery was beautiful and undeniably alluring to something primal, something deep within him. And yet, every copse of trees or every tangle of bushes did not seem something to marvel at, but a potential hiding spot for either him or some unseen assassin. He knew it was a useless worry in such a well-manicured landscape, but old habits died hard. In fact, he believed the last time he was on a horse in the woods, it had been when he was fleeing for his life. He had an intrusive thought that, if he had never saved the Duke, he could be out in any of these bushes right now, and if Silke spotted him she would cry out and call for the rangers. He did not know why exactly he would be in this estate, but it crept into his thoughts periodically as he rode.

He felt more serenity when they came upon the lake, as if breaking the spell cast upon him by his more cautious self. He felt his horse snicker, the steed shaking its head gently. He wondered if the beast was thirsty, but he wasn't confident enough to guide it to the water.

"The rain?" He asked, turning his gaze upwards. The picturesque sky was certainly downcast. Perhaps it would rain. The ex-thief was surprised she was asking him, and he could tell she was doing so for his true opinion rather than simply being polite. He trusted her judgement in this more, but he would provide his thoughts if she wanted. "Hmmmm, I guess we can..." He trailed off, wondering if it was a real consideration. After a moment, he continued. "Maybe we can go to the cabins and wait out the rain? It would give me a chance to see it and it would grant us and the horses shelter. If it lasts too long, we can always just ride back in the downpour and I can take the blame."

He gave the last sentiment with a grin, and he hoped it did sound as logical to her as it did to he. Briefly he saw an almost romantic scene of the two of them, alone in the cabin and watching the gentle rain patter across the leaves. He doubted that would turn into anything beyond a simple monotonous wait, but it was still just compelling enough to entice him into being confident of his opinion. Of course, if she said it was perhaps not the best idea, he would listen and go with her lead regardless.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

"Yeah, they did a background check, and they found issues." Dirk added, drawing a look from Jocasta. Valgrane let the statement go by, but decided it more prudent to interrupt before Jocasta and Dirk had a verbal sparring match.

"As I was explaining to your associate, we have two million credits each for a simple job. No need to captured him. It's just a kill mission." He said, letting the requirement sink in. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a holo-slate, sliding it to the center of the table. He pressed a single button at the bottom of the device, and a holographic image erupted from the screen. Hundreds of thousands of light tendrils formed to create the likeness of a slight man with sharp features, a small scar on his nose and deep, sunken eyes. It was hard to appraise his age, but he seemed around thirty to forty standard years.

"This is Voldargu 'Vol' Hyrakeraen. A petty thug who has.... insulted my master."

"Phyraelon Deadstar," Dirk said, letting Jocasta hear the name. He didn't look her way to gauge her reaction, but if she knew anything of the urban legends she would be intrigued.

"Correct. If you accept the commission, I'll place the coordinates in your datasheets, but I can tell you the planet is Tarsus." The aide said, referring to a world of with an atmosphere comprised of more than 96 percent carbon dioxide, with molecular nitrogen and other lesser gases summing up the rest. Dirk knew this because he had gone hunting on the planet twice before. You couldn't go out on the surface. Tarsus's population were house in what the locals called 'Spires.' Great towers that breached the clouds, with the tops spreading out into large domed plateaus where the wealthy lived. Other platforms reached out all across the tower's length, but they were smaller and less regulated, and certainly less sanitized. "If you accept, I am granted to give you each five hundred thousand credits now, with the rest being provided when you offer proof the job is completed."

"And if we were to take the money and run?" Jocasta asked, a smile on her lips.

"Then I'm afraid, I would need to turn this unofficial contract into a guild problem." He reasoned, and Dirk knew that while it would be his reputation on the line, Jocasta would not be safe from reprisal.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I reassured Emmaline with my mind. Not out of any sort of force of will. I likely couldn't have done that if I genuinely tried, but I assured her we wouldn't be here long. We ascended two levels, my estimation being that moving in the center of the manufactora would save us time. Untold amounts of liquid metal poured from rockcrete ladles into crucibles, water drawn through clever piping quenched the steel, sending superheated steam into the air and making the entire, vast facility feel like the ancient terran idea of hell. Faceless men and women in heat-resistant masks worked with a tirelessness borne out of need.

Varying gangways led to platforms for workers to occupy, some guiding the ladles, others cutting and spooning the steel to make pipes, others bundled steel, and it seemed the workers both hot rolled and cold rolled their product here. Efficient. I made a show of approaching one of the platforms to watch more closely, my eyes flicking between the four workmen's exposed necks, but finding no sign of any tattoo.

One saw me and regarded me through his visor, and I could tell he was going to tell me to piss off until he eyed the Arbites standing behind me, as well as the retinue. I supposed Ortega's presence was good for something. I walked back, a thoughtful expression on my face. "Nice work. I'll need to examine most of the sections on this floor to maintain accuracy, however."

Arbitrator Ortega grunted, falling back into the usual mood of remaining silent from the dull routine and likely griping later to his fellows. I waved Emmaline over, and she approached, trying not to flinch from a sudden uproar of steam a few meters from our position.

"Do you remember the exact tattoos from Havenos?" I asked her quietly. "The tribal tattoos?"

"Yes," She said after a moment.

"Good. We cannot afford to make a mistake here. Take the four bully boys and go below." I ordered, glancing down through the small rivulets in the walkway. "Even if Ortega insists we stay together, do not stop. We need to find these men. Try not to draw more attention to yourself than you have to, and be careful."

"Alright," she agreed. Had Ortega not been watching, I would have kissed her. I merely stood as she made a show of sashaying away, gesturing for the four men of the Caledonia to follow. She had reached the stairs when the Adeptus Arbites stepped forward.

"Where is she going?" He asked, a harshness to his tone.

"She is just as fully capable of checking the stock as I am. I merely wish for her to examine the lower levels where they twist the iron. It will not be a problem." I assured him, and turned to stride down the gangway before the Arbitrator could formulate a rebuttal or response.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I had been on outings before where I had pretended to pay and told my date to wait for me outside, and then I slipped out as best I could. Regrettably, this would not be one of those occasions. Luckily I had taken a handful of the one hundred thousand gold pieces gifted to the triumverate for myself. I called it a tithe for my services, and no one would be any the wiser, regardless. Still, I wouldn't profess that to Camilla. Better to let her think I was a man of means.

"It's too bad none of them have commented on your thrilling ability to make a brettonian run away," I said, teasing her back. I laughed melodiously. "A musician? Well I can play the lyre a bit, and I daresay I'm a good singer, but I wouldn't call myself a musician, no."

"Well Riekland is actually quite pretty. You might wish to visit it one day," I said by way of stalling. I considered her question thoughtfully, wondering how to begin. I was not going to lie, but I lived so much in the moment, it was difficult of me doing so without turning it into a quip. "I've always been fascinated by knowledge, particularly ancient knowledge. I was raised by the church, actually. But I did not wish to be in its shadow forever. I was impetuous in my youth and traveled a fair bit. I've seen most of the imperial provinces, though I skipped Hochland and Stirland, unfortunately. I've seen the Grey Mountains, realm of Estalia, Brettonian, and the famous Blackfire Pass. But I decided to go to one of the more famous universities outside of the Empire, and so I came to Pavona. I was hoping my degree would help me return to the Empire and gain me entry into the Imperial Colleges of magic, but apparently my travels, studies, and degree amounted to very little to the greybeards. I found myself without connections or prospects, save the Church of Sigmar, and so I pledged myself to its service. I suppose it was meant to be, and to be fair I've done well for myself. The study of a God is much like the study of arcane forces, and I feel like it's a good inhibitor to my less desirable traits. I am actually grateful to the organization and lifestyle as a whole, save for a few hiccups here or there-" The waiter placed the porcelain plates down before us. The breaded chicken was soft and satisfyingly hot, with cheese that swam from every poke of the fork and sauce that snatched at one's tastebuds. Camilla had brought us to a very fine establishment, indeed.

"And for my good work they saw fit to reward me with escorting the chamberlain." I finished, finally adding a small white lie. I felt a twinge of regret, but I wanted to convince myself, really, and what better way than by doing so here?

Also, I wish to record that champagne with spiced chicken is amazing.

I gesticulated with my fork as I dined. I did not stare or try and snatch glances. I looked at her only when the conversation made it amiable, but I enjoyed every second of it. She really was beautiful, and call me a romantic but my (stolen) flower in her hair did make me feel quite nice. In a way only a man can really feel, I think. "So long story short, I walked a lot of places, failed to join a school, and fell back into a stable job... Did I tell it well or would it be better to maintain some mystery next time?" I asked slyly.

"And I have a feeling you've got a story too. I advise you tell me now before the champagne sets in." To articulate the point I drained my glass with one dip and refilled it myself.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"That was on purpose, Arbitrator Ortega." I remarked, eyeing the pict screens for any sign of useful information beyond slogans. I was greeted with an advertisement for Adrastus Stimms, no doubt a must-have for the laborers of the district and the work that ruins their bodies by a mere 40 standard terran years. It flickered in an out for a moment, switching to a slogan for High Paradise, a pleasure hab. A girl gyrated against a broken crease in the pict screen before fading away to another Marcello Collective showcase. I spied the manufactora and the poor souls filtering in and out of it, as if that would tell me something. I expected to be here for some days, extending the three day lease through some excuse or passing of payments. "My masters are quite careful, and they expect the same manner of discretion from myself."

"Well I do need to know where we are to stop next." Ortega replied stiffly.

"Stop here," I ordered. For a moment I thought I had used my will, so quickly did the Arbites oblige my command. Horns from ground cars blared and swerved as we immediately turned into a small area cordoned off to park. Emmaline nearly bumped into the seat in front of her. The ground car behind us followed suit. The grey rain had transformed into a small drizzle.

"Out of curiosity, do you know where we are?" He asked me.

"Manufactora XLII-C. This hab block is utilized for the production of Chromium Steel." I had taken the liberty of memorizing the symbols of the hives of Gravemire. Above the yawning doors was the carven numeral figure. "The materials of which is of great interest to my employer." I opened the car door, taking off my gloves and placing them in my jacket, an innocuous gesture, but I was doing it so I might better grip my autogun.

What is it? Emmaline asked me within a short mindlink.

I saw one, I said. I sent her an image of what I implied rather than transferring the information in what one might call a dialogue. In her mind she would see a man amidst the crowd marching into the manufactora. His skin mottled and browned from the sun, his gait undulating, his eyes scanning back and forth. A small tattoo on his neck, a mark I had only seen once before, less than two months ago on Havenos. If I was not mistaken, I had just spotted a tribesman of the Son's of The Fen. The tattoo even looked made of the red ochre they had utilized on-world.

Emmaline eyed me, and then spun to the Arbitrator who was just getting out of the vehicle, shockmaul in easy reach at his side. She regarded him with a chill gaze. "Is there an alternate entrance to the facility? We would like to be discreet and see the product without much interference due to our presence." She inquired. Ortega hesitated, and both of us could sense a small inkling of suspicion behind the iron wall he called a mind, and acquiesced.

"This way," he bade.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

"You pick the dishes," Camilla insisted.

"If I pick the dishes, then you pick the drinks." I countered.

"Champagne," Camilla told Giovanni Caprese, who congratulated her on a fine choice. He turned to me expectantly, keeping me on a quick timetable. It was lucky for me I had smelled something delightful on the way in, and it gave me the idea.

"Chicken Parmigiana," I told him, twirling my finger until I added. "Crisped."

"Molto bene!" Giovanni Caprese said, giving a slight bow to us. "It is delightful to have such a beautiful couple here tonight. Your drinks will be out shortly."

As he faded away into the crowd, my eyes wandered out of the veranda and to the causeway curling into the bosom of Remas. The crowd's mingling chats was a constant bubbling of sound, littered with laughter. Out in the streets a dog barked in the distance as men sang. It was good to be back in Tilea. My gaze had only been gone for a moment, and I turned back to Camilla and cleared my throat. She turned to look at me, and I produced a rose. She gave a delighted laugh, but her eyes searched amongst the flowers for other roses. I smiled before she asked: "Where did you get this?"

"I stole it from the table over there." I admitted. I felt it would be put to better use by me than an empty table, and thankfully she took it. As I leaned back, a bottle of champagne was placed between us with two curvaceous glasses set down. The waiter poured each of us a generous cup and left the bottle to use at our leisure. I took my glass in my hand. "I imagine you must get many flowers and dinners. I'm afraid I likely won't stand out a great bit amongst your suitors, but I hope you don't blame me for trying."

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

"Good suggestion," I said absently, still trying to process what had just happened. Of course, it was just my luck that there was a Brettonian dignitary at court when I made the small jibe, and someone must have heard Schulz speech in reikspiel and mine in Tilean and had informed the man. That I could predict. However, I had never had a beautiful woman stand up for me before. Usually it was the opposite, and I found it quite intriguing.

Before we left, I suggested we change clothes. I was in my travel attire, and found my overly large closet could accommodate both men and woman searching for clothing to wear at court. I insisted we put on something more appropriate for an outing. For my part, I found dark, well pressed trousers, a white button down, and a fashionable silk jacket of midnight blue, like my eyes. I still carried my staff, however. A close observer from the procession earlier in the day might recognize it, but it was no guarantee and I used it for self defense, as well as a mark of my station if we are stopped at the gate and wishing to return.

Once Camilla donned her own apparel, we left my rooms and found ourselves stepping outside, going through a small, lesser used path through the gardens to reach the streets beyond the gates. The gardens were large and filled with foliage one would never see in the northern forests past the grey mountains. oxwood trees, Tilean cypress trees, laurel, yew, rosemary, and junipers, accompanied by a myriad of flowers from across the old world. I always appreciated natural beauty, and I marked the spot for later so I might come an enjoy it when I was less busy with a woman.

Camilla and I had just made it to the arch that led out of the garden when a giant stepped into view and blocked our path. Ok, I embellish. He wasn't a giant like in my native homeland. He was merely a large man, black bearded with oafish features and a barrel chest I nearly bumped into. In his belt was a pistol and an axe that I doubt I could wield even two handed.

"Excuse me, signor. The lady and I were merely going out to enjoy the night life," I assured him, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. I sighed when two other men appeared at our flanks. They weren't as large, but they were armed with sideswords and appraised us wearing grim faces. Sigmar, why do you test me so?

"You have insulted Marco Telli, the greatest of Reman princes, and made an enemy of Guy Du Ponce. I am here to rectify that and inform you such slights are not to be ignored in this city." He growled in Tilean. It was amazing how the language sounded so sensual when it came from Camilla yet so uncouth from this ugly ogre. I guided Camilla behind me, unwilling to not take responsibility for my own transgressions, as unfair as it was. "Come with us and beg your forgiveness before Prince Telli, and offer him your services during your stay here."

"And the girl?" I asked.

"We would take care of her. She would be in good hands." He said, smiling wickedly. I looked at Camilla, and then back at the large man. He saw me hesitate, and said: "I would take take this offer, if I were you."

"If you were me, you would be far better looking."

Camilla chortled, and the large man suddenly grabbed me by my jacket collar and fully lifted me a foot off the pebble-strewn garden floor. I had to open my big mouth, as usual, I thought. I should have looked for more potential exits beyond physical contact, but I do have somewhat of an ego. Anyway, so close were we now, I couldn't even get my staff in line to strike. I felt his hot, putrid breath billow over me and I almost retched. He glared at me, tightening his grip. "Wrong move, pretty man."

"I apologize. Sometimes I ge-" Midway through my fake apology, my head snapped forward. I felt more than heard a crunch as the big man's nose broke instantly. He grunted in surprise and pain, loosening his grip on me. I kneed him in the groin and he dropped me entirely. Landing nimbly, I spun my staff in two hands and stabbed the butt end of the staff into his stomach, doubling him over. In the same fluid movement, I redirected my staff to fly up and over and crash down onto the back of the man's head. He simply hadn't the breath or the time to defend himself, and luckily for me, the other two men were a bit too stunned their big friend had been dispatched in a matter of seconds to do anything meaningful in that short span of time. I used this lull in the potential battle to requisition the large tilean's pistol, cock the hammer and aim it in the direction of the two bravos.

"Well gentlemen, I'm certain you feel this is quite awkward for you. You have two choices. One, drop your swords and run, or two, fight and I promise by the light of Sigmar I will send you to hell." I told them, and they could hear it in my voice that I meant it. My casual manner had fled me, and I admit, I was fully prepared to end their lives.

"You only have one shot, signor." One reasoned after a heavy pause, gauging the distance between he and I with his eyes.

"You are right. I'll simply shoot the first one to step forward, and then I will duel the next one for the safety of my lady friend here. It would be rather poetic, wouldn't you say?" I let the question hang in the air, and behind me I heard a soft groan on the ground. I shoved my foot back, smacking the big one's head into the pebbles to keep him down. The two swordsmen were paused by both fear and pragmatism. Sure, perhaps one would survive and succeed, and sure, perhaps the pistol ball would not end one of their lives, or perhaps the pistol was not even loaded. But I could tell, after they weighed the options and placed into account my staff-work, that they considered the situation and found the potential benefits did not outweigh the risks. As one, they took off their sword belts and dropped their weapons, before walking further into the gardens away from Camilla and I.

When all was silent, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Now that is what I call a high stakes bluff! What a rush. Here my lady-" I flipped the pistol, catching it by the barrel and handing it to her. "-You may keep that as a souvenir, to adopt a brettonian word. Now, I believe we were going to dinner? I'm quite famished after that. Soldiers always say bloodletting grants an appetite and I find they're right on that account." I found it also made me quite in the mood to bed a woman, but I wouldn't announce that to her. It was very poor manners, after all.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

We were allowed to land in one of the more high-security docking areas of Hive Orcus, about midway down the upper hive. Those representing mercantile interests of any real size were granted the same respect as dignitaries or adeptus-arbites agents. I had Lazarus purposefully cloaked so as not to arouse suspicion, though if one were to ascertain he was an member of the adeptus mechanicus, he was merely here to check our stock make sure the mechanicus' interests were being seen to by my own fake business.

We were greeted by a administratum agent by the name of Vrandiun Ogodai, who seemed accommodating enough, and he seemed to have a notable interest in the swivel guns we had implemented onto the shuttle. Evidently Vrandium had been the son of a wealthy merchant himself, distributing crafts of that nature across the imperium. It would place his family fairly close to Sol and the naval families of Jupiter, though I did not recognize the familial name of Ogodai. After speaking some time about the shuttle in the anteroom, we were guided to a tram that led us to the lifts near the heat sink at the center.

Once we arrived, it had taken us three hours to descend from the upper spire, riding a succession of increasingly decrepit and rusted elevators reserved for authorized personnel. I had fed Vrandium a well crafted story on needing to see the assemblies in the mid-hive where the factorums were held. We were granted passes and access to all but the underhive and the tallest spire where the upper echelons were located. We had been given three days leave and a location in the mid-hive to stay and recoup when need be.

When we arrived, we were greeted by a member of the adeptus arbites. I was surprised. Local arbites are common enough, but a member of the adeptus were only there on special occasions, such as riots that could destroy the integrity of a hive city or an invasion of underhive mutants threatening to spill up into the mid-hive levels. The doors on the lift had barely opened before we were greeted by the fellow, a thickly muscled man with a brutish visage clad in carapace armor and a helm that hid his visage save for his square chin.

"Welcome to Hive Orcus, sir Deckard. I am officer Ortega." He said, and though I could not see his eyes, I could discern he was looking at my retinue, including the four men Urien had granted me. "I see you have come well prepared. Smart, but no need. I will see you are adequately protected as you go about your business."

"I wasn't aware we were in need of protection. This isn't the underhive." I said, allowing the confusion to show on my face. The very real emotion serving me well in this instance.

"True, and normally you would be right. We have had some problems with the gangers in the lower hab zones, and I was recently wounded. They sent me up here to be a... guide, and to keep you safe, just in case. Everything is under control."

Had I announced myself as an inquisitor, I could have the man before me tell me right now exactly what he was hiding from me. I know talk meant for the public when I hear it, but as it was, I merely inclined my head, and allowed him to lead on.

There's Always a Price: Sci Fi Bounty Hunters

Dirk had been in worse places. Barku's Teeth was a moderately successful dive that served anyone from thugs to businessmen to line workers ending their day at the hab block. Small scripts of bright text generated at the corner of his visor, analyzing the potential weaponry of every passerby that stumbled or sauntered across the floor. The smell of nox-sticks and alcohol permeated the dank air of the cantina, Dirk caring too little to seal off his helm's access to outside air. He heard the gasps and guffaws coming from the table over, where Jocasta marveled a crowd of nobodies on her exploits at the resort.

The armored bounty hunter glanced their way every so often, but otherwise ignored the spectacle. He was content with his liquor and the peace the deafening music brought. He wished he could say he got lost in the drink and the revelry, but Dirk never let his guard down. His gloved hand in easy reach of one of his DMX blasters. Before him, a blue-skinned Zerulian dancer gyrated against a table as men threw credit chips at her-half naked form while a table over two burly Hexanagallions grappled in an arm wrestling competition as men screamed for their chosen xenos to win.

To the right, a brawl suddenly broke out. Three four-eyed Xiclon's got in a scrap with two humans and an aquatic Falmorian, which spread to the table over when they capsized a game-table. The fighting was so fierce and the screaming so loud, Dirk could hear them even without modifying his helm to suppress other audio. In the din, someone drew an electro-baton, blue lightning crackling amongst the dark silhouettes of the bodies and flying in an arc that seared the eye. Dirk found the fight far more interesting than Jocasta's story, even if she was admittedly nice to look at. He lifted his visor up to the cusp of his nose and sipped his drink, and his entertainment was interrupted when a handsomely dressed man approached out of the crowd, taking a seat in front of Dirk even as the bouncers streamed by them and rushed to the fight.

Dirk didn't need his visor to tell him the man was unarmed. He moved both too casual and too skittish all at once, his smart suit too tight to hide anything above a quill-gun, and he seemed entirely uncomfortable being in such a locale. His hair was shaved on its left side and swept to fall over his pate on his right. On his right hand, two steel marks were embedded into his skin to signify both an allegiance to a space-trade guild and to provide a means of exchanging currency through a neural link.

"Are you, by chance, the acclaimed bounty hunter Dirk Crimson?" He asked with a posh accent. Dirk had a sense it wasn't the accent he grew up with, but one he had grown acclimated to from long hours practice. When Dirk didn't answer immediately, the man's eyes traveled to the table opposite them. "And I assume that is the spitfire, Jocasta Ap'Gwyn."

"I don't take freelance contracts any longer. I have an agreement with the guild." Dirk said.

"Would you friend have such scruples?" He pressured, but did not move to engage her. Dirk wasn't interested in playing games, and whoever this man was, he had no idea just how close Dirk was to gunning him down here and now for interrupting his night. After a long silence, the newcomer drew in a breath and continued. "That's too bad. We were prepared to pay you two million credits to find and kill a low-life vagabond. And another two when you return with proof of his demise. If half the things I've heard about you is true, it should be a walk on the parsec for you."

"Who are you?"

The man gave a tight lipped smile. "I am Bohemond Valgrayne, and I represent the interests of Phyraelon Deadstar. Have you heard of him?"

Dirk had. He was allegedly the head of a conglomerate of illicit goods, including but not limited to the trafficking of weapons, drugs, counterfeit identification chips, and even people. Evidently no one had ever seen his face, and some wondered if he even existed. The conglomerate operated in three systems and was rumored to have infiltrated varying levels of eighteen planetary governments. All of it was hearsay, but Dirk had known enough people who had made dealings with the Phyraelon Conglomerate to know there was at least some truth to it. That also meant that if he accepted a contract, it would be very discreet. Perhaps he could take a job from this man, even if technically it was not allowed per the rules. Dirk had enough sway with Volkovax to have the massive xenos forgive him, regardless.

Dirk touched a small receiver on his wrist, which caused Jocasta's datascreen to grind against her hip, indicating she wrap it up and join him.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

990M41
Planet Gravemire
To Inquistor Lord Moredecai

Hiveworlds.

The putrid and rotten husk of a comatose planet, riddled with sharp, dilapidated growths the shape of inverted icicles that pierced the clouds as if trying to escape the very world they crushed under their weight. Two hundred million souls of the emperor's children lived, worked, fucked, and died in each and every city. The manufacture of steel and silica within each city's industrial sectors kept the economic blood flowing, but it produced the same, most precious resource of every hive world: it's people. Brave men and women sent to fight and die on the front lines at every corner of known space, and 73% of them came from worlds such as these.

Gravemire was much like others of its kind. From my vantage point on the deck, I could see the great mountains of rockcrete and steel spiraling into the sky. Their size nagged at me, as if something so large couldn't be real. Each was accented by turrets and parapets and eroded by wind and time. On the monitor, the Caledonia prompted the planet's readings. The planet was mostly comprised of endless wastes of swamps of sulphur and liquid ammonia surfaced after its crust had eroded away from the toxic chemicals vomited out of the hives. The inhospitable landscape and the large, mutant beasts that had adapted to its environment made ground travel virtually impossible on the planet surface. The world looked a sickly ball of blue marred by dark pox-marks that offended the eye. I didn't like hives. I found them hot, asphyxiating, and confining. The fact the last hive I had entered had led to Kronus's death did not help matters, either.

I would make sure something of that nature did not happen again.

"We're being hailed on the Vox Caster. Hive Orcus has granted permission to dock." The sub-light navigator told Urien. He looked to me for confirmation, and then got his man to work. It was good to be back on the Caledonia, as guilty as I always felt administering it for my missions. Urien and anyone else would tell me I only do so for the good of the imperium, and the fact that they are right does not make it any easier.

"Am I going with you this time?" Urien asked in his brutal accent. I regarded him, and dismissed the notion after a thought.

"No, we'll be fine."

"If you won't take me, grab a few of my boys. They'll do well in a pinch." He leaned in and whispered. "They get restless on the ship sometimes. It would be good to let a few out to breathe some fresh air."

I almost snorted at the notion of a hive being fresh air, but I nodded my acquiescence. I knew they would follow my orders as if they came from Urien's mouth, and they were well known for their close combat capabilities. I told Urien to give me his four best and meet us at the hanger. My team was already assembled and awaiting me near the newly modified shuttle, courtesy of Lazarus (as well as a bit of my own handiwork).

Emmaline, Clara, Selencia, and Laxarus awaited me at the shuttle bay, their gear and clothes already packed. Lucius was in the altar room, ordered to keep calm and practice breathing exercises prescribed by Selencia at Emmaline's insistence. I deemed him too conspicuous to follow us into the hive, but to be ready for any time we would need his assistance. I hoped not to employ Urien and Lucius at all, but in the event of a complication, it was good knowing they had our backs. Behind me, four burly men of Caledonia strode up in their fatigues, each armed with curious, archaic cudgels with the arcane oghma symbols of Catoc writ across their lengths.

It was time to move.