POOHEAD189

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

"Nah, they're just not supposed to be lethal." He said, crouching down and resting his arms across his knees as he admired the underbelly of the Dragonfly. "Though they can be. Hell, it's what the crowd would rather have."

"If we're going to do this, don't go dying on me, cowboy." Jocasta said, cocking her hip and crossing her arms. Neil looked up at her.

"Too handsome to die?"

"Too expensive."

"Ah."

---

The ring was simply a colloquial term. The true arena was a hexagonal wall of reinforced steel and cryocrete and electromagnetic pillars that created a negative charge that cushioned the steel behemoths from hitting the walls with full force if they charged or were tossed out of bounds. Beyond the walls was a hyperfyber glass, bulletproof and impenetrable against shrapnel or small-yield explosives. The stadium around the ring could house ten thousand occupants, but the real crowd would be watching on the holovids. There were thirty million inhabitants of the Golden Girdle at any one time, however the numbers could fly as high as twice that during rush cycles. And these fights would be shown on every public holovid and on many private ones across one hundred thousand kilometers.

First thing was first. Neil and Jocasta needed two things. Firstly, they needed a Rekker, which meant a APC between 3 and 4 meters tall, and secondly, they needed a patron to back their bid, else Neil wouldn't go anywhere near the ring. Just as with everything, the rich and powerful had their toes in anything that could potentially make them more rich or powerful, and it also curbed their boredom. So every fighter was backed by a patron, and had a team that could acts as a spokesperson, a coach, and a medic in times of need. Neil felt Jocasta could serve each of those roles well enough. Hell, he probably only needed a spokesperson.

The Rekker was another thing entirely. Neil had taken all the gear and weapons off the deceased bounty hunters and with a few questions to the right people, located a place he could potentially sell them for some extra cash. Even the most optimistic outcome, however, would mean they were pretty short of a real Rekker. They might have to settle for a piece of junk and Neil's expertise until they won a few matches and could patch it up to win the big prize. Fifty thousand credits a pop for four rounds, with twenty five percent of the earnings going to the patron, and the fifth round was five hundred thousand credits, and an added two hundred thousand for the patron. However, the big bucks were in the betting pools. That was why the rumors of fixed fights came about. A few champions had thrown matches at the finale to win big in the betting. The fighters were now banned from betting after this incident occurred a few times, but that did not stop them from using proxies.

Neil explained all this to Jocasta as they made their way down the Presidium's stairs to the lower quarters, below the casinos, vaults, hanger, and the great mall that dominated the center of this particular station, dubbed 'Alexandria IV.'

"This is all fascinating, cowlick, but where are we going exactly?" Jocasta asked, causing Neil to glance up and smooth his hair on instinct. She smirked and he gave her a look when he realized she had been messing with him.

"We're going to find someone who'll buy these rifles and gear for a good price. Maybe then we can grab a junker or I can game our money up enough to find us a real Rekker to use."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Hereticus." I said, my tone neutral. Emmaline could see my eyes moving as thoughts whirred in my head. She had done some fine detective work, but something did not feel right. It felt as if the answer were right in front of me, but I needed to parse the facts. I glared at Lazarus for a brief moment, until Emmaline drew my eyes.

"Problem?" Emmaline asked, raising her brow. She wore a shimmering dress that suited her. I merely wore my usual fatigues and newly stitched jacket, now finally able to move about without half my torso bandaged up and crushing my ribs. I snapped my fingers for Lazarus to approach with his data slate, my hand out-held to retrieve it. Once in my hands I thumbed through the data.

"On Havenos, he wore Malleus Power Armor. You not only need to be in my ordo, but one of the more esteemed members to even have the access to don such a blessed suit. Being of the Ordo Hereticus makes little sense," I explained.

"Then he just found a Malleus Inquisitor and killed them?" Clara suggested. She seemed more able to think back to that day. Earlier the mere mention brought shudders to her, the inhuman dimensions of the eternal city having done its damage on her sense of self for some weeks.

"That's highly unlikely for many reasons, and for an unordained, veritably impossible. Such a suit could devour the man within if they were found unworthy. No, no this makes me believe that he was not wearing what I believe he was wearing, or the information is wrong. Perhaps both." I remarked, a galactic map surging onto my screen, fingers sliding the expanse of space down as I veered the tablet's screen northward. "And you are wrong, Lazarus."

"Pardon?" Lazarus asked, binary spewing forth a scant second after the statement. It was rare to see the Tech Priest rocked back on his heels. Selencia perked up.

"You are wrong." I said simply, glancing at him. "I haven't known you to be wrong about an empirical fact since I've met you. The Orphidian subsector is quite close to Avignor. It's all within the Scarsus Sector of Segmentum Obscurus. And Emmaline's information of his origins is quite odd. Both Angevin and Ophidian are the names of relatively recent crusades in Imperial history."

"The Ophidian sub was named after the crusade," Lazarus noted, though whether to try and regain a bit of dignity or to see if he was capable of answering correctly, I did not know. He was impossible to read to most humans, but I could see he was disturbed at his own failure at making a single incorrect statement. Lucius Raj watched the exchange with interest from the back, his super human eyes more accustomed to seeing small micro-twitches that betrayed emotion.

"Correct. In fact it was one of the most successful crusades in the history of the Imperium. It was as if the forces of Chaos had fled after the fighting had barely started, hailed as a miracle and a sign of the Emperor's favor. The Angevin Crusade had a similar record, and is known in my Ordos as being one of the few crusades Ordo Malleus has openly aided in. I do not know the specifics of Ordo Hereticus and their conclaves, but I find it difficult to believe they would have one named after the Angevin crusade."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Hadrian?" Emmaline asked, placing a hand on her hip. She seemed slightly put off at my interruption, and while I did not take any pleasure from it, she looked fetching when she was frustrated. "That my information is wrong?"

"Not necessarily." I clarified, handing the dataslate back to Lazarus. "He may very well be Teritus Vorn of the Ordo Hereticus. However, he is not the true enemy. The Ordo Malleus does not go after men, but the very daemons of the warp, and when they are concerned, you trust nothing. This cabal has infiltrated every level of not only a Hive World, but now the Ecclesiarchy and the Inquisition? And he has developed away to strip millions of imperial citizens of their free will all on his own? This man, Teritus Vorn, is just a cog in a greater wheel. There are only two explanations. Either not every piece of information we received is truthful, or there is a much more sinister and devious aspect to their methods. One that might explain your information and Lazarus' misstep."

"Mors Logicae?" Lazarus responded, looking up from the dataslate I have granted him. On the screen, he had been granted access to the entire history of the phenomena. He could absorb the information quicker than I could explain, but I deigned to do so for the congregation listening. Urien watched in fascination and both Selencia and Emmaline glanced at one another before looking back at my position.

"Discovered by Inquisitor Jaq Draco in the late 38th millennium, it is a taint of psychic origins, a ward. Some classify it as a 'disease of truth.' The Mors Logicae activates when one approaches a certain subject intellectually, granting false leads and giving the researcher an inherently wrong mental synapse of the topic in question. Fortunately, Jaq Draco was able to dismantle it by learning two simple weaknesses. Firstly, the Mors Logicae can only work when one does not consider its existence as the cause. Secondly, while it can alter ones perception of facts, it cannot alter facts themselves. It is a taste of the warp, but not chaos made manifest. Therefore, what we have seen is indeed fact, and now that we have acknowledged it is a very real possibility this alleged Teritus Vorn is utilizing it, then we cannot be fooled again unless it is by others who have been fooled."

"That means all information we gather will be false, though," Clara surmised.

"Not exactly. It only works on someone who is looking into a specific subject, as I said. For instance, this Teritus Vorn can land on Avignor, tell everyone he is Teritus Vorn, and he is an inquisitor, and he will have to convince them on his own. If someone there was to ask him his business on the planet specifically, he could tell them any lie he wished. However, if one were suspicious of his motives and deigned to pick them apart, everything they would hear or surmise regarding him would be scrambled by the neurons in their mind or the mind of others. Unless, of course, they suspected the use of Mors Logicae. As we now do. His whereabouts or mundane activities would not be unknowable."

Lazarus snapped the dataslate shut, and with a string of binary that sounded like a long sigh, he approached me and, to my surprise, patted me on the shoulder. I had been about to explain how the Ordo Angevin and Ophidian claim was likely based upon the Mors Logicae choosing the two most illustrious words in the Scarsis sector to garner trust by local inhabitants, but Lazarus spoke first.

"Kronus would be proud," He whispered. I gave a smile.

Hi ^^

Welcome!

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Our blades rang, the sound of steel striking steel echoing off the walls as I pressed my advantage. My opponent was older, perhaps a bit slower, but had centuries of experience beyond my own. His defenses were refined, orderly, but growing weaker as I advanced. My pallasch drove into his abdomen, or I thought it had until he gave a parry so late I almost could not believe it, but that was his last trick. I grimaced in annoyance, our blades crossing like an X as I began to hammer down on him, attempting to make a pull cut. He redirected the sword, but only to put me in line with a downward cut that banged against his hilt. I sensed victory, tasted it. With a cry I hacked again at his exposed collarbone, knowing he had no way of defending. I laughed at my victory.

Inquisitor Kronus stepped into my cut and nearly sundered my chest cavity with a pommel strike. My blade had no strength left in it as spittle flew from my lips, vision blurring. I felt more than saw him disarm me, and with a shove I hit the padded ground. The sameter training vest broke the brunt of my fall, but I felt my pride plummeting as I saw Kronus standing over me, watching with his dual gaze. His left eye was stern, but very human, and even a bit of sympathy was laden in its depths. His augmented right eye, placed in by Lazarus himself, watched me with a cold, bleak judgement that only the emptiness of the void of space could match.

"How did I beat you?" He asked simply, speaking to me as if he were asking a dog why they wet the carpet or why a child lied to their parent when they knew full well the consequences of choosing the incorrectly. I collected myself as best I could, getting up quickly, doing my best not to sway.

"You pretended to tire," I surmised, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Drew me in and let me defeat myself."

"You are not a blunt instrument," Kronus said, turning and walking to the sword rack. Wiping the blunted blade with a cloth, he placed it on the rack and flexed his neck with a small twist of his head. I was thirsty, but Kronus had never brought water to our bouts. He rarely ate in front of anyone, and only recently had he allowed me the privilege of knowing just how he took his tea. His right hand flexed, the artificial neurons pumping hydrocarbon through his system instantaneously to grant his augmented limb function that could even surpass his flesh and blood arm. I should have known that arm would not have weakened. Why had I not seen that?

"No, sir." I said, standing erect now and at attention. I could show my disappointment or disdain openly, but I still arrayed myself well in his presence. I was merely seventeen, but I was treated as an adult as soon as I was granted the privilege of the mantle of interrogator. I was glad to be given the responsibilities, or at least the expectations, of a senior operative.

"Why do we do what we do, Drakos?" He asked me, turning to the mat again, though he did not deign to look at me.

"We, sir?"

"The Inquisition," he clarified.

"To protect the Imperium." I said at once.

"Vague answers do not give you partial credit." He reminded me, something of which I had been told often the last four years. He continued, stalking back and forth, a terrible gleam appearing in his remaining organic eye. "The Imperial Guard protects the Imperium. The Adeptus Astartes protects the Imperium. The Artbites, the Adeptus Sororitas, the Custodes themselves. The Imperium is not in need of another shield or warfront. We are not here to protect the Imperium. We are here to hunt."

"Hunt." I said, absorbing the word.

"The Daemon, the Xenos, the Heretic. Ours is not the battlefield. Ours is the shadows. The library. The Underhive. The corruption within the Governor's household. The Daemon summoning within the forests of the feral worlds. We are not blunt instruments. We are Inquisitors, Hadrian. And you cannot succeed as an Inquisitor unless you use your head."

---

"She was merely suffering under psychotomimetic-induced hallucinations from involuntary consumption of drugs," I said, reclining back in my chair in the offices sequestered within the crux between the lower and upper hives. Ortega looked at my without betraying any emotion, expression unreadable.

"And if they say that is insufficient?" Ortega asked. "Or if they wish for me to elaborate on that point?"

"Then you can tell them that is a tergiversation and the Inquisition is not in the position to allow such questioning in our endeavors."

"Somehow, I don't think the Grand Provost Marshall will appreciate that. But I suppose you would say he should get used to it."

"You must be psychic, you read my mind." I said. My eyes met Emmaline's. She wore her bodyglove, albeit after having it cleaned, her hair still in a bun. The following hours after the death of the Priest, a man who's prints we matched with a Cardinal Simon Philovong of the Ecclesiarchy. A rogue bishop who had taken his evangalism into the Segmentum Obscurus, evidently in a bid to seek out dissidents on Hydra Cordatus. That was all I could surmise from the autoseance and the prints Ortega was allowed to collect. Emmaline smiled, but kept quiet as Ortega sighed.

In the other room, Elektra was under armed guard, her hands shackled. After the death of her supposed master, she had been unresponsive save our directives to lead her out of the room and into custody. Emmaline insisted on Elektra being granted a second chance, and knowing she had seen the woman's experiences that led her down that path, I had acquiesced and told Ortega we were taking her, which was a difficult sell as the Grand Provost Marshall likely needed to pin the blame on someone living so there could be an execution and a trial, in that order of importance. Ortega wished for a strip of the scrolls as well, but I had denied that without prejudice and burned them all with promethium, utilizing an incinerator and Lazarus' keen eye to make certain every last scrap of it was decimated.

"Is there anything else, Arbites Ortega?" I asked patiently.

"Where are you going, then?" He asked, giving up with the whole situation. He turned on his vox and told his men to prepare the prisoner for extraction and release.

"Savaven," I said. "In the Quinrox Sound Sub-sector."

Ortega blinked. "I am surprised you would tell me, Inquisitor." He said.

I smiled. "I have no fear of the adeptus arbites, and even if there were traitors in your ranks, the planet is home to fourteen billion people. Good luck finding us."

Ortega grinned, and gave a salute. "Thank you, Inquisitor. And even you, Mamzel. Good luck and good hunting," He said, and turned to step out of the office. Once he was out, Emmaline closed the door. Lazarus whirred in binary, and his eyes shined red as he paced to a small desk and pulled out a small piece of cloth, from the robes of the deceased Simon Philovong.

"I retain my conclusion. There is a 98.7% this cloth was granted by the Ecclesiarchy on Avignor. But perhaps you should have remained silent rather than having lied to the arbites. He could be accused of lying for us, if the word gets out."

"I trust him to remain silent, and if he's not, or is made to speak, then our enemies will look for us elsewhere. Misdirection is the first step to any victory." I said. "Now, get your affairs in order. The Caledonia will depart in two days."

"Maybe then you can keep from falling apart," Emmaline quipped, and I shot her a look. She stuck her tongue out at me, but she winked and I softened. Somehow, despite the corruption of this Nagripp and Simon going into the upper echelons of the Ecclesiarchy, I felt it would turn out alright.

I was not correct, I would later find out.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I leaped over an emaciated flagellant, hitting the floor and putting three rounds from my autopistol into a screaming tribesman. Blood spurted and holes blossomed in his chest cavity and neck just before he collapsed. I was moving even before his face hit the floor, following in Emmaline's wake. I could feel her distress like ice shards plunging into the periphery of my mind. The electric wiring roiling out of the archway in the parody of a maw, I entered, stepping as carefully as I could. I needed to hurry, but in my state it would be almost impossible to pick myself up again without damaging myself internally, and as heroic as it would be, my agonizing death would help my team little.

I managed to enter the room just as Emmaline was knocked off her heels. Fortunately I was already running, and so I merely needed to redirect my feet to catch her before she fell into the skeletal remains of the bodies, catching her within my sword arm and aiming my pistol at the next brute, my next bullet punching through the augmetic eye and crumpling the near-human mongrel. My next rounds tore into two psykers, ending their servitude and sending their souls to the emperor's side. Emmaline looked up at me with her wide blue eyes, and I gave a tight smile.

"Hence the importance of firearm accuracy without tricks," I teased with a raised eyebrow, referring to our bet in my first attempt at teaching her the value of target practice. She gave a dazzling smile, and I could have kissed her if we did not have another acro-flagellant bearing down on us. I aimed and fired, but my autogun was empty. Cursing, I pushed Emmaline to the wall and ignited my powersword, the blade roaring to life as I brought it in line to skewer the murderous zealot. It tore through the former-man like ripping through wet paper, but its weight still hit me. I cried out more pitifully than I would have liked when I felt the pressure of his entire upper half hitting my torso.

"Hadrian!" Emmaline cried as I grimaced, gripping my abdomen and stubbornly keeping to my feet. She ran to my aid, but I shrugged off her hands and gave her a look. One of trust and command in equal measure. I hastily reloaded by autogun, squaring my jaw.

"Kill the psykers and that bastard in the center." I told her, having surmised the plot swiftly enough, stumbling off to the left and using the energy weapon to scythe a path through the bodies, bones melting at every swing. The autogun's muzzle flashed and more rounds ripped into trapped psykers as the priest at the center began to yell, his voice rising in volume, the words spilling out of him as if drawn by some eldritch power.

Lazarus had picked his way through the bodies with his extra limbs, spidering over tables and chairs and thick wiring as he approached the center of the room. He braced himself against a pillar and fired his weapon again, the trans-uranic arquebus detonating his immediate surroundings and punching through two caged psykers, rending steel and leaving a blue flame in its wake.

Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

Alpha Centauri had been colonized and terraformed during humanity's golden age, back when they still had the means to terraform entire planets and could deploy machines that would not immediately turn on their creators. Back when earth was the center of an expanding empire and the men serving under the alliance of earth nations were paid well and fought and explored with complete dedication to the ascension of humanity. The civil wars that followed had made it a second sol, in support of the loyalists, giving it more than a mere symbolic importance and signifying it as the banking capital, where the old money solidified. However, the invasion by the Hexanagallions had not been kind to Sol's sister system. The planet Bucephalus, known originally as Proxima Centauri B, had been photon bombed and knocked off its axis, destroying its verdant ecosystem and ruining its atmosphere. It's small moon had been shattered, and now the lifeless husk of a planet floated out of the habitable zone, caught between the three stellar bodies of the system in an endless loop of nights that lasted months and days that took years to complete.

The banking and casinos, luckily, had mostly conducted their businesses in stations surrounding the planets. They now mostly hovered in orbit of Proxima Centauri, still in Bucephalus's old orbit. It was practically an asteroid field of stations and loose planetary debris, all collectively known as the Golden Girdle, or simply the 'Girdle.'

"I haven't been here in awhile," Neil said to himself quietly.

Cygi popped up in front of him. "Owe money here, do ye?" She asked, her pirate garb still on.

Neil snorted. "Hey, just because I have a bounty doesn't mean I cause trouble everywhere I go. Only a lot of places, but no here I'm clean. S'far as I know, at least. As for money, I do feel responsible for the kitchen so I can probably scrounge up some credits here at the dice tables. That or I can get some prize money from the rekker ring."

"The what?" Jocasta asked, the ship now in automated flight as the Dragonfly pulled into the shield of the Alpha Acropolis, one of the larger stations that still clutched a bit of old Bucephalos as its base.

"They got mech fights here. They're not big mechs, and the money isn't as profitable as it used to be, but it's still pretty popular. I could give it a go... that or we can steal some cash."

The Dragonfly passed through the phaser shields, keeping the breathable atomsphere in the hanger but allowing ships to pass through freely. The Dragonfly barely made a sound as it landed, pressurized air streaming out as the bulkhead door slid open. Neil practically bounded out of the ship, Jocasta racing behind him just in case he was going to disappear, but when she leaped out, she saw him admiring the ship instead. He gave a low whistle, ducking down to peek at its sleek underbelly.

"I never actually got a chance to see the outside of her. She's gorgeous," he marveled.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I briefly activated my power sword's energy core, the blood marring the blade evaporating instantly before my eyes. I shut it off, but did not sheathe it. Something told me I would have more use of it soon. Clara bit off the end of her bandage and finished tying it up, hefting her lascarbine with an iron will writ on her face. Lazarus seemed perturbed by their surroundings, but otherwise unharmed. Ortega watched the zealot with open suspicion, but made no move to strike her.

"Lead on," I ordered her, retrieving my autopistol from its holster. I felt a sharp stab in my side, but I gave no indication I felt a thing. There would be plenty of time for fretting later.

Elektra nodded with tear laden eyes, all but running out of the room to better fulfill what she likely thought was her act of redemption. I am not a priest, but the Inquisition is the left hand of the Emperor and one cannot be in the Ordo Malleus without some knowledge of sacred texts and rites. I was not comfortable being placed in the shoes of one who speaks for the Emperor himself, but I was not unused to such treatment, and in an extremely convoluted way, Elektra was not entirely incorrect.

We followed her brusquely, hurrying through a short corridor and passing a door bedecked with reliquary fetishes and scripture etched in blood. The zealot stepped through and shrieked as if she had been shocked, but no one else complained as they passed, finding we had entered a small lobby leading to a stairwell made of plascrete and adorned with crudely wrought symbols of the emperor made in stone and placed to frame the stairs on every level we passed.

"How many of these followers are there in the main hall?" Ortega asked as we reached the correct floor. Elektra turned to me, eyes pleading. I nodded my consent, and she turned to Ortega, placing a hand on Emmaline's arm for what I imagined was support.

"Dozens, though they might not all be present. I don't know if the master is there, either." She lamented cryptically, looking away as if ashamed. Ortega racked his shotgun again in preparation as Emmaline inquired about who this master was. But Elektra would simply shake her head and mumble, unable or unwilling to speak. Emmaline glanced my way helplessly, and I knew well enough that Elektra's mind was already fragile enough. Delving deeper could break her, and I was not yet prepared to kill a woman who had renounced the ways of the ruinous powers.

"Ortega, Clara, take point. Shoot anyone who does not look like a civilian, and quell anyone who does. I go in next. Emma, behind me. Lazarus, once we sweep in, find the roots of the station and pluck them. We need this cut immediately." I said. "Elektra, stay with Emmaline. I don't want you caught in the confusion."

"Right boss," Clara said, stepping to the left of the door, eyes peeled. Ortega joined her, signaling readiness. She nodded, and he waited for my go before he went. The big arbites raised his weapon, and blew the handle off the door with a well placed 10 gauge shell. The door lazily began to open before his foot sent it all but flying off its hinges. As he pulled back the forestock, Clara was already moving in. Her lascarbine cracked, superheated beams of red scythed into the room. I saw figures turning in surprise and falling, scorch marks erupting on their barely clad forms and one even lost a forearm, the lasbolt hitting him just at the joint of elbow. Ortega barreled through as Clara rolled to the left, gunning down three zealots with five slugs. I followed in after, giving a quick survey of the room that lasted less than a second.

There was a central table festooned with wiring and candles, a great collection of scrolls piled at its center. Skinny, used men and women in rags operated various consoles, or had been before they had run for cover. Dead PDF guards occasionally littered the floor, and the room along with its subsequent hallways swarmed with zealots. I stepped forward, igniting my power sword as a zealot wielding two long butcher knives leaped over its fallen companion and bore down on Ortega before he could rack another round in. My sword cut through him from abdomen to collarbone in a backhanded stroke. He fell with a cry to the emperor on his lips.

The irony was not lost on me.

"Lazarus, find the signal before they can utilize it!"

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I had admittedly been worried about Camilla. She had followed me as if drunk, but she had collapsed onto the bed and spent the rest of the afternoon asleep once I had procured a room, until she awoke just after midnight. I had decided to check her, divining what I could about her and making my prayers to holy Sigmar, seeking guidance on her health once I had finished with the physical inspection. She seemed fine, though I could not help feel somewhat sour about something. Guy Du Ponce was one thing, but I did not know what sort of things he had envisioned about Camilla and it troubled me.

And it troubled me that I was troubled.

Again, I questioned myself on why I was here, but watching her sleep made me realize I would have traded this for the long road to the capital of Reikland, even if I had rewards awaiting me when I was received there. Just like the other night, I felt like she was like a painting. Even if she did snore like an ox. In the meantime I grabbed something to eat, and left her a plate of ham, cheese, and chopped tomatoes and celery. My own plate I devoured very quickly and almost literally inhaled the water pitcher. And then I had asked the staff about a bowl of their coldest water to be brought to the room and went out to see what news I could find in the meanwhile. Once back in the room, I unwrapped my bandaged hand and gingerly placed it within the cool liquid, seething at the sudden rush of sensation. But after a moment it felt better. Even I slept a bit, after that, though I woke up before she had aroused.

When she awoke she seemed much the same. Perhaps slightly more vibrant from the rest, which was a high bar because I had thought her vivacious in body and spirit beforehand. She even looked a year or two younger, oddly enough. I told her what I knew and made a few jests, but then she apologized.

This might be difficult to imagine, but I could count the times someone has apologized to me on one hand in the entirety of my life, and it certainly was never from someone like Camilla. It made me feel sentimental, which was annoying. This woman really was throwing me into a lot of emotions and bad decisions recently.

"I believe what you meant to say was 'thank you,' I remarked wryly, but my face softened and I gave her a much warmer look than even I intended. "But either way, you're quite welcome."

"So, why did you come back?" Camilla asked, looking at me curiously. She twirled a small wave of her hair in her finger. "Not for me, right?"

"No," I laughed. "No, of course not. I'm interested in the gold, and admittedly I love the weather here, the sea air agrees with me, plus I can't stand that blathering captain..." We both shared a smile. "But, you know, now that I am here..." I lifted myself off the chair, took her hand in mine and kissed the back of it. "It would be my delight to stick together. Just a smart move, of course."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I make it a point to be honest in these briefings, and I will not change that policy here. Emmaline tells me that I had secured a cable-line from my belt to the antennae and had rappelled her down safely, whilst the others followed on the same line. Lazarus had purportedly climbed down on his spindly mechanical limbs like a great spider, using the grafted steel and flaws in the material to cling to. I cannot recall that, truthfully. All I remember is the pain.

If you haven't been shot and then hastily placed into surgery before surviving an aerial crash, I can confirm it feels like hell. I felt a wetness around my abdomen, but I did not bother to check, and I assured Emmaline I was alright, once my vision refocused and I could see more than a red haze.

Once my eyes could see well enough, the first sight I was privvy to was a young aritocrat with an illegal chem-inhaler, gazing at me with hopelessness in his eyes. His glasses were ill-balanced on his nose, and he seemed to take my bloodshot look as a sign of hostility. The acne-ridden youth threw the chem-inhaler into the air and ran back across the steel decking of the landing into a pair of double doors. I looked and saw other youths hastily following, dropping or tossing spraycans they had been using to vandalize the side of the hive with crude drawings depicint Saint Allesia in coitus with some unknown Ecclesiarch. I checked my auspex as I inquired on where exactly we had landed.

"We have arrived at the broadcasting hub for the entire hive of Gravemire, inquisitor." Lazarus said as we began to move forward, wading through the forest of antennae on the path towards the doors. "However, I deduce the displays that monitor the activities broadcasted will be inside."

I unholstered my gun, the sparking valkyrie above us making a sudden rending of metal as it plummeted the last thirty meters to the floor. Black smoke choked the air and plumed like a beacon into the sky as we departed, and another small explosion buffeted the air.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I had spent some time in Tilean villas during my stay at Pavona, mostly to entertain nobles or fair contessas with a bit of singing or knowledge of the empire, or regaling them with battles of ancient history. I even knew a small bit of the Elven tongue which I admittedly embellished so as to gain some favor with the local aristocracy. There are at least a dozen courtiers in Pavona now that speak a bastardized form of Elvish that any native born from Ulthuan would spear on the spot if they heard the crude and babbling faux-tongue of their sacred language. Anything to get some women and some gold, in my eyes, and might I add, in that order. And it was good hands-on experience, pardon the pun.

There were villas located in the pastoral lands surrounding the city states called Villa Rusticaes, with miles of land allocated for the growing of cash crops and luxury goods for the wealthy landowner to pick at their leisure, viticulture being quite popular. The more common, city based villas were Villa Urbanae, small estates cordoned off by lush hedges and small gardens in the cities, often used as sumptuous homes for the politician on the go who couldn't afford the time to leave the walls of the city. I had found the ladder in this case, and I was hit with a wave of deju vu as I scaled the wall and slid through the hedges, something I had done more than once in my days at the university. At then as now, it was to look for a beautiful woman. I suppose I was not much different these days.

Stepping in, I found the estate was made in the Martius style. A courtyard decked with potted plants from far off lands, hugged by a multiple columns holding a curved arch at the back of the small square in the style of the old tilean theaters. The second floor had an open hall that served as a roofed balcony overlooking the stone-floored yard, with chairs and oil lamps ready to host a party. All of this was fairly typical. What wasn't typical was the vast majority of the imperial gold in a cart at the very center, guarded by four men.

I froze. I knew they had seen me, at least initially. Then I looked closer, and saw not only had they not moved, but they were either asleep or dead, positioned there by some unknown player.

"Monsieur!" I heard, nearly ripping my soul from my body. I flinched in fright and my eyes shot up to the second floor balcony. I saw the smiling face of Guy Du Ponce there, bedecked in chainmail armor and handsome surcoat. His sword at his belt and eyes off-putting in their cheer. "What in the name of ze Lady are you doing here? I had thought you had left with your Imperial friends! It pleases me to see you are well."

He began to walk across the expanse of the aisle until he reached the stairs leading down.

"It pleases me to see you are well too," I said, my mind racing. "And evidently very rich."

"Well, I did not have your luck, you see. I could not escape in time, so I had to make eh, certain alliances, no? I have been tasked with guarding the treasure. But, you did not tell me why you decided to come back." He reminded me, stepping down the last step and approaching me, as if to embrace me in his casual gladness. He seemed perfectly aware of the bodies, or unconcerned his men were still as statues.

"You know how it is, a woman gets you under her spell and a man does crazy things." I said, and Guy huffed a very sincere laugh, looking into my eyes and shaking his head. For a moment, I thought he was about to tell me a terrible truth, something gnawing at his soul. But a heartbeat later, he merely said:

"You have no idea how right you are, my friend," and before I could gauge the meaning of his swords, he threw a punch at my face. His fist was decked in mail and I was notably unarmored, but luckily it was only a glancing blow. I staggered and dropped my staff, bracing myself on the gold cart. When next my eyes whipped back at him, he was already slashing at my neck with his sword to finish me. I yelped and threw myself on the ground, his longsword biting into the wooden panel of the cart. He yanked at the blade, but pulled it out a second too slow. I tackled him from below, trying to flip him over. He struck my back with the pommel of his sword, but I did not stop my grappling until his feet were in the air and he crashed onto the stones heavily.

Taking my staff, I spun it and brought it down, hitting the knight on the side of the helm. The blow either dazed him or killed him, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that Camilla had to be here. He had no reason to think of me as the enemy unless he had what I was after. Sure, he could have the gold and wish for me to keep permanent silence, but a Brettonian knew the importance of chivalry, and as strange as it sounded, I was in the middle of a chivalrous act. I looked past him at the gold, admired its beauty for a moment, and then cursed and turned back to run inside. I did not pay much attention to the decor. It was typical of most villas, paintings, windows, couches one could lounge or make love on. Instead I threw open every door I could, finding naught but papers and cabinets of food. I grabbed an apple and devoured it as I ran upstairs, having momentarily forgetting how hungry I was.

The first oak door upstairs I opened, I dropped my half eaten apple and saw Camilla. The woman had collapsed by the side of the bed, blood caking her neck and hand.

"Sigmar no," I said, the words erupting from my throat before I realized what I said. I hurried over to her and dropped my staff, gently cradling her head so it could lay on my lap, examining her. I wiped away the blood, momentarily relieved that her throat had not been slit. "Camilla? Camilla, wake up! If you die right here I will be livid as hell, mark me! Camilla!" I shook her gently, a hint of desperation in my voice.