LibriumArcana.Games

Scintilla. Capital of the Calixis sector. Great hives of metal spread across the surface, glittering dark stains upon the surface, while the oceans have turned into great great bruises on the surface, only somewhat covered by the swaddling bandages of white clouds in the sky, tinged with yellow suppuration from the pollutants released by the industries below. There are worlds where the pollution is worse to be sure, but Scintilla has long felt the tread of man.

High above, great citadels of metal divorced from the land hang in the sky, brooding like insect queens as traffic swarms about them, colossal ships dwarfed by the greatest of the stations loading and unloading massive amounts of cargo, while smaller cargo haulers scuttle like beetles between the surface and the hive below. Food and supplies flow into Scintilla, consumed to make the munitions and men that flow out, destined to be just as consumed by the eternal wars that wrack the Imperium.

Drifting into orbit near these great works is a small, dark ship. Sleek, fast, and dangerous looking like a blade covered in lantern black, it sits serenely, unmolested by other ships, its orbital path clear of traffic for fear of interrupting its work. This was not a ship to triffle with.

Within the hold of this ship, numerous craft were being readied for launch. Red robed tech priests chanted litanies of activation and swung thuribles of incense to placate the machine spirits and rouse them to service. Pale fleshed and steel cased servitors lifted and hauled about everything from chests of personal goods to crates of missiles. Faceless storm troopers ran about, some loading into the transports, others making sure that everything got where it was needed.

Within one transport a storm trooper sergeant was checking over a dataslate and looking at names as his men brought forth a small group of rather odd people. Confined mostly to their thankfully comfortable quarters for the past few weeks as the ship zipped across the sector gathering up various things, they had only now been summoned forth. He frowned and double checked the list before he sighed and said, "Five. I guess that is all of you we could get on the rush order. Have a seat and get strapped in, we'll be launching for Tarsus in a few ticks."

Atellus grunts an acknowledgement to the Sgt in his native tongue and steps into the shuttle. Glancing around he takes the closest seat he can to the door and deposits his pack, festooned with weapons on to the one next to it and straps it in tight.

Sitting himself down, he runs a hand through his long brown hair, brushing it out of his face, exposing heavy tribal tattoos. Fumbling with the straps, he manages to cinch himself in tight. Though he makes sure to adjust his sidearm and knife so they are within easy reach.

"I hate flying," he mumbles before pulling out an odd tooth necklace and uttering a prayer in his mother tongue.

Her garments would place her as a tradeswoman, a commoner of no great wealth or status. Yet her long brunette bangs could not hide the symbol on her forehead -- a Sanction-Mark. A psyker.

The Sgt. stepped back reflexively as she passed him, entering the ship and finding a seat. She would almost be pretty, but for the opaque white, rounded glasses that hid her eyes -- before one realized that they were not glasses, but common bionic replacements. Unblinkingly she turned her head to the Atellus as he prayed, her head tilting slightly.

"Ace of Spades. A new adventure, open opportunities await." she said to him in Low Gothic. "Three of Diamonds. Luck comes through cooperation."

The Feral's face breaks out in a wide grin as he takes in the woman before him, no one had mentioned a female!

It quickly fades as his eyes rest upon the brand marking her forehead.

"Witch, yes?"

Why deny it? it was as plain as the mark on her forehead. "Yes. A soothsayer, as well. I am called Kyona."

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, as the sights and sounds of the bustling hangar overwhelmed his senses. Then, following the servo-skull provided for him by his new master, he made his way through the commotion until he reached the shuttle. The skull hovered overhead for a moment, then departed heeding some unheard order.

Sebastian nodded at the sergeant, adjusting his sword rig, as he stepped into the shuttle.

Inside, he saw two of the seats occupied by a savage and a witch. He let no trace of his surprise show on his face, however, and smiled at them.

"Greetings," he said. He paused for a second, and, after some consideration sat next to the savage.


-------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

An olive skinned man stepped into the shuttle. A black robe obscured the lines of his body, but a steel staff was held in one hand and a sword strapped over his back. His features were acquiline and handsome, but immobile. Cold eyes scanned the crowd. He took a seat that put a wall at one side.

"Status?" he inquired.

The Feral indicates himself and grunts out, "Atellus." After a few moments of thought he offers his hand to Sebastian.

Sebastian shakes the offered hand and then turns to the new arrival and shrugs. "Isn't it self-evident?"

------------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

Arl navigated through the busy hanger bay shoving aside people who absentmindedly crossed his way until his reach his shuttle. He entered and looked at the rag-tag group within. He chuffed and smiled, seeing the two psykers in the group. "Name's Arl. Looks like we're going to have some real fun."

Atellus lets out a hearty chuckle at Sebastians question, "more used to them having an escort. Guard witches not get to roam freely."

Sebastian turned back to the guardsman, who misunderstood the question, and smiled.

"Well, they're with us, aren't they?"

--------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

Taking the question from the taciturn psyker to be for him, the storm trooper sergeant looks over his data slate and says, "Our status is that you're all now here, so buckle up or I won't be responsible for you getting slammed into a bulkhead during descent. Speaking of which, any of you dirt-siders going to need a sedative for this? The pilot frakking hates it when people puke in his ship."

Sebastian just shrugged. "I've been on Aquila landers before. Never in the military configuration, but still."

--------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

Atellus shakes his head, "been up and down a few times."

Nihilous settled in and checked his crash webbing. "Drop doesn't disturb me."

"I am Kyona," the dark-haired woman said to Sebastian, her head turning to face him unblinkingly. She did not blink anymore -- the whitish metal disks that were her bionic optical implants did not need lubrication or protection like a meat-eye. It was one more thing to add to her oddness.

As the second psyker entered the shuttle, Kyona's attention focused fully on him. Only the sargeant's warning causes her to look away. "Sedatives do not like me," she said simply.

"Ha, what's a little shake in a tin can? Besides, if I do hurl, what's he going to frakking do? Maybe I'll do it on purpose." *Arl laughed hard* "Let's go already."

The sergeant glared at Arl and said, "You would be amazed how many Inquisitors don't care if their acolytes have teeth or not, because hey, flights can be bumpy things and accidents do happen. Now, the lot of you, get those straps secured."

With the acolytes settling in, getting properly strapped in while the sergeant checks that they are properly secured, other shuttles begin to move out of the confines of the launch bay into the open void of space, advanced techno-sorceries keeping the air from escaping out even as the main hatches open. These transports quickly take up descent paths that send them out towards the northern continent, no doubt to Hive Sibellus and the Inquisitorial Palace there, the Tricorn.

For the five acolytes in their shuttle though, when it finally dropped away, they joined the stream of ships descending down to the surface, quickly blending in and becoming just one more military transport amongst the endless streams going between the surface and orbit and back again. Descending upon a pillar of fire as the transport slowed from its literally astronomical velocity to something above the speed of sound, the interior shaking and rattling with shed energy, the flight soon smoothed out, the proud machine spirit well pleased with the expert ministrations of the tech priests not howling and thrashing with fury.

Having not quite started in the geosynchronous orbit of the docks, and a straight drop not recommended for those wishing to live in any case, the shuttle had to catch up to Hive Tarsus as it had moved past with the planet's rotation during descent, and the sturdy military machine rushed past the terminator line from night into day, bringing into illumination the blasted equatorial deserts. The craft quickly settled into a course that carried it above a series of massive pipes, supply lines from the coast that brought water to the eternally thirsty hive already growing from a grey smudge on the horizon into great spires where ships both massive as scrumball pitches and small like their shuttle docked to exchange their cargoes, an eternal smog of exhaust fumes and steam rising from the sweltering city hazing over the entire, massive hive.

Now slowed down to a speed comparable to a fast hovercar, the shuttle entered the hive, weaving in amongst the landing platforms, hab spires, and the bridges both official and unofficial strung between them in a complex, ever shifting spider web. The exterior walls, insulated against the heat of atmospheric entry, did not tell the tale of the outside, but the light streaming through the few viewports was brilliantly white and told of scorching temperatures outside.

Finally their objective became clear, a large open area in the midst of the middle hive, the waning day casting cooling shadows from the higher buildings above onto the exposed rockrete platform where Aquilas and Valkyries sat in the shade of open sided storage sheds, accompanied in their rest by a trio of Chimera APCs and a single Leman Russ.

Unbuckling, the sergeant got up on legs well accustomed to absorbing the motions of a moving aircraft and peered out before grinning at the acolytes. "Welcome to base Tarus-Delta-6, home of the Tarsus 17th PDF Battalion and recruiting ground for the Guard. You're expected by an associate of your master, one Commissar Tagen Yalt, attached here by the Munitorum officially to keep Hax's bully boys in line during transitions from PDF to Guard forces during a tithe, but unofficially to serve as a liason between the Tarsus military and the Inquisition when getting real soldiers involved would be problematic. That is far as my info for you lot goes, so go out there and get the rest of your mission from him."

The rear hatch of the shuttle then began to open, letting in a blast of dessicating furnace air. Smiling cruelly, the sergeant adds on, "Oh, and as a word of advice, Yalt has an itchy trigger finger about Hax's 'imposter commissars' so any comparison between him and them will get you shot. If you're lucky and he's feeling in a charitable mood it will be somewhere non-vital."

"Noted," said Nihilous as he donned his sword. He picked up his staff and headed out of the shuttle's hatch.

Arl chuckled and thought to himself *yea but that accident can mean for you*.

After taking heed to the sergeant's words, Arl smelled and felt the hot air that entered and felt like he was choking. He tried to suppressed the coughs that tried to come out and immediately drank some water. This was going to take some used to, he thought, and walked out into the thankfully darkening skies waiting for the others to come out.

He took a gander at Nihlous' stave, "Nihlous right? You have a nice stave there."

Atellus groans at the mention of a Commissar, never his favourite type of officer, still the current job was better then dying a gruesome death in some meat grinder.

As he disembarks he leans over to Sebastian and mutters, "this sounds like a real Charlie-Foxtrot," and heads out into the heat, grabbing his ruck and slinging it over one shoulder.

He goes through his ritual of tapping each weapon and power pack with his finger tips to ensure they are there and loosens his knife in tit's scabbard. That completed, he takes out an old leather pouch, leans down and puts a handful of dirt from the landing field into it and puts it back in a pocket.

Nihilous's staff was an unremarkable, slender metal pole. Literally millions like it could be found throughout any hive. It had only two notable fingers. One was five dark smudges two-thirds of the way up and the other was what Nihilous had found inside it. The lock of hair and silver wire was now next to his skin.

He shrugged dismissively. "It's nothing special. Its merely what I was issued."

Kyona rose, following the men outside quietly.

*snorted* "Shoulda known not to small talk a psyker."