41K RPG : Into the Eye

[Typhonis]

Nathan brought the target up ,looked at it, and frowned. So far his markmanship was adaquate but not up to his old levels. He growled and selected a new target and began again.

He heard the door open and pretended to ignore whoever it was that was entering the firing range. He carefully upped the power on the las rifle just in case.

[Caz]

Théo had taken it upon herself to inform Nathan of the results of Inquisitor Novum's encounter with the Eldar Harlequins, and after a bit of searching around, he was easily located. She entered the range without hesitation, dressed only in a simple bodyglove which gave no indication of rank. However, this didn't occur to her.

What Nathan would see was a short female Terran, appearing perhaps to be twelve or thirtreen years old. Someone he hadn't seen around the ship before, and despite the childlike face, a possible threat. However, she was completely unarmed and unmade, even without the visor she normally wore.

"Inquisitor," she said, clearing her throat.

[Typhonis]

Nathan looked at the young psyker and nodded to her. Though she was unarmed he could sense her psychic abilities and even though no weapons were visible she could still be considered a threat.


"Yes?"

[Caz]

"I don't believe we've been introduced. I am Théo Cantor, Interrogator under Inquisitor Novum. If you've a moment, there are a few matters I must brief you on."

She spoke slowly, well-anunciated. Respectfully.

[Typhonis]

"Very Well" Nathan said. He clicked the saftey on and set the rifle down. He faced her fully.

"Nathan Talstrem"

[Caz]

She nodded deeply in both greeting and subservience.

"Inquisitor Novum has returned from his encounter with the Eldar," she said. "The Harlequins forced a retreat: the mission was a failure. As far as the prisoner, whereabouts are unknown. Until Inquisitor Novum recovers, you are the ranking officer aboard."

She took a deep breath, then added: "A fleet approaches; it may be the Saint."

[Typhonis]

He started speaking under his breath , she recognised some of what he was saying in High Gothic but....it was swearing??

He frowned. "Have you confirmed the IFF codes or are they on silentrunning?"

[Caz]

"We haven't confirmed the identity," she said, "our ship's Astropath wasn't sure. No transmissions have been received."

She studied the man a bit, rather intrigued. After all, she'd never seen anyone who'd been reanimated before--and by all means, Nathan seemed to be functioning fine.

[Typhonis]

"Right keep up an neutral appearance but.....have the crew ready to go to battlestations."

[Caz]

"Right," she said. Then added: "Inquisitor Novum should recover quickly. I'll have you informed of his condition when he does. He took... Quite a beating from the Eldar, but we both know that won't delay him long."

She allowed herself a demure smile, then bid the Inquisitor adieu and exited the firing range.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

Aboard the Apocalypse class battleship Ressurected Might, the Saint in question was watching from the combat information centre as the mighty vessel approached the suddenly dwarfed battleship of Inquisitor Aeris. The fleet that she’d arrived with in particular was impressive, occupying the central hololithic display as a thousand pinpricks of light.

Admiral Novadlorian glanced down at the cogitator engines surrounding the display, listing the fleet’s order of battle. It was impressive, even to Lena, who’d been, on and off, consuming the vast body of information on ‘Dark’ Age battlefleets for fifty years.

Starting off with the single most valuable ship in the fleet, the Might herself, the fleet consisted of no less than ten battleships, three of them Desolator class battleships, their designs re-constructed using the technologies of the Golden Age, until recently a design utilised only by the foul traitor fleets, but now once more serving the Emperor’s Light.

A ‘Despoiler’ (or more accurately, Merciless Death) class ship accompanied the battlefleet, although its designs had not been recovered in the archeotrove, dating from the days of the Imperium as it did, it took advantage of those technologies. The Scourge of Apostasy was equipped with something that had always been rare in the Imperium – torpedo bombers. And they carried something even rarer, these directly constructed from Adraxian patterns, vortex torpedoes.

The rest of the battleship contingent were made up of three Retribution class battleships and two Emperor class vessels.

A larger number of grand cruisers, Vengeance and Avenger classes made up three six-ship cruiser squadrons. Accompanied by battle-cruisers of various designs and a capital ship complement including an entire baker’s dozen carriers, the fleet was built around a core of firepower greater than that of almost every battlefleet within the Imperium. Racing along the fleet’s flanks were dozens of Dauntless light cruisers, and hundreds of frigates, especially the venerable Sword and Firestorm classes. Aside from a number of ubiquitous Cobra class destroyers, a group of escort-carriers formed the end of the navy complement to Lena’s command.

However, that was far from the sum of it. The Ecclesiarchy maintained its own ships, and those she had even less difficulty pulling together, some were even as large as battleships, others resembled superficial knock-offs of space marine vessels, and light transports purchased for the transport of Frateris Militia.

The remainder of the fleet were transport vessels, ranging from kilometre long commandeered vessels of the merchant marine, containing imperial guard units, to massive super-heavy fuel transports and colossal fuel transports, as well as dozens of armed transports and ‘Q-Ships.’

Doubtless to the dismay of some, the fleet even included alien vessels, a dozen of different types, from different races, held off to the side, on the off chance they became unreliable.

Satisfied that the jump had been completed successfully, Lena turned to one of the communications officers, “Send the following message, encrypted to my personal code.

Solar-Admiral Lena Novadlorian to Inquisitors and Assistants.

I hope you’re all… impressed, and I extend the invitation to dine aboard the Ressurected Might before we move off to commence our campaign.

[Cynical Cat]

"Jolan!" yelled Lydia. The inquisitor turned towards his interrogator. Lydia had moved as swiftly as possible to join her teacher when the alert had been sounded, but the distance had been to great.

"It's over Lydia," he replied. "They managed to escape with their prize."

"I'm sorry my lord."

"My fault. The shadowseer beat me. He was smarter, more cunning than I. I didn't question that I could see through any deception and he was able to jerk me around. A rather unpleasant reminder on the pitfalls of arrogance."

'My lord, I was able to overhear part of their conversation. I have transcribed it while it was still fresh."

"Good work," he said. Lydia wasn't a powerful telepath, but she was a capable one. Her real strengths were her powers of machine empathy and precognition, which made her a deadly shot with any weapon she chose to employ. It was the latter psychic skill that had gotten her assigned to Jolan Gix. Humans were generally poor at precognition, even gifted psykers. Jolan was a notable exception and a suitable mentor.

"We've got a big fleet emerging from the warp. Let's get together with Severa and greet the saint."

[Pcm979]

A few hours later, and after briefing Nathan on the matters at hand, Théo decided it would be prudent to check in on Inquisitor Novum's condition. After all, she wasn't about to let something go unreported. And as far as she was concerned, the 'no news is good news' philosophy simply didn't apply here. She slipped quietly through the door, hoping not to wake him, but she didn't expect Joritu to still be asleep when she entered. The Interrogator cleared her throat lightly, not wanting to startle either of them.

Indeed, Joritu was still there. The tableux could be called either 'touching' or 'pathetic' depending on the viewer; There was a hint of the loyal hound at the master's bedside. She woke with a start and, upon seeing Théo, her expression shifted from surprise to absolute mortification.

Cantor sat down where she'd been sitting before, nonplussed. She knew better (for Joritu's sake) than to comment on what she'd seen, so she simply offered that measured half-smile and asked if there had been any change in Pater's condition.

Joritu was left in the dust for a moment, before collecting herself and hopping off the bed. Turning away from Théo, she started removing the leads from Pater's skull.

"The, ah, the transfusion's complete and the sedatives have been flushed out of his system." She said, still not turning around. "He's just sleeping normally now."

"Good," she said with a nod. "I'd expect nothing less." After a moment, she added: "don't be surprised if Inquisitor Talstrem contacts you. I've informed him of Inquisitor Novum's condition and he may have questions."

She watched the girl work, smirking a bit. So attentive to detail; Théo could only hope she'd receive the same care, should she ever need it.

"I'll... Keep that in mind." The unspoken yet obvious implication: He won't catch me like you did. As she finished retracting the cables, Théo would notice that they were built into Joritu's arms.

"What were you transfusing?" she asked, curious.

"What? Oh, these?" Joritu asked, indicating the leads spooling back into her arms. "No, these are diagnostic leads. The Inquisitor has a small cogitator embedded in his spine, I can hook up to it and get a real-time indicator of his condition. Even-" a pause "-when I'm asleep."

"Ah," the young Interrogator said. "Good. I'd hate for something to happen to him unbeknownst to us." She paused as well, looking the girl up and down. She looked, for lack of a better word, harried.

"If you'd like a break, I can keep watch while you take a few minutes off. You look a tad stifled."

"Thanks. I think I'll make some caff." Joritu said, and fairly fled the room.

Théo couldn't help but chuckle a bit as the girl all but ran. It was a sort of endearing, actually. Even if in an odd way. After all, it was a sign that Joritu cared what Théo thought of her, even in a roundabout way.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. The smell of brewing leaves floated through the room, indicating that Joritu was making herself busy.

Pater's optic flickered on, the blue light shining brightly in the near-darkness.

"Sir?" Théo asked, eyeing him.

Pater's eye opened, and he turned his head."Interrogator." He said in his usual measured tone. "Status?"

"Of you?" she asked. "Joritu took care of the problem just fine, sir."

"That is evident. Is there anything I need to be informed of?"

"The Saint could be approaching, sir," she said. "We have yet to confirm the ship's identity, but that's what the Astropath presumes."

"I had sensed its arrival. Is there anything further?"

"Inquisitor Talstrem sends his regards."

"Your opinion of him?" Pater asked, sitting up.

"He's an intelligent man," she said. "Eager to return to the shape he was in before he died."

"A very politic response." Pater noted. Théo would notice that he was holding himself somewhat fragilely, and was even more stilted in conversation than usual. Probably aftereffects of his injuries.

Just then, Joritu entered carrying a tray on which rested a thermos and several mugs. Upon seeing that Pater was 'up' she put the tray down near Théo and moved to fuss over the Inquisitor.

"Well I've been trained in diplomacy, sir," she was saying as Joritu entered. Seeing her fuss over Pater once more brought just a touch of a smile twitched onto her lips. While Joritu worried, Théo poured the hot tea into the mugs and offered one to the Inquisitor, then one to the Medicae when she was finished.

Pater waved the drink away, but Joritu accepted hers gratefully and clutched it in one oversized talon. If she wasn't over her earlier embarrasment, she was at least putting on a good show. "I'd recommend as much rest as possible, Sir." She was saying. "Even with our equipment, we can't just wave the effects of trauma away." Pater concentrated on his leg, feeling the connections and servomotors. With a quick flick of his mind, the leg was fine-tuned perfectly. He got off the bed with a clang and stood there for a moment, testing the leg's balance. He grunted.

"I will take that into account." He promised, and left the room, disappearing into a side chamber to get a fresh uniform.

As Pater exited the room, Cantor yawned a bit--politely stifling it with her hand--and sipped the tea, not saying anything. She sensed the girl's unease, but what was there to do?

Joritu hovered a bit, her embarrasment coming back to the fore now Pater was safely out of the way. She sipped the tea and fiddled aimlessly with some medical equipment.

"Don't worry about it," she said with a smirk, knowing what was on the mind of the young medic. She placed a hand on Joritu's shoulder and tried to convey that she wasn't upset or even put off.

"I didn't- I don't- I just-" Joritu blurted, stopping and starting like a poorly-maintained groundcar.

"Don't worry about it," she said with a bit of a kinder smile than usual.

"Okay." Joritu said meekly, taking another sip of her tea.

She remained silent.

"It's cold in here." Joritu said after an uncomfortable pause. "I'm going back out." She turned to leave the room.

"You should relax for a while," Cantor said. "The danger's over."

Joritu gave her a momentary look as if to say You know that isn't why I'm tense! It was over almost as soon as it had begun. "Oh, the hard part's just coming up." She joked instead. "Now I have to convince him to take it easy for a while." She rolled her eyes; They both knew how hard it was to get the Inquisitor to slow down, let alone stop.

"I'll try talking to him," she said with a supportive smile. "I was impressed by your work today. I'm sure Inquisitor Novum is, as well."

"Thanks." Joritu said with a nod and a smile, and left for her quarters.

Théo felt more than a little silly sitting there alone in Pater's medical chamber alone--as she should have. She gathered the tray of mugs and the pitcher and moved out into the main foyer, setting them onto desk with a bit of a clatter. She cleared her throat a tad apprehensively.

"Inquisitor Novum, sir," she said. "I'm leaving the tea Joritu brought out here."

Pater emerged a few moments later, a fresh bodyglove and cloak on. "I do not drink." He said shortly. Indeed, casting her mind back Theo couldn't remember him drinking anything except plain water for the entire journey.

"Very well, sir," she said. She filled her own mug, took a long sip. "That 'rest' thing that Joritu mentioned," she said in what could very, very lightly be called a possible attempt at maybe humour.

"I am well aware of my own biological limitations. Joritu is somewhat overcautious, but I will follow her recommendation nonetheless." He said, aptly demonstrating his ignorance of the Medicae's true motivation.

"She'll be glad to hear that," Théo said. "She worries about you." When she spoke those words, she sounded more like a mother commenting on a child's action than anything else.

"You are unfortunately correct." He said, cleaning the clutter out of the room with a wave of his hand.

"Not necessarily unfortunate," she said in an oddly conversational manner. "After all, were she to not worry, she could underestimate her duty. It is her anxiety that's at the root of her attentiveness."

"Unfortunate for her." Pater clarified. "I am informed it occasionally results in a deterioration of her mental health."

Théo nodded. "I can see that," she said. "She was terrified when we were first informed you were injured. And to be fair, I was nervous myself."

He shook his head, unaware that he was affecting the mannerism. "I have suffered far greater injuries." He repeated.

"I never said otherwise," the girl said. "But you are my mentor, sir. If I died, it would merely inconvenience you. But an Interrogator with little experience without an Inquisitor is a handicap."

"I will be around for a while yet." Pater said with what could almost possibly be perhaps a slight trace of amusement in his voice.

"Fortunately for us," she said, "unfortunately for the Tyranids."

He essayed a small bow at the compliment. After a moment, he continued: "You have a question for me." It was a statement.

"Yes," she said. And it was true. Due to her solitary nature, she'd have left him to his own devices. She took a seat, crossed her legs.

"When you first awoke, you asked me of my opinion on Inquisitor Talstrem," she said.

He waited for her to continue.

She really wasn't sure what the second part of the question was.

"I was just curious as to your motivation there."

"Inquisitor Talstrem was recently brought back from the depths of the Warp through unnatural means. I wish to ascertain whether the transfer was... Successful. You are a trained diplomat and an empath. Hence, your opinion." He paced the room, testing his new leg.

"Of course, I never knew him before this happened, but to me he seemed cunning, if a bit paranoid. And dedicated to our cause. He was on the range when I saw him."

Just then, the room's vox beeped. "Lord Inquisitor, Madam Interrogator." The Astropath spoke. "The fleet is the Saint's after all. She's... Invited you to dinner." The last was said with a trace of bemusement.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

The dining room of the admiral’s chambers was of course, a gilded room hung with dark blue and silver lightning bolts, dominated by a mahogany central table with graven dual-headed imperial eagles gilt with gold, forming a central raised portion with a dozen similarly ornate carvings. From this came two dozen rubicund banners, set over a white silk tablecloth, each edged with gold and silver, bearing an imperial eagle design at the end.

The Imperial Navy wasn’t too good at shooting (the Eldar had that honour)
It wasn’t too good at defences (the Necrontyr had that honour)
It wasn’t all that good at much, but it was quite capable of one thing.

Keeping its senior officers in unparalleled luxury.

Lena reflected on the matter, as she leaned back on the high backed chair at the head of the table, with carved lightning bolts decorating each surface. There was of course, a reason for taking the time to engage in such frivolity as the massive fleet began moving off towards the edge of the system, and that reason was mostly that she wanted to try (and it was probably futile) to keep the Inquisitors and their various minions out of trouble for a time.

Admittedly, she sighed, that was probably about as plausible as keeping a herd of grox clean and fragranced, but still… She drummed her fingers on the chair, and waited.

[Cynical Cat]

"Doctor Vikal is expected to make a full recovery," said Lydia.

"Good," said Jolan as he examined his reflection in the mirror. "Who would have thought the first problem that losing the Will cause would be the lack of clothes for a formal dinner?"

"You think you had problems," Lydia said, "there a few hundred officers your size who would be happy to donate clothes to an inquisitor. Do you know how hard it is to get suitable woman's clothes?"

"By that you mean something something you can brawl easily in?"

"Yes."

"That tunic looks good on you. Very faux navy."

"It'll do."

"Shall we depart?" he said offering his arm.

She took it. "Lets."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Gix's party was lead out of the teleporter room by an honour guard which conveyed his retinue to the dining room. Jolan walked up to the saint. "Lena, there is something I must tell you." He steered her over to the corner.

"I have been experimenting with certain esoteric aspects of the warp and the implications of Thorian doctrine. Until recently, I have had little success. Until my latest effort."

"I had held off informing you because, I had no success to report. Now I have." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I have resurrected Nathan Talstram."

[Pcm979]

Pater changed into what could loosely be described as evening wear, although it had a strong Inquisitorial tilt. His cloak was apparent as ever, but it was of a superior make with embroidery and expensive materials; Not at all the usual rough and durable type he affected. His clothes were similarly a more refined version of his usual wear, and his augmetics were likewise gilded and embroidered. He examined himself in a dress mirror. He wasn't carrying himself as normal.

"I am still below par." He muttered.

"You just got your leg shot off and replaced, Sir. You're making an amazing recovery as it is, but the effects will linger for a few more days." Joritu said, passing him a hypodermic. "This should get you up to speed for a few hours."

He took the needle and plunged it into his neck. "Better." He said in appreciation after a few moments.

"I'm glad to help, Sir." She replied.

Meanwhile, the young Interrogator was in her quarters, smoothing out one of the few pieces of formal wear she owned. It was an elegant green and black brocade, the bodice seamlessly connected to her cape.

For the moment, she was... fixing her hair. Quite the odd situation.

A golden Puritus clasp for his cloak and a prominent display of his Rosette completed the effect. He touched his vox. "Gyllia, are the teleporters functional?" He asked, pulling a subtle glove over his augmetic hand.

"They're still jumpy, I'm afraid. I can't be certain that you'd come out the other end." She replied, a half-humourous tone to her voice.

"Unfortunate. Thank you, Gyllia." He switched channels. "Njal, have a Thunderhawk prepared for immediate departure and inform the Saint of it."

"At once, My Lord."

Meanwhile, Cantor had finished with her hair and had pinned into place an elaborate headdress. She fidgeted a bit, unused to the sensation as she hadn't worn one in a long time, and finished folding the high collar of her dress. She would also--most unfortunately--be travelling without her visor, but she assumed the affair would be a short one...

The collar itched; she scratched at it a bit. She hated the things. Were it not for the remainder of the scarring around her neck, she'd have avoided it entirely.

Pater was waiting for her at the Thunderhawk's ramp. He looked quite good, actually. His clothes were cut to flatter his looks and conceal his wounds, and the colours blended nicely with his skin tone. There had always been a strong contrast between his dark uniform and his light skin; Now the green of his cloak and clothes was lightened and other shades mixed in. His more ornate faceplate almost made him look like a character in an opera, in a good way.

Likewise, the flaws in Cantor's appearance were smoothed as well. She looked much... older. Gone also was the flinty demeanour she held in most company. In fact, only Joritu had ever really seen her without it. Her hair, which normally hung lifelessly to her waist or was drawn up in a rudimentary bun, was braided intricately, the braids coiling about the pins of the headpiece and then falling to mid-back.

She smiled at him, reserved but genuine.

"Inquisitor Novum," she addressed him.

"Théo." He said with a nod. "I believe we put Nathan to shame." Was that a compliment or a joke? Or both? He seemed subtly different, a fact even more apparent to Psykers with even a rudimentary ability to sense mindscapes.

She hesitated for a moment, then said: "This doesn't suit us, but you look... good."

"Likewise." He said, bowing in acknowledgement of the compliment. "Indeed, this pointless frippery does not appeal to me. Compromising my effectiveness in exchange for extraneous social gatherings seems counterintuitive."

"As well as counterproductive," she said. "It reminds me of life back on Terra. This is what I did every day... it was a complete waste of time and resources." She shook her head, the intricate beadwork of the headdress and choker jingling daintily. "But such things must be endured."

"Most likely the Saint merely wishes to keep an eye on us until the mission proper commences." He shook his head. "We know it, she knows it, but it cannot be acknowledged for fear of upsetting some ancient code of conduct. In my decades in the Ordo Xenos, I have toppled empires and destroyed hive fleets precisely because I did not engage in this kind of frippery."


"As it should be done," she said, quite obviously not merely agreeing with him due to her subordinance. "Were there are a more productive side to my childhood existence, I no doubt would not have gotten so bad."

"Most likely." The last of the Mechanicus attending to the craft scuttled away. "We are ready for departure." He commented without looking behind him.

"Let's," she said, stepping onto the ramp and entering without ceremony. Although she was relaxed, yes, and different in manner from the predatory self she was accustomed to, she would hold out on smiles until she absolutely had to.

After making sure that Nathan was settled, they departed. Several minutes later, they arrived on the Saint's ship and met the welcoming party.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

Lena fixed Jolan with a glare, her intricately plucked eyebrows rising a little as he continued his explanation. Then she smiled good-naturedly, “Well, first, let me offer you a belated welcome aboard the Ressurected Might. And while I’m at it, I should probably tell you that I’ve heard Lord Noirgrim has recently concluded a conclave expelling you from the Orders of the Inquisition, and ordering your immediate arco-flagellation.

“Though normally, one doesn’t practice the ludicrous custom of exchanging tasteless jokes with one’s guests outside of the more decadent ports of the Solar Segmentum…â€Â

[Cynical Cat]

"I'm sure you or your new friend has been keeping an eye on my file," Jolan replied. "With what the Gamesman and his acolytes did, do you think I would joke about this?' he hissed. His eyes filled with pain and rage and his teeth clenched. Then it vanished as if it had never been. "He'll be coming over with Novum's party." He straightened the collars of his coat. "You'll see for yourself shortly."

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

The Saint's eyes narrowed almost inperceptibly, and Gix could feel a slight sensation of 'hairs on the back of the neck standing up.' "The Emperor wouldn't approve of this kind of thing at all you know. He created the Orders of Assassins to deal with this sort of thing. Such Magnusian practices should be avoided at all costs, by everyone. No matter how skilled they are or think they are. I'm sure I will see shortly, and I hope it is not something I regret seeing."

[Cynical Cat]

Jolan laughed. "Excuse me. Your words echo those of the Gamesman. And I will give you the words that I gave him: my loyalty is to the Empire of Mankind and the human race. Neither my interest in the warp nor the machinations of the Lords of Chaos will change that."

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

A less than ladylike snort left the back of her nose, and she turned away to attend to other matters.

[SirNitram]

The Thousand Yard Stare originated on Ancient Terra, when even spaceflight seemed out of reach. It had continued through the aeons, especially in the Guard. Worst of all, though, was that of a Marine: One who had lived longer than any human, and one who had seen horrors that most would be mercifully purged after witnessing.

Currently, the incandescent gaze was locked on a ridiculously overdressed officer of the Navy who had met the Exile-Captain Malkamar upon his boarding. Far from the wasteful, extravegent dress of the others, the eccentric Marine had donned the handmade, rough and monochrome cloak, tunic, and slacks he had been found on Ophilia in. The only concession to the genetic-level paranoia of the Astartes was a Xenobuilt pistol at his hip, though he presumed not many Leman Russ battletanks would pop out at him here.

The hapless Naval officer was trying to offer the Marine finery, but was simply being given a look that threatened to burn through his skull. It was thus that the poor, hapless individual sent to try and make Malkamar appropriate for dining with the Navy had no choice but to scurry after him as he strode to the meeting place. The quiet, disdainful look he affixed it all with suggested that, were he in charge, some people in silly hats would be spaced.

[Cynical Cat]

Jolan did not reply. It stung, slightly, but he had expected that. Unbidden, the Gamesman's words came back into his mind. Three fates await you Jolan Gix. Honourable death in the Emperor's service, your memory revered by those who do not know you. Loathing and rejection by those who understand what you do to win battles in the Emperor's name. Or you can join us, who will accept you for what you are, who will honour and respect your driving will and brilliant mind. Only with Chaos can you be who you truly are.

He remembered his response: I have already fought wars with weapons that must be kept secret. And you have seen to it that those that loved me are stripped away. You have tried to break me and I am wounded, but unbroken. I am prepared to account for my actions before the Golden Throne. Only the third fates frightens me Gamesman. I reject it utterly.

[Cynical Cat]

Severa saluted Lena. "Admiral. It's good to see you again."

[Typhonis]

Nathan was quiet as the party made it's way through the ship. He looked around cautiously and nodded. He followed quietly drawing no attention to himself like a proper flunky would .


However his appearance was out of the ordinary. A simple uniform sans headgear as compared to what everyone else was wearing. Yes he had the same extra gear the others did, field generators and digital weapons but. Hre didn`t wear the extra finery that he noted most nobles and high ranking officials did.