41K RPG : Into the Eye

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

Lena smiled a little to Severa, "Hello, captain, and thank you my dear. I hope everything's going well for you lately. How have you been keeping yourself? Oh, and I do hope the Lord Vonrilyental is still intact, I'm afraid I've not been actively keeping up on your exploits for a while..."

[Cynical Cat]

"It's admiral now," Severa replied. "The Lord Vonrilyental is fine, last I heard. He has a good captain. Inquisitor Gix informed me that fleet commanders familiar with archeotech might be needed. I couldn't bring my fleet, but I could take leave."

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

"Ah good, I'm glad to see that the cream is rising a little more in the Imperial Navy once again. I suppose that's what you get when you let an organisation coast for ten thousand years though. Now if only it could actually find itself willing conscripts, we'd have made a start..."

[Cynical Cat]

Lena smiled. "More than half the ratings of my fleet joined voluntarily. Inquisitor Gix has some interesting ideas regarding subsector development. A mutually reinforcing and monitoring set of relationships that should increase the technological level, resource development, and population. In the process it grows Naval, Sororitas, and Arbites strength in the subsector. Considering the growing Tyranid threat, we'll need every advantage we can get."

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

Lena nodded at Severa, "Well, with luck," she smirked a little, "And, of course, God-Emperor willing, that may soon be far less of an issue than at present."

[Cynical Cat]

"Oh," Severa replied. "It's that big of an endeavour? I'm glad I'm making it to this party."

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

"Well, the plan isn't to actually drink them all under the table. The party's just so I can keep an eye on all of my little puppets, err, I mean, the inquisitors and their retunites. I imagine you've already managed to get into trouble somehow, given that Inquisitor Gix appears to have lost his ship..."

[Cynical Cat]

"I had heard about the Will being destroyed. A tragic loss. That ship sent more than a few of the Emperor's enemies into the dark. No, no trouble this time. Our communications weren't entirely secure, so the message could contain all the relevant details, even in Cryptia. Easy matter to secure leave and travel here." Her hand shook slightly.

[Pcm979]

"Pater mind if I ask you a question? It is something that has puzzled me since I have arrived..."

"By all means." Pater replied, the silver etchings on his more formal faceplate glowing in the light.

Nathan chose his words carefully. "OK I can see that the fashion ideas of gaudiness have continued from my time. However why does it seem like half the idiots in here,excluding the inquisitors, Lena and Severa, Bought their commissions?"

"Because they did." Pater replied simply. "The other half were most likely conscripted or press-ganged."

"Damn...... " Nathan shook his head. Looked around the room. "I guess this is what the officers expect as a result of their efforts...."

Nathan watched as Lena and Severa spoke to each other. "Does she know I’m....?"

"Jolan informed me that he would tell her. It is his right, after all. I assume she has been informed, but I cannot be certain."

"Right and if she does know we can expect her to be less than perfectly pleased.... Could be worse I guess."

"She will view you with suspicion, that much is for certain. I expect that will be your lot in life from this point onward." Pater was as blunt as ever.

Nathan nodded. "Hell a healthy dose of paranoia is standard issue these days. I’ll let her make the first move; this is her territory afterall."

Pater nodded. "I will leave you to it." He drifted away with Théo.

Nathan watched, keeping his emotions in check.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

"Well, I'm sure that it's possible to discuss such things now," Lena said, "If you'll excuse me," she said, saluting a little as she turned to the newcomers being announced by another naval peacock. She let no trace of her feelings show on her face, which could have been dead, as she looked over at Nathan.

[Typhonis]

Nathan gave hera short bow as her eyes locked with his before moving to the others. He waited to see what she would do next knowing this was a very akward moment for the two of them.

[Cynical Cat]

Jolan mixed with the Imperial officers, a false smile on his face and a clever remark always on his lips. His wine glass was often raised, but infrequently touched his lips as he pressed the flesh. As always, there was work to be done.

His efforts paled in comparison to Melina's. Anyone even slightly attracted women could keep their eyes off her only with great difficulty. She laughed, joked, and made the rounds.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

Lena’s emotions were in turmoil. There was one thing that she had decided on completely; even if this was, and even to her refined senses, occasionally the deceptions of chaos were impenetrable, Nathan, he would not receive the same kind of interest as he had before, from her.

She had changed greatly in five decades, and wistfully looked back at that person she had once been, contemplating the ways she had changed. She’d seen things that no other living human had comprehended, and knew far more about the true insidiousness of the Ruinous Powers than even, it seemed, experienced inquisitors.

Nevertheless, Gix and Nathan were assets, and they had no way of knowing what was, and was not necessary in the Grand Design. But she did. It seemed that she would have to keep close tabs on their behaviour; and expend them like the tools that they, she, and everyone else were if the need arose.

She sat herself at the head of the table, without any modesty, and ate quietly, watching the others, before eventually settling on asking Gix, though it could have been addressed to any of the guests, “So, I hear you had some interesting experiences with the locals?â€Â

[Cynical Cat]

"Here?" said Jolan. "Not much locally beside being fired upon, arrested, and threatened with torture. Not the most pleasant experience I've had, but I've dealt with worse. Out of curiousity, what does a saint do on Ophelia VII?"

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

"Oh, it will all sound incredibly boring to you, but first off, I've spent my time on a few crusades and whatnot. When not, there's been a lot of time spent on efforts to streamline the Imperium's logisitics - the Soroitas have about treble their previous effective combat strength since I've moved a large number of them from mundane tasks on well defended worlds. Other than that, I've also been writing a few volumes on the life of the Blessed Emperor, which have met with varying degrees of acceptance among the endless cults of the Imperial Faith - I can't even identify them all...

"Using whatever influence I have to alter Imperial Navy training methods, for example, that sort of thing... Of course, I can't do anything, annoyingly, to improve the Guard, but that's life for you. There's no rest for the wicked," her lips pursed into a thin, and enigmatically knowing smile.

[Cynical Cat]

"The key with the Guard is not to attempt to directly affect the institution, but rather the militaries and worlds from which they are recruited." Jolan responded. "Backward planets with semi-competent leadership will continue to produce mediocre regiments for as long as the situation is allowed to continue. Imperial Guard generals will continue to wage war by burying the enemy with our dead, because so many units cannot be trusted to fight better than that. A mass reformation of the worlds of the Imperium is in order, to bring them in line with the glorious vision of our Emperor."

[SirNitram]

Malkamar was partaking of food and drink, listening to the conversations in the room, filtering each from the rest in turn. It was something to do; he was not exactly a social sort, like most of his brother Marines. He spoke, but mostly to himself; anyone nearby heard, of course, but he wasn't directing it. "Such is the Heresy that I see so much wrong here." He muttered. "To question is to destabalize, to doubt is to betray. Yet how the hell can there be frippery as this on a warship? This room could be more torpedo storage, or another rack of targetting analytics."

Grousing, he ate. "So this is the true fall of the Imperium. Ten thousand years ago, the most horrific fate for a Marine is to side with the Heresy and be consumed by Chaos. Now you just find yourself a technoheretic and find you can't kick the habit. Still, better here than those Deathwatchers.." He rubbed his exposed skull. "No sense of humour. Stupid Codex-worshippers.."

[Pcm979]

Pater may have disliked the frippery, but that didn't mean he was bad at it. He was, in fact, excellent at the fineries of high-class Imperial occasions; It had, after all, been the reason he was born, and had coloured the first seventh of his life. He ate and drank as much as politeness demanded and no more.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

The saint smiled as the various terminally boring elegancies of the evening concluded as they coasted out-system, and speaking to Gix, though it would be easy to assume that she was speaking to everyone, said, “So, I hear you’ve had some fun with Inquisitor Aeris. I love that kind of reactionary… The building block of Imperial Stoicism.

“Of course, they can be a little annoying when they throw you into a cell and threaten to torture you to death, but so’s everything that does that…â€Â

[Caz]

The young Interrogator knew her place, and thus she said little and listened well. Like Novum, she had been cultivated from childhood for diplomacy, so--save for the difference in setting and company--the dinner affair was usual. As the table scattered and they returned to their vessel, she found herself looking back on the event without much moaning and groaning, thankfully.

Few words were said between Cantor, Pater, or their guest Inquisitor, as obviously their coming journey hung heavy on their minds.

As the ships entered the Warp in unison, Cantor couldn't help but weigh in her mind what this signified.

She would be tested soon.

[Pcm979]

Like a well-oiled machine, Pater's flotilla didn't need constant attention. When the Warp engines ripped a hole in reality, he was in his cabin.

With a flip of his fingers, the Puritus clasp fell to one side. He shrugged off his cloak and folded it before half-throwing it on the bed. He pushed the door to his ablutions chamber open, subconciously bracing himself as the ship lurched into the Sea of Souls.

Resting one hand on either side of the room's basin, he leaned over and waited. After a moment, a thin stream of ash trickled out of his mouth, collecting at the bottom of the alabaster basin.

It was such a waste, really. But convention demanded that he attend the gathering and partake of the veritable feast, even if it was utterly unnecessary. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a towel and flushed the basin, his metal finger scraping against the enameled button.

Now, at last, they could get down to business.

[Caz]

The more she thought about it, the more Cantor realised that she was headed into this situation with a terrible lack of knowledge. Since arriving, she'd taken many trips to the ship's library to research a number of things--the mechanics of her Lightning Claws, the hand to hand styles that she and Lillith had practiced, some history regarding the Tyranids. It was now time to culminate what she'd learned.

The rows of data plates were nothing short of daunting as usual.

She paced, finally selecting one--The External and Internal Schematics of Known Hive Vessels--and settling down.

[Pcm979]

A minute later, a Servo-Skull warbled into the room, preceding Pater. His faceplate and arm were, once again, his preferred utilitarian models. His robotic eye scanned the room impartially, settling on the Interrogator. The skulls settled into a slow orbit, tiny manipulators rubbing together with a chitinous rasp.

"Theo." He said evenly.

She had been so engrossed in the manual that she'd not realised his entrance, and at the sound of his voice--a voice that, without doubt, stood out amongst the downright creepiest she'd heard--she jumped, the data slate clattering to the floor.

"Sir!" she said, looking up. It was actually relieving to see him in his usual garb. She remembered that she had yet to change, but at the same time she knew that was not a concern.

"Is something the matter?" she asked a tad confusedly.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips, then flitted away just as quickly. "That is a question you should be asking yourself." He held out a hand and the dataslate wafted into his grasp. The subtext was clear- This was the first time she'd dropped something in her six months on the ship.

"Nothing out of the ordinary with me specifically, sir. Simply..." A pause. "Simply the change in our situation," she said, settling back into the chair. "No doubt you sense my anxieties, then," she said. Cantor had a habit to do that when speaking: she spoke questions as statements.

"Even if I had not, it happens to us all before the first few combat drops." Pater replaced the dataslate on its rack in the wall. "Interrogators, Arbites... Even the blessed Astartes." He turned back to her, locking his hands behind his back. Abruptly, his complete and total attention was on her, as well as the four eyes of his attendant Servo-Skulls. It was most unsettling.

She felt like a specimen beneath a microscope. Of course, it didn't show on her face due to years of practice in her youth. But it wasn't easily hid from one such as Pater, was it? "I hope to not disappoint everyone who's helped me prepare," she said, her face softening a bit. For the first time, she spoke in a frank, candid way, with no trace of her diplomacy grooming. "This reluctance makes me wonder if I have the backbone for the Inquisition, sir."

Another humourless smile, this one signalling victory. "Reluctance. Anxiety. Self-doubt." Pater intoned, beginning to circle the room. "Fear of failure. Fear of letting others down. Worry as to your preparedness."

She shifted, feeling like a calf in a lion's den. As he walked, her gaze followed him. She nodded, nothing more.

"All entirely natural. All entirely... Unfounded." He stopped. "A certain level of anxiety is normal, even beneficial. It keeps your mind sharp, your reflexes honed. But there can always be too much of a good thing." He started walking again.

"As the hour approaches, you pace in your cage like an unfed animal. Doubt builds upon doubt, threatening to smother you. But there is nothing you can do except wait. Nothing. That is probably the most difficult lesson to learn. By comparison, battle is simple, straightforward. Your training takes over. Even when lying in a pool of your own blood, utterly spent, you know where you are." He turned towards her again, his gaze searching for only he knew what.

She fiddled with her hair clip, obviously feeling as though the spot light was on her. "I suppose there's no way to tell save for counting the heads when we return from battle, is there?" she asked, feeling exposed beneath his stare without her visor.

He nodded briefly. "That is the heart of the matter. Uncertainty. Inability to take action. Impotence, of a sort. When the conflict finally comes, it is almost a relief." He quickly, precisely dissected her emotions with all the skill and precision of a trained surgeon.

"Yes," she said. "Simply diving into it would be preferable to this worrying. I've read and trained and worried all I can..." sighing, she raised her head and met his stare. "What do you do at a time like this?"

He started pacing again, the break in eye contact almost a reward. "There is no universal method, unfortunately. Everyone must discover what works for them. Meditation is popular, as is prayer. Repetitive tasks, routines. They are all methods of clearing your mind."

She thought for a few moments. When did she feel most relaxed? What put her at her best, mentally? After considering her options, she stood and raked her hands through her hair, attempting to clear her mind of such unpleasant thoughts. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I believe I'll attempt sleeping a bit." A moment later, she added: "And although it isn't my place, I'd think you should rest as well."

He snorted. "No doubt Joritu will say the same, if she catches me. Well, I would appear a hypocrite if I did not follow my own advice."

"It is because we wish the best for you," she said pointedly. "Not simply to nag."

He raised his eyebrow incrementally. "Oh, I do know that. Joritu is my physician, after all. She would not be if I did not judge her capable for the task."

"I spoke of myself as well," she pointed out.

"You did." Pater agreed noncommittally.

"And I am not your physician," she said with a hint of a smirk.

"No." Pater agreed, apparently either unaware of where this was going or unwilling to go down that path.

Théo smiled a bit, more to herself than to him, and settled back in her chair. Whatever unease he'd caused was apparently fading due to what she perceived to be a small victory.

Pater seemed to dismiss the incident from his mind, and swept out, the Skulls following in his wake.

[Cynical Cat]

Jolan bolted upright in bed. The dream again. He could hear the Gamesman's mocking voice in his head. He reached over to the pitcher of water neer his bedside and poured himself a glass. He drank it in quick gulps.

Once he had percieved himself to be the pilot of his own destiny. Once he had a ship that could cross the stars and could take him anywhere he wished. He had struck down the corrupt and the treasonous and plotted the restoration of entire subsectors.

Now he was a pebble in stream. On board another's ship, serving another's will. Inquisitor Jolan Gix, all but pariah to those who shared his own faith. "Never," he whispered to the darkness. "Never. I defy you to the last.

[The Necrontyr Messenger]

WEMADEIT SYSTEM – OPERATION TIME 01:01:00

Lance Corporal Lews watched the stormtroopers – Fifteenth Redese Grenadiers, rather – marching into the drop ships in the jumping off bay of the troop transport Baron Veldemon’s Imprecations. He took the lho stick from his mouth and blew out a ring of carcinogenic smoke, turning to the soldier next to him. “Who’d ‘a thunk it? They go in first.â€Â