Joran had been aboard ships before, both small cargo vessels barely able to warp from planet to planet, and massive hulking transport craft designed to carry a world's worth of Guardsmen to the next battlefield. But none put him as much on edge as this one. The [i]Rigged Fortune[/i] had an ominous air about it, one that was not helped by the constant screaming of dying slaves as that Tau carried out experiments for Nykerion. Joran had agreed to join up with this crew because of the Trader's willingness to hire...less-reputable members of society, from criminals to psykers, to even Xenos, the crew of the [i]Rigged Fortune[/i] was a menagerie of the dregs, outcasts, and criminals of the galaxy, and Joran was no exception.

Having escaped a life of fighting, and inevitably dying, for the so-called Emperor(Joran doubted he had even existed, it was said to have happened so long ago.), Joran found himself doing mercenary work in exchange for getting as far away as possible from Savlar. Now he found himself as one of the men-at-arms for the [i]Rigged Fortune[/i], and was currently in the midst of some impromptu, unapproved R&R. Rolling up his shirt sleeve, Joran found his usual chem injection site, and carefully slid the needletip into his arm. Slowly, he pressed down on the syringe plunger, and with a deep exhale felt the initial effects of the Stimm as it entered the bloodstream. Removing the needle from his vein, and then removing the needle from the plunger, which he'd save for later. Rolling his fatigue sleeve back down, Joran pulled a box of Lho-sticks from a pocket, slipped one out, and lit it with the pilot light of the flamer pistol attached to his lasgun.

Taking a few puffs of the Lho-stick, Joran groaned slightly when he was called down to the hanger by the so-called "Mistress of Arms", a Dark Eldar by the name of Naamah. Before joining up with the crew, Joran hadn't even known there was such a thing as a 'Dark' Eldar, having only barely known about the knife-eared Xenos from the (now proven inaccurate) Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, the wholly pathetic handbook that Joran had, on more than one occasion, used as waste tissue after a bad night of experimentation with rations. Walking down the ship's halls towards the hanger, Joran tried to get as many puffs out of his lho-stick before tossing it on the metal floor and snuffing it out with his foot as he approached the hanger door.

Entering the hanger, Joran took a place in the ragtag excuse for a formation that then other men-at-arms were making. As he stood, waiting for the others to enter the hanger, he rubbed his eyes to try and keep them from glazing over due to the inactivity reacting poorly with the Stimm. Eventually, the last stragglers came in, and Naamah began the briefing.

"A ship has been detected. Rogue Trader Nykerio wishes to investigate it. You know what to do"

With that Joran rushed to prep his gear, making sure he had everything he needed with him before the boarding.