[@ReedeThe23rd][@Searat] Lazarus Germael... Drake liked him, liked him quite a bit actually, if only because the middle-aged physician had the requisite culture and sophistication – not to mention the education! - that reminded Horatio strongly of himself. It helped that, at least at first glance (and honestly if you were nearly blind), Lazarus and the Rogue Trader could be mistaken for one another – each was at least six-foot tall, angular and narrow facial features, and the general standing of more patrician citizens of the Imperium. "Well, my lord. I wouldn't presume to speak for the armsmen here, but I am fully prepared for the voyage at hand. I should also inform you that the nasty bit of trouble involving Sub-Lieutenant Sicus and the crate of auto-rifles has been resolved. The damage suffered by Mr. Sicus has been rectified with a bionic replacement, and the guilty party has been scheduled by his assigned Bosun for servitor conversion as soon as I'm next available. But enough about such trifles, shall we board the shuttle?" [i]Sub-lieutenant Sicus? Who in the Warp was that? Germael was treating him, so he must be at least a little bit important...dammit Briggs, he was usually the man to deal with such things.[/i] “Of course,” exhaled Drake, with a little more gumption than he would have liked, one cheek twitching ever-so-slightly as he glanced to the medicus and then back to the shuttle, “thank you, Lazarus, it seems that bringing you aboard was a most wise choice in the long run, ey?” One arm then proceeded to move out and half-slap the man of medicine on one shoulder, “yes, let us board, should be a quick trip down to the surface.” The Trader has no idea if the former Biologis understudy was bothered by being called by his first name but, with something of an internal shrug, he threw away the matter; either Lazarus travelled with him, in comfort and with ample materials and space to pursue his 'career', or he left the ship and took a plunge into the God-Emperor knew what. It may have been that Horatio would simply make his way past the feudal worlder, ignoring him and proceeding into the belly of the shuttle without a moments hesitation and yet, for all his faults – and there were many of those – Horatio Drake [b]never[/b] ignored a loyal follower, seeing in Karl the warrior that he honest-to-the-Emperor believed himself to be as well. He may not have had the breeding or education of the medicus, but [i]something[/i] about the Iothean seemed to click just as neatly. Once more it had been his First Mate that had chosen Karl Ockmann for his employers personal protector, the old space-dog more than happy to sift through the survivors of Yairus Prime until he found someone he believed was up to the task. Indeed, more than a half of his 'armsmen' were in fact not Naval at all, but ex-Guard chosen for their combat skills rather than their spacefaring expertise. Who knew, there may even have been another of Karl's folk amongst them? “Private Fist Class Tolzen,” greeted the Trader, giving the armoured man a small rap on the chest-plate, “you will keep me safe down there, will you not?” It was a rhetorical question, and the Rogue Trader did not expect him to answer, but it made Horatio smile nonetheless. Gesturing for the group to follow – assuming his place at the head of the group, as was his right to do – Horatio strode up the ramp. Once they were all aboard, the passenger section closed in with a hiss of the rising ramp and a loud [b]thump[/b] as it sealed the shuttle, Drake took a moment to compose himself. Making sure that his weapons were within easy reach, his green and black jacket - taken from the stores of a Guard regiment he had never even been a part of, the Ninty-Sixth Sasan Rifles - free of creases and his trousers, a deep blue with a crimson stripe down the centre of the outer leg, held well in place by his belt. Lastly he checked his hair, tied in a top-knot on his head, his lips curving into a smile unseen within the darkness of the shuttle bay, devilish red light being the only thing illuminating the shuddering interior. It was not long before they landed, setting down a mile or so outside of a settlement known planet wide for its less-than-savoury inhabitants. Some might well have seen the shuttle, some may even be on their way, but Drake was not really concerned about much at all...at least not until he exited the shuttle, his eyes looking toward Nab's Holdout, and had them widen somewhat when he saw the absolute state of the place. "Emperor's shrivelled bollocks," came the expletive, one hand already reaching for the chain-axe dangling from his hip, "I come here for experts and what do I get?” He said to no-one in particular. [hr] [hr] [@Andreyich][@BangoSkank] Daniel had been right...perhaps too right. Nithin Michalis made a small shudder of his own as his gun-cutter entered the atmosphere of Escalon Seven, his pallid visage unable to be seen within the thick black folds of his habit and cowl, two milky white orbs nevertheless scanning the interior of the shuttle as if they possessed fully functioning sight – much to the unease of those sighted individuals flying the machine. “We are nearly there, Cenobite Father,” the older (and therefore less squeamish of the pilots) informed him in a steady voice, “estimated we shall arrive in ten minutes.” Father Michalis raised one hand wearily and dismissed the man, bored with him already, having scanned the minds of both he and his younger companion as soon as they had arrived in his hermitage; both were more-than-loyal servants of the God-Emperor, their faith resolute, and that was really all the good Father needed to know...though he had found out [i]everything[/i] anyway. It had been a week now since he left his station, a small one-man hermitage on a backwater Imperial planet, Abbot Gerrit Ahti sending him a transmission not a day before. Why then had he been chosen? Well it was quite simple, apart from being a firm member of the Adeptus Ministorum, he was also a psyker of some considerable talents. Not for nothing was his nickname 'the scourge', his exploits well known to his more doubting brethren, men and women who hated him simply for the [i]curse[/i] of being born as he was – blind, and yet with a greater clarity of sight than any of them. “We're here, venerable one.” The cutter landed on a small outcrop not too far from the ramshackle settlement, the hundreds of minds already opening up to the unseeing holy man, and some not so much... Quarter of an hour later, and in full view of any that may be watching, he – swaddled in the thick folds of his robes, moving with all the grace of a wraith – moved down the ramp and into the open. “I shall go alone from here,” he urged the pilots, “remain here until my return.” Unknown to him – as of yet – Horatio and his entourage had landed on one of the official docking platforms and were already making their way into the small town. There was a pariah up for grabs, and more, but the question was who would get to him first?