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An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP (Black Crusade Inspired) [CLOSED]

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP

Discord: discord.gg/q7X39mqbTV

Accepting new players!

Summary:

- A tale of perversion, corruption, and HERESY within the Warhammer 40,000 universe and setting; we now have an 'official' 18+ tag for RPs, this means there will be no fade-to-blacks and certainly some guts flying about. If you're not 18+ then I advise steering clear of this.

- Characters can come in most shapes and sizes, their age, experience and so forth pretty much up to the participant; that being said, each character begins at the bottommost rung of the Chaos hierarchy, and I will immediately reject any God-like beings or over the top characters.

- I expect, nay, I actively encourage Chaotic behaviour; human sacrifice, perverse sexual acts, the killing of innocent...but let's not get too over the top with it. Hence this RP shall be rated 18+.

- Our tale takes place in the most up-to-date period of 40K timeline, the beginnings of the 42nd Millennium.

- As the RP progresses, you may well be given 'gifts' by the Dark Gods (they being...me), remember this and enjoy.

- Just to reiterate an earlier point; no super-human killing machines, characters are to begin as the lowest of the low, although only in the Chaos hierarchy - this goes triply for any potential psykers.

Otherwise they can be anywhere from a Guardsman, to a Cultist, to a member of a Planetary Governors personal retinue and so forth.

- Character sheets will be accepted based on merit alone, not 'first come first serve'; the more odd/powerful your character, the more exceptional your character sheet will need to be.

- The tale shall begin in a location known only to those who know where it is and serve the Ruinous Powers (I'll set it up once the IC gets started), where we can gather the group, interact and so on. If you have any idea(s) of your own that might spice things up, please feel free to talk to me, though I make no promises that said idea(s) shall be implemented into the RP.

- I fully expect, and intend, for characters to evolve over time during this RP. An example might be that someone loses a limb and seeks a bionic replacement, whether they get one will be both up to me as GM and the participants as a whole; character sheets will then be edited to show any changes, as with a TT role-playing game, and just remember that every action will likely have some form of reaction.

Introduction/Info:

"Arishe 42.9 is what the Imperials call it, the natives naming it Ti'achi in their own tongue, a world within the Muinel System classified as a 'feral world' by Rogue Traders and Mechanicus Explorators; it began life as a verdant world of forests, wide open plains, and a considerable population of indigenous humans, some nomadic wanderers and others more sedentary in their lifestyle, that was until the Imperium arrived...

Within a matter of decades the entire system, seven habitable worlds in all, had been subject to wave after wave of Imperial colonists and settlers, at least four of the planets becoming dotted by hives and irradiated. Two more became more simple worlds, at least one a Militarum recouperation colony planet. Only Arishe 42.9 remained as it had always been, the planet marked as 'perfect' for conversion into an agri-world and supplier of the systems foodstuffs, whether the local population wished it or not.

First came the missionaries, there to save the natives from what they claimed were daemons, to turn them toward the true worship of the God-Emperor, and to educate them in Low Gothic in their Mission-Scholas.

Next came the settlers and workers from a thousand other agri-worlds across Imperial space, there for the land, the relative freedom, and because they were told to be.

Lastly was placed on the planet an occupation force and the Mechanicus assistance needed to get the job done.

Some of the natives took to the new order as loyal workers, others resisting and paying often terrible prices for their defiance, but there was one who would not fold so easily.

They called him Eh'haya'tey, the Dreamwalker, a prophet among his people who rallied them to hold fast to their old ways and to show the Imperium that they would not be cowed so easily!

Who could have known that there was something else beneath it all, something at work that only those attuned would be able to feel, there was a destiny in the wind for those that would reach out and take it, and it would all begin here."

Out of character info:

Welcome, one and all, to the grim darkness of the future where their is only war!

As part of a group, you shall be forming a group of individuals who have, in their own ways, dedicated themselves to the worship of one or more of the Chaos Gods; you might be a powerful figure in your every day life, or you may be the poorest beggar in an Underhive somewhere, it really does not matter! What matters is that you have turned from the faith and light of the Imperium and the Emperor, toward the temptation and ensnaring options of what-could-be, if only you travel the path before you.

To begin with, as stated above, we will have a short 'gathering of the clans' - basically getting everyone together in one place, a location I shall reveal to everyone when/if I get enough folks to begin the IC portion of this RP. Your characters will be alerted to this 'meeting' depending on who they are, where they are any so on, but leave that to me. After this little get together, and hopefully some interaction, we shall proceed with our nefarious and dark activities in the Imperium.

You can be more-or-less whomever you wish to be, although I would advise a lower ranking character - a Planetary Governor would draw quite a lot of attention if he suddenly went AWOL from his post, don't you think?

I expect everyone will have some knowledge of Warhammer 40K, but for those that might lack a little, I have always found warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Warhammer… to be one of the best places to look - just make certain that the information has a source, otherwise it is very likely fan made and therefore not canon.

Rules

- Sort your squabbles out in private. If you persistently disagree with another player or they're grieving you, involve me. If necessary, I will get the moderators involved.

- No godmodding (controlling someone else's character).

- Try to post at least once a week- though more if you can, let me know if you can't post soon, and please try for at least three paragraphs.

- One character per player.

- My decisions are final.

Character Sheet

[indent] Please post your character sheets in this thread first, NOT the Character tab; once accepted, you may then post them to the tab.

I am going to make this both a test of your writing prowess, and an exercise in imaginative creation. Therefore, I would like everyone just to write a series of prose that details everything you would usually find in a character profile - name, looks, and so on.

You may feel free to include, or indeed to not include, what non-integral parts you may feel like; you may wish to keep something back, for example, or to reveal their personality through RPing.

It may also be as long or short (though not too short) as you wish.

In essence, it is up to you.

I look heartily forward to seeing what you can create.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.

Death to the Imperium of Man!

Dwarves!

Old Tam the Piper

Name: Old Tam

Age: 182

Gender: Male

Appearance: Tam is build much like any other Dwarf, just... older; he moves slower than younger Dwarves, his eyes see less (in truth he is almost blind, but his hearing is as excellent as it has always been) and his posture is more hunched than those of more youthful years and stouter physique; a figure noted by his long, white, beard and simple tunic and trews of various deep shades, the only piece of 'ostentatious' clothing is a chequered plaid he never removes wrapped diagonally about his torso. Though he fights little now, he has had experience, and a hatchet can usually be seen slapping against one hip while his signature instrument – his pipes – never leave him.

Skills and Flaws: Outside if his bodily restrictions he has a number of strengths, the foremost being his almost supernatural sense of hearing – this is what has allowed him to forge himself into the master piper and whistler he is now known to be. His other is that, in spite of his age, his endurance has never waned and, though perhaps slower in pace than the rest, he can march (at speed if necessary) with the youngest of them.

It is a shame then that, external of music, his memory can sometimes let him down, his greed lays as heavy upon him as all Dwarves, and in a close-quarters situation he is nowhere as reliable as a fully fledged warrior.

Background: Old Tam is something of a pathetic figure in Thrillem, humoured by most because of his almost divine skill with his instruments – able to invoke tales as old as the stone itself from naught but the notes of his bagpipe – he nevertheless is only half of what any Dwarf should be.

He has forgotten many of the names of his ancestors, even the faces of his own deceased parents, even as he tells you about an event in the halls when he was naught more than a wee boy, the only thing keeping him grounded being the tartan material wrapped about him and the shockingly youthful hands he sees as he plays.

It is shame that has driven him into the arms of this newest quest, an almost suicidal self-awareness that he has lost in himself and his age something fundamentally Dwarvish by remembering only the grey shades of what constitutes his memory.

Now he seeks repentance of a sort, and payment with his music and usually jovial company, and, should it come, his own ending.

Miscellaneous: None, as of yet.

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

Edmund Andamar - Rogue Trader

@ClocktowerEchos@Erezrim@Jeddaven@POOHEAD189@BangoSkank

Several weeks later...

The translation from realspace into the Immaterium was just as one might expect - klaxons blared on every deck, usually illuminating light now constricting into sharp colours of red and casting everything in a hellish glow, and every view from porthole to bridge window blocked by thick armoured panels slipping into place - over it all the announcement from the bridge for all hands to remain calm, and beneath it all the soft tremor of a vessel thrusting itself into the guts of literal Armageddon itself.

For his own part Edmund barely registered any of this, focused as he had been on his bland meal and then, once his belly was full and his mind focused on other matters, the duties of the ship had been taking up his time quite succinctly. All he had to know was that a Mandeville Point had been reached, and that his precious sky-chariot was on its way to the next region of space... or at least that is how it should have been.

"Lord-Commander?" Cheeped a voice in his comm-piece as he strode back toward his cabin, "there is a problem."

Edmund recognised the voice of his First Officer and came to a full stop in the narrow passage, placing one hand to his wrist and upping the volume.

"What is it, Mister Kurg? Are we all going to die?"

There was a short pause, then a nervous chuckle, "eh, no, Lord... but you may want to turn out the House Troops."

The expression on Edmund's face was unreadable in the dim light of the passage, but it was undeniably not one of glee.

---

Down in the depths...

It had been a matter of zero-point-eight seconds, a mere fluctuation in the makeup of the all-encompassing Gellar Field which protects all warp-borne Imperial ships from the dangers of the Immaterium, and as such it registered as less than nothing on the admittedly advanced systems of the Purpose. What it had not supposed to have been was some sort of trigger, and yet tha was precisely what it was.

Zola Demir has slaved aboard His Divine Purpose for nigh-on twenty years of his life, his once muscle-bound and striking physique reduced in almost every way from what it had once been. All because of his service. It had twisted him in body, and also in mind, yet what it had never managed to beat out of him was the demagogic quality of his voice and the speeches he gave to the downtrodden of the ship.

That Sister had come aboard the ship and started preaching, as was their way, telling them the lies and fallacies of the Imperial Creed. Her words even more hollow and full of poison than those of the machine-men that worked them until they dropped dead. So he had been forced to heighten his speech, to form his words into weapons that pierced and infested the mind, to use the gifts he had been given by his true patron deity.

No-one had, but if they had been bothered to check, they may have found the tattoo that marked him as one of the chosen, concealed as it was beneath the flesh of his forearm. It burned him even as he tore off the sleeve of his work overalls and glared down at the marking, the shape of a lidless eye surrounded by multiple sets of angelic wings looking right back at him, the fraction of a second through the Gellar Field being all that his patron had needed to contact he and his flock - the Cult of the Beaked Wayfarer.

All those years had come to this final moment, his hand sliding about the nearby piping as if he were in a trance, lifting the heavy metal implement and advancing on the sections overseer with eyes full of fanaticism.

"What the Warp are you doing, Demir?" Grunted the larger man as he noticed Zola had ceased working, his piggish brow creasing as he saw the pipe awkwardly concealed at the workers side, one meaty hand going toward the snub-nosed pistol at his hip but he was slow... oh, far too slow...

Once, twice, thrice the pipe impacted upon the mans thick skull, the overseer crashing to the decking like a poleaxed ox, the last blow shattering his cranium into mush as Zola hunched down to take the pistol for his own.

"Now, my children," he crowed as he lifted himself back to his full height, his purple eyes roving over the faces of those about him - some filled with an ecstasy equal to his own, others locked in a rictus of fear or uncertainty as to what would happen next - "now we faithful of the Wayfarer shall rise! Follow the plan and kill all those who resist. Come the Wayfarer and Come the Change!"

Those who were not marked cold not have known what would happen, but then again they hardly had time to think about it before they too went to join the overseer.

---

"It would appear they're heading for the enginarium and the Gellar Shield generator, as well as another large contingent coming straight toward us here, milord. A goodly number of the lower deckhands have turned on their officers and overseers, though none of your own troops from what we can gather. Their progress is currently slow, but i forsee it shall quicken once they've cleared the bottommost passages."

Edmund stood rigid on the bridge, one hand tapping rapidly on the hilt of his sabre, eyes lit up by the rapidly moving specks on the internal blueprint of his vessel.

"They shall not have her, by the God-Emperor they shall not," he whispered before switching his gaze to his Master-of-Vox, "tell my retinue to prepare themselves as best they can, and have petty officer Nesam empty the barracks. We shall need House Guard at every chokepoint, as well as a large force to make safe the enginarium. I trust the Martians to hold onto it, but help is always welcome I should think."

Well, at least Genetor Dahti will have plenty of subjects for dissection.

Dwarves!

@Duck

How about it?

Please do tell me if there's anything I'd need to change.

Old Tam the Piper

Name: Old Tam

Age: 182

Gender: Male

Appearance: Tam is build much like any other Dwarf, just... older; he moves slower than younger Dwarves, his eyes see less (in truth he is almost blind, but his hearing is as excellent as it has always been) and his posture is more hunched than those of more youthful years and stouter physique; a figure noted by his long, white, beard and simple tunic and trews of various deep shades, the only piece of 'ostentatious' clothing is a chequered plaid he never removes wrapped diagonally about his torso. Though he fights little now, he has had experience, and a hatchet can usually be seen slapping against one hip while his signature instrument – his pipes – never leave him.

Skills and Flaws: Outside if his bodily restrictions he has a number of strengths, the foremost being his almost supernatural sense of hearing – this is what has allowed him to forge himself into the master piper and whistler he is now known to be. His other is that, in spite of his age, his endurance has never waned and, though perhaps slower in pace than the rest, he can march (at speed if necessary) with the youngest of them.

It is a shame then that, external of music, his memory can sometimes let him down, his greed lays as heavy upon him as all Dwarves, and in a close-quarters situation he is nowhere as reliable as a fully fledged warrior.

Background: Old Tam is something of a pathetic figure in Thrillem, humoured by most because of his almost divine skill with his instruments – able to invoke tales as old as the stone itself from naught but the notes of his bagpipe – he nevertheless is only half of what any Dwarf should be.

He has forgotten many of the names of his ancestors, even the faces of his own deceased parents, even as he tells you about an event in the halls when he was naught more than a wee boy, the only thing keeping him grounded being the tartan material wrapped about him and the shockingly youthful hands he sees as he plays.

It is shame that has driven him into the arms of this newest quest, an almost suicidal self-awareness that he has lost in himself and his age something fundamentally Dwarvish by remembering only the grey shades of what constitutes his memory.

Now he seeks repentance of a sort, and payment with his music and usually jovial company, and, should it come, his own ending.

Miscellaneous: None, as of yet.

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

Edmund Andamar - Rogue Trader

@ClocktowerEchos@Erezrim@Jeddaven@POOHEAD189@BangoSkank

"So, when do we start boss? I'm not against ye paying me to sit around, but..."

Edmund could only give another lingering smile, this time toward the Squat - fixing him with his cerulean gaze to linger a little longer than was comfortable (though probably not that uncomfortable to the bearish smoker) - before his eyes travelled over those that would be both his companions and, in many ways, his bodyguard for whatever constituted the future of this near-suicidal endeavour.

"Oh Master Haldengard," he replied in a lowered voice, his tone genial but softened from earlier, "are you really so eager to die?"

Moments ground slowly onward following his half-whispered words, the youngest Andamar seemingly turned to stone during that time, before bringing his hands together with a loud CLAP. Accompanying this movement was a thorough blinking of his eyes, as if awoken from some form of waking dream, and a sheepish half-smile followed by a clearing of his throat.

"We shall begin once our two religious representatives here," a lone digit pointed leisurely toward Sister Agathe and Biologist Dahti, "and any others that wish to join them, or believe their presence would help, have conducted the blessings over this vessel and her latest - and possibly final - voyage."

With a hushed word the projector, and the plinth into which it was embedded, descended back into the floor of the dais; seconds later it appeared as if it had never been there at all, replaced as it was by the seamless metal of a floor once more.

"As for myself, I think some lunch is in order, and as such I shall be heading to the cafeterium for some refreshment. You are of course welcome to join me," this was not directed at anyone in particular, but he knew there were those that would be happier to hear it than others, "once Mister Kurg has informed me of our arrival at the nearest Mandeville Point, I shall return to the bridge and from there the true peregrination begins - good day, companions."

A last smile stretched the corners of his mouth as he withdrew himself from the dais, boots heels tapping lightly as he moved with habitual composure back toward the ships vascular system of corridors, chambers and places that none went without the aid of a weapon and ones wits.

---

He would not refute feeling some form of returned serenity as the heavy doors of Dome Hex-19/25-K grinded to a close behind him, a breath he had not known he was holding finally escaping from between his slender lips and into the ships filtration system. Indeed, things had gone about as well as could be expected, with the inner-circle of individuals he now held in his hand so-to-speak apparently rather buoyant about the prospect of heading through the Rift and into possible destruction - all except Magos Arbusculus Formidatus... Dahti... but then again what had he expected from a veteran of the Primarch's Indomitus Crusade? Yes, the tech-priests attendance on this journey was far outweighed in the positive than by the negative, and so he was pleased.

"Mister Kurg," spoke the Trader into the air itself, knowing that somehow his Ships Master would hear him, he always did.

"Milord?" Came the gruff voice from a vox-grille only inches away from Edmund's head, the former Naval Commander still uncertain how his subordinate did it.

"I shall be grabbing a bite to eat before we depart, with the proles today, once we have reached our assigned Mandeville please have Navigator Andrafall set course for the Arpedina System."

"As you will, lord."

Yes... yes... as I will it thought Edmund jovially, beginning to whistle the tune of a bawdy sailors song while his stomach emitted a low growl that echoed off the walls of the corridor.

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

Edmund Andamar - Rogue Trader

@ClocktowerEchos@Erezrim@Jeddaven@POOHEAD189@BangoSkank

Once more Edmund waited with an innate patience he had possessed his entire life, listening intently while both Sister Agathe and then the more seasoned figure of his Genator, each of them seemingly becoming enraptured with religious fervour, made question or request of him. Although a devout citizen himself - one had to be when one had both his upbringing and his current occupation, a faith in the divine Emperor never seen as anything but positive - he lacked the zealotry shown by others toward his gene-sons. True, the Lord-Protector was far above the average warriors of the Astartes, but he was still a transhuman nonetheless, and Edmund saw no reason to view nor treat him as a seraphic element.

"Sister... Magos... if you are both willing to work together in what the Genetor has described, this 'Grand Liturgy', then I had no objections to it. On the contrary, what sort of Imperial faithful would I be if I did not push for some form of blessing myself in this undertaking?"

Indeed, he valued Dahti's experience - especially when it came to the Great Rift - and Agathe's vigour as two components that would serve the entire enterprise very well come the future. As the Genetor had said, whether they liked it or not the servants of the Ruinous Powers would stand in their path one way or another, and when that time came it would benefit no-one to be unprepared in faith or doubtful of their most righteous cause.

"May I now answer your more pressing queries," intoned the Trader with a smile, keeping his eyes steady on the semi-organic form of Genetor Dahti, "first I must ask that you refrain from directing enquiries of data-matter toward the Chief Enginseer, he has neither the clearance or the knowhow to grant your request. I shall contact our foremost Lexmechanic and have him open our datastacks to you, Chief Medicae, excluding those where I would rather you do not or will not be allowed to traverse- I believe I see why you ask, but know that, should you be corrupted in any way, I would need to delete you from existence above all others."

Looking now to the rest of the group he gave another short shrug.

"I do not believe I can speak for all in regards to a medical examination, but I would urge all present to submit to one, excluding myself of course. Magos Dahti knows already all he needs to know about my physiological condition."

The last question was the hardest to answer, Edmund having his name, his wealth and those few contacts he had made in his so far short career to rely on with any solidity.

"As a Rogue Trader, and owner of a Warrant of Trade, I hold both within and without the Imperium powers of authority matched only by the highest levels of sovereignty; while I hold no knowledge of assured support, in material or otherwise, should it be imperative to call on aid then I believe we can expect to be given all we may require."

There were things for the moment that young Lord-Commander Andamar could have said, perhaps things he even should have said, but these were not things that needed to be widely known among those he had chosen as his retinue of sorts. Oh there were contacts he could call upon, aid he could demand to be given, things that could well tip the Genetor's idea of 'strategic analysis', but for now he saw no reason to speak on that in any capacity.

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

Edmund Andamar - Rogue Trader

@ClocktowerEchos@Erezrim@Jeddaven@POOHEAD189@BangoSkank

"Just questions, Chief Enginseer," acknowledged the Trader with a curt nod toward the interrogative tech-priest, "tis better to be forewarned and forearmed, and so I shall try to answer as completely as I may at this time."

In a multitude of motions he was once more thrown into viridescent illumination, the holo-projector coming to life with a smoothness rarely seen outside of technology from the more enlightened days of the Imperium and her history, twists and flicks of a finger bringing up first their own location, the map expanding to show the Segementum Tempestus, and with a couple of south-westerly motions of two fingers, the projection coalesced into the southerly half of the Ultima Segementum.

"Within the borders of our great Imperium, that in which we now sit with some security, you need not fear of finding anything beyond that which we already know. Inside the confines of the Imperium Sanctus you may continue as you always do, though tightened security may not go amiss."

A couple more moments and the green map, now marked with innumerable and ever-shifting icons, names and other numerical information, dived forth once more to make large a particular location - the contested worlds of the Charadon Sector.

"Following our pause at Arpedina, this is our next port of call. The Charadon Sector. An even now contested sector, wherein lay many dangers, but where we must go to find a specific someone who, God-Emperor willing, will be able to make our journey through the Great Rift a fraction more survivable; I have been told little, only that they exist, and where they are apparently to be found."

His broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, as he once more allowed the projector to return to a point of standby.

"I do wish I could say more about after we reach the Dark Imperium, because we will reach it, but the honest truth is that things are so unlike they once were that this is simply not possible. I could warn you of environmental hazards that once were there, only for them to be swallowed by the cursed warp. I could mention foul xenos that inhabited a world we may pass, but for all I know they could now be extict... or an empire of their own."

Those gloved hands now leant themselves on the solid circular base of the machine, Edmund leaning forward with a creak of leather, "believe and trust me when I say that I will inform you, Hishiryn Zero-Eight Em-En Kappa, that I will tell you... all of you... as much as I can, when I can, if I know it for certain; I know you, as a servant of the Omnissiah, would rather I give you cold, hard, irrefutable logic and statistics. At this moment though I can give you little more than theoreticals, information I believe those of your creed would not take at face value, as we organics say - all I can say is that I would like you to make strong the ship, keep her running at optimum range, and see to her care."

Glacial eyes flashed about once more as Edmund took a deep breath, turning one hand palm-up and sweeping it before him in a semi-circle.

"Anyone else?"

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

Edmund Andamar - Rogue Trader

@Erezrim@Jeddaven@POOHEAD189@ClocktowerEchos@BangoSkank

"E-nough!"

Edmund did not raise his voice when he had had more than enough of the the Omnissiah's servants and their bickering, though it was more like a cordial greeting and a sharp rebuttal from one to the other, his tone almost in every respect that of his father.

Having grown up 'in society' as it were, the youngest Andamar had learnt far more of blue-blooded politesse and protocol than his brothers. This included the techniques that one might need to survive that truly cutthroat environment; two of these he had been taught by the old man himself, these being what his father had called 'the face' - an expression used to turn ones visage into an unreadable mask, most lofty and patrician in its outward form, the very expression Edmund adopted as he spoke to the assembled group - while the other was modulating his voice to be heard across a parade ground or forum, the tonal shifts and octaves encompassing there own message, if one were able to follow the cues.

Softly pursing his lips, he held the data-slate in one hand and, after straightening himself to his full height, paced smartly over to the centre of the dais. With a few gestures into the air, and a couple of spoken words to an unseen listener, the floor yawned open and from it rose a large holo-viewer. Gesturing with one hand for those present to gather around, his other slid the slate into a narrow slot, a small beep acknowledging the hand-held device.

The holo-viewer itself was about waist height, a circular projector encompassing the middle, and a keypad in front of where Edmund now stood.

"Now..." the Rogue Trader cleared his throat softly, eyeing each of his newly acquired coterie, "I would like to welcome you all aboard His Divine Purpose. Some of you have been dwelling aboard her longer than others, but I have no doubt that all of you are curious in one way or another - whether about the person stood next to you, about why you're here and where we're going, or more probably both."

Now pausing to tap a few keys with his fingertips, each key illuminating a dim green as it was touched, Edmund caught a sight of Roald from the corner of his eye and could not help but allow the ghost of a smile to flit across his face. That Ratling was certainly something, and he had barely been seen more than a handful of times by the Trader.

"Let us satisfy the former first..."

Particles emerged from the projector in the middle of the circular module, congregating into a spectacularly accurate three-dimensional bust of Roald Cliffblooms head, the Ratling's face rotating in the air between them all.

"Roald Cliffbloom, former Militarum with the occupation of 'trailblazer', here out of sheer wanderlust as far as I can tell."

Next the head was replaced with the bearded countenance of the resident Squat.

"Grimri Haldengard, called 'Ironclad', mercenary. He is here because I am paying him a lot of Thrones, as well as other materials, for his skills. Let it also not go over anyone's head that he is a member of a race most thought extinct, which quite clearly he is not."

"Sister Errant Agathe of the Iron Veil," he half-smiled as her face, covered completely by her helmet, spun in the ether, "who is here with stipulations because like a true servant of Him on Terra she is here to pay what is owed for her life."

"Arbusculus Formidatus, known as Dahti, of the Calixian Mechanicus, our resident saw-bones and biologis. Here to honour obligations to House Andamar, and a welcome guest on this voyage."

At last he turned to his Enginseer, that he had made Chief out of personal choice, the Martians record exemplary even if his manner was lacking.

"Hishiryn 08-MN Kappa, our Chief Enginseer."

For a moment Edmund thought about whether to pursue his line of thought, then decided there was no reason he shouldn't.

"Enginseer Hishiryn, along with everyone gathered here, will do to remember this one thing - on this vessel I am His will, I decide the fate of those thousands that toil about us, and on this mighty ship I am the highest and most singular authority."

He allowed his eyes to rest on the Enginseer for more than a few moments, knowing full well that Hishiryn would very probably realise the words were aimed at him in particular, but on the other hand would more than likely not care.

Edmund had been both blessed and cursed to know far more about the Adeptus Mechanicus than he ever wished to, his families links with multiple forge worlds - though Stygies in particular - ensuring that he had far more patience for the semi-organic magi and even for those that were little more than floating brains in a bionic body. While Hishiryn incontrovertibly raised his hackles with his informal way of speaking, and his lack of respect for rank thus far, it washed over Edmund like pure water off feathers... He could see that this was not the case with at least one other however.

"Let us now answer the second, and more important question."

A few more swipes of his hand and the rotating heads were replaced, at first with the double-headed aquila and then, after a sharp blurt of static and further finger movements, with a slowly scrolling page of High Gothic. Entire sections of multiple pages were blanked with censor-strips, whole pages even, words visible here and there but patently not enough to form a complete picture.

"This is an astropathic message recieved by me not a week ago, a transmission of vermilion encryptian. For those not aware, this is the highest form of encryptian in our Imperium." He paused for a moment to allow that to sink in, the mere fact of this encryptian more than enough to tell all present of its importance, "it was sent by none other than the Lord-Protector himself, the God-Emperor's Regent... The Primarch," again he allowed a moments quiet for effect, "and while I was not the only reciever of this message, I can assure you all that the honour is no less for that. House Andamar, and by extension those of you here, have a chance to do no less than the God-Emperor's will."

In two minutes the broadly censored message evaporated, replacing it a cartographers impression of their current location in the Bakka Sector, hanging in space above the industrial planet itself.

"Imperium Nihilus, gentlemen... And lady... That is where I have been tasked with taking this vessel and all who sail aboard her. Into the nether-reaches of the shattered Imperium, across the Maledictum, and into the space between the Eastern Fringe and Ghoul Stars to be more precise -outside of assessing the situation and state on the other side of the Rift, there is something between those regions just outside of the the Segmentum Ultima that the Lord-Protector and the High Lords wish us to investigate. What exactly that is, even I at this juncture do not know."

One of Edmund's hands spread out its fingers between the particles of the map, widening the sector map into one of the last complete entirety of the Imperial territories, before the Rift had torn the Milky Way asunder.

"My, and therefore our, task of exploration and the like is no less diminished, but we must ultimately find ourselves here..." a finger stretched out to roughly point in an area between Assylus and Coelia, "if any wish to back away now, unbound as of yet from my dynasty, and completely without shame, then please step forward and state it now."

The light from the projector slowly faded, leaving Edmund facing them all once more without a sickly green light covering everything, his hands folding themselves behind his back.

"Our next translation into the warp will take us to the Arpedina System, if you are all willing to come with me. From there we shall travel toward the Rift and from there ever onward."

At last he stood entirely still once more, taking in each of them with a glance.

"Sounds simple enough, ey... Any questions?"

Now was the time for any and all questions, because once they were under way it would be much too late to turn around.

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

@Jeddaven

Edmund had already been impressed by the giant of a Sororitas during her two months aboard his ship - her ministrations to the lower decks, as well as the feeling of security she gave them from her presence alone - and her straight-speaking was just another factor on the side of good.

His brow creased ever-so-slightly as she laid out the 'stipulations', nodding calmly at her words, and eventually holding up both his hands in a gesture of submission.

"I can only agree to such things, can I not? How can I go against His will, after all."

The Trader interlocked his fingers and lifted them to his lips briefly, his eyes never leaving those of the Battle Sister.

"For myself, I would make a request - curb what greater... urges... of faith you may have; I have been charged to go beyond the Imperium, to contact those not of His domain or possibly even our species. If you understand this, then I am certain we shall have no problems whatsoever."

His accompanying smile was genuine, but he gave her no real chance to reply, hoping that she would understand that his duty as a Rogue Trader came before her (frankly dogmatic) religious beliefs, turning sharply on his heel and returning to stand behind the lectern.

With one hand he picked up the data-slate once more, looking at it with some annoyance, his fingers beating out a tune of impatience as he awaited the arrival of those whom could be considered of importance to this vessel and therefore to him as its liege lord.

Wh40k: One Step Beyond - A Rogue Trader Adventure (Closed)

@Jeddaven@Erezrim

The Magos and the Sister, so far apart that they were - to the mindof Edmund at least - like parts of some joke from Old Terra. Formidatus, the diminutive and oddly (for a member of the Mechanicus) rotund Genetor, and Sister Agathe... well... honestly he had seen smaller Space Marines in his time! Oh yes, they were the beginnings of some jest, but Edmund could not quite put his finger on it at that moment.

"Welcome, both of you," spoke the Trader, reaffirmed most handily by a dashing smile and the reveal of perfect white teeth, his hands sweeping up into first the sign of the cog and then blending into that of the aquila, "I trust you have both found your time aboard thus far to be a pleasant one?"

He stepped jauntily out from behind the lectern, leaving his dataslate and peaked hat on its surface, moving to stand a little closer to the two foremost arrivals.

"I must say, Magos, that your recommendation of Bronithian grox bone broth has done wonders for me," outwardly he sounded as kind and happy as possible, but as usual the more he looked upon the mating of bionics and flesh that was Dahti the further his mind turned to other thoughts, "and I am assuredly blessed by this regimen, keeping my body and mind as sharp as my sabre, hah."

But it is my body, mine, not some fusion of metal and meat, I have had to earn my body and you... you have done nothing... nothing but 'upgrade' yourself.

Keeping the inner thoughts from his eyes, a trick he had learnt from one of his less diplomatic brothers, he swept his gaze over to the utterly different Sister of Battle who accompanied them at present. She was in every way what the Magos was not, being built like a transhuman killing machine without (as far as he knew) any of the augmentations of the Astartes. Edmund could only wonder at what they had fed her during her time at the schola to grow her that large.

"Sister Agathe," he said, this time his smile most genuine, for although he had no aggression toward the Mechanicus - far from it! - he spoke now to a pure human... even if she were a little more fanatical than some, "I do hope that Nyla will be spared further sickness, Alsan and his wife have suffered enough hardship without the loss of another child."

One hand brushed itself over his cheek briefly, Edmund pondering briefly how even he, a man who stood at six Terran feet and two inches, had to crane his neck to speak with the blunt visor before him.

"May I ask, have you thought any more about what I asked?"

It had been over two months now, two months since coming to the aid of the Sister and liberating her from her own last stand, and in the meantime he had asked her whether she would like to rejoin her own warrior brethren or remain aboard as he did what Rogue Traders did best.

"What I have, on that slate yonder," one hand gestured to the lectern and the vital document resting atop it, "may change your mind one way or another. You just need to understand, as I am sure you do, that should you choose to stay you will be - much like the Magos here - bound to this dynasty by oath and more in the eyes of He on Terra and His servants."