Penny

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

“The Arbites doo their best of course,” The Governor explained as she led them from the imposing grandeur of the reception chamber through a smaller connecting corridor that would still have admitted a Leman Russ without difficulty. Silvana nodded at the trite useless statement. The reality in most hives was that the lower levels were a completely uncontrolled warzone, riddled with gangers, mutants on the other assorted sewage of the levels above them. Few hives had the manpower to patrol the dilapidated and long forgotten lower levels. As a practical matter the Arbites tended to draw a line beyond which only the occasional sweeps were conducted, and those in full armor and in force. Govener Ackavae wasn’t able to admit that. It clashed too strongly with the official Imperial Truth to be said aloud.

“We are familiar with the problem your Highness,” Silvana said quietly. Constantina’s head pivoted in surprise as though shocked that the other woman had spoken. She didn’t know who Silvana was, other than she was vaguely associated with the Inquisition and people who spent their lives in hierarchies didn’t do well with ambiguity.

“Ahh,” she said, evidently decided to treat her as an extension of Hieronymus rather than risk insulting her. A good instinct.

“Well than you can appreciate how thin the information I have is about what is going on below 221.” Silvana assumed 221 was the lowest level the Arbites had any pretentions to controlling. They entered a large dining room evidently prepared for the occasion. A table, set with formal dinnerware and overhung by an impressive chandelier of glittering storm diamond, was the central focus. The governor took a seat at the head of the table at a high back chair of dark black wood. Silvana waited for Hieronymous to sit before taking her own chair. Servitors with the faces of gilded angles glided into the room and set silver chased platters on the table in perfect choreographed silence, whisking away the covers to reveal candied ploins, intricately carved garan nuts and artfully arranged sweet meats. A second set of servitors produced crystal flutes of a bluish sparkling wine.

“From what we have been able to determine the rate of kidnapping increased sometime in the last two or three years,” the Govenor explained as she picked at some of the sweetmeat, dainty fingers prying apart the sticky dried fruit pulp.

“So long as it was just gangers and degenerates we didn’t pay much attention. Perhaps six month ago the first disappearances began in the lower levels. Of course I increased Arbite patrols.” Silvana didn’t doubt that the records would show that Constintina had increased patrols, although she wouldn’t have put a lot of gelt on it being true. Carefully she removed her veil to expose her mouth and the black silken blindfold she wore. The governor glanced uneasily at her but made no comment. Silvana sipped the wine finding it spicy and sharp. She had a momentary glimpse of fields of green blue vines under a pair of alien suns, somewhere incalculably distant.

“The vanishings continued, and they rose to better and better levels, people began to be afraid to go out into the streets. I had to call out the PDF to force workers into the factories,” Ackave went on, clearly disgusted.

“Nothing has helped, I am even considering declaring martial law, I suppose I shall have to if another high ranking noble goes missing.” There was real concern in her voice now. Though the governor didn’t care about a few thousand of her subjects going missing, the fact that it might make her look weak infront of her peers was a serious concern. It was not impossible that some group or another planning a coup had reached out to the Inquisition for an unofficial blessing, triggering the dispatch of the pair of them. Such things were common enough, the Imperium had an interest in stability in a general sense, but they tended to let matters on its billions of individual worlds sort themselves out.

“I pray to Terra that the Inquisition may turn up leads we have missed.”
@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene nodded his head and marched the blubbering maid out of the room. He doubted that the man would give her any real trouble. Even if he were insanely brave, he had to know that there was no practical way out passed the drowns and the Syshin. The took the corridor out of the command center and up a flight of stairs to what were living quaters. Argon guided him in much the same way Mia had done with the occasional blink of led light. This AI was less subtle than Mia had been but the basic process of locating the room best suited for Solae’s instructions was the same.

“Please sir,” the maid begged as Rene guided her through a slightly recessed door and into the bed chamber. The place was luxurious with tables and benches of polished stone and a thick carpet of expensive natural fibre. Rene had a momentary and irrational flash of embarrassment to be tromping dirt across the carpet.

“Please you can’t leave me here for the Chooks! They will kill me!” she begged turning to face him and falling to her knees, palms pressed together in supplication. Rene inwardly cringed at the embarrassing display but his face remained blank and impassive. In his mind's eye he was seeing the Syshin chained to the roasting furnace, his back cracked and blistered from the heat.

“AI identify yourself,” Rene stated his voice flat and emotionless.

“I am Argon Master Quentain, how may I serve you?” the computer responded. The maid leaned forward and grasped his trouser legs. Rene stepped back quickly slipping from her grip with revolution. The heavy set woman toppled to the flow sobbing wretchedly.

“Identify this maid please,” he instructed Argon.

“Gyni Cafran, chief maid, date of birth…” Rene made a chopping motion with is free hand cutting the computer off in mid sentence. The biographical details and employment history were hardly relevant to him at the moment.

“If Mistress Cafran leaves this room kindly add her to the list of drone targets,” Rene instructed, eliciting another wail of despair from the woman.

“That would have already been consistent with Mistress Falia’s directive Master Quentain,” the AI responded as emotionlessly as it might have if it were discussing dinner plans. Rene had the sudden realisation that if he had ordered the maid and the butler out of the house, rather than holding them in the reception room, the drones would have cut them down as mercilessly as they had the guards. Well it hadn’t happened that way and if it had, well, worse things happened in war time. That was a maxim of the Imperial Marines which made a lot more sense in the few days he had been fighting for his life. Without another word he stepped from the room and sealed the door. Argon assured him that it could not be opened without his or Solae’s permission. Rene wondered what would happen to the woman when they left. Well she would have to look out for herself, the stars knew the rest of them had to.

Rene headed back towards the command center but paused to look out through one of the broad windows that overlooked the front section of the plantation. A score of Syshin were gathered in a loose knot, several of them looked hurt, though none so badly as the burned male Rene had rescued. The coffee warehouse continued to burn, through the fire was only evident by the slight shimmer radiating off its metal walls and the plume of smoke trailing from the triangular exit Rene had cut in the side and a pair of smaller streams escaping through what were either ventilation systems of electrical fittings that had been burned out by the heat. The grass and scrubby bushes surrounding the building were withered and shriveled as nature itself seemed to try to lean away from the blaze. Rene was no expert but he didn’t think the fire would rage too long. The buildings structure was steel and concrete and the only fuel was coffee beans and old timber, both of which would burn bright, hot and quickly. He wondered how many thousands of credits had just been converted to so much ash, but the thought was a fleeting one. He would have burned down the whole plantation in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Solae safe.

They needed to organize food and treatment for the liberated slaves, come up with a plan for dealing with the ship if and when it arrived. They also needed to figure out where they would go if they could get off planet. Rene’s mind felt glassy, the facts and demands sliding against one another without getting any real purchase. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them again. He went down the stairs and through the door to the command center and gave Solae a quick nod to assure her that the maid had been safely contained.

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

Silvana followed Baldemar into the audience chamber. The room was a soaring testament to Imperial Architecture, to Silvana's psykanna sense it shown with the wonder and awe of a hundred thousand first impressions. Soaring columns rose skyward, each barrel was carved with images of the lives of the saints. Here Saint Eudoxia ministered to the insane guard veterans of the lost legion, there Aurelius the Golden smote the daemon Vivathrax atop mount Syragasus. A pair of magnificent stained glass windows showed the familiar scene of the Emperor enthroned and an unfamiliar woman, perhaps the founder of Meridian smiling down at a multitude of tiny people, each carefully rendered in leaded glass.

The Governer herself seemed plain and nondescript compared to the exalted architecture. She appeared to be in her early twenties but that was a result of extensive juvenant treatments, the files listed her actual age as closer to ninety standard. Early middle age by upper class Imperial standards. Constantina Von Ackavae had come to power a decade before after the sudden and tragic death of her father who had choked to death on the bones of a Kannabec Fowl. Poison had been widely suspected but no known toxin had been identified in the post mortem. The governor wore the loose white robes and red sash of her office, a small coronet set with rubies lay across her carefully styled hair. Silvana couldn't sense anything from her other than a generalized fear that was easily explained by an Inquisitorial visit. In some ways it would have been more alarming if she were completely calm. No one was so without sin that the sudden arrival of Throne agents wouldn't set off a few alarm bells.

As they approached she rose and smoothed her robes, and stood, her face a mask of frigid politeness. Two guards in ornamental uniforms and flat featureless masks flanked her like living statues. Silvana felt only a dull fuzz from their minds, a sure sign that they were combat servitors wearing implant masks rather than fully sentient humans. That was an unusual step, though hardly grounds for official attention. The Imperium indulged its upper class, but only to a point.

"Inquisitor," the Governor began. She made a slight nod to Silvana though the astropath's veil concealed her true nature. She was easily dismissed as a servant or perhaps a minor member of the Ecclesiarchy or one of the non militant ranches of the Adeptus Sororitats.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

Silvana stepped onto the bridge in Harry's wake. The bridge crew didn't react. There were dozens of officer overlooking hundreds of servitors, each hard wired into the ships electronics. Every time a servitor ran into a problem beyond its simple program it made a chirping sound. The human officers responded to each chirp, making a split second decision or, on rare occasions forwarding the information to the captain or first officers. The officers didn't react to the presence of a psyker, the bridge of a warship, particularly a small one, was one of the few places an astropath could expect to pass without a second glance. Astropaths and the ships Navigator were frequent visitors to the captains station and as such were able to pass unoticed.

"All is well Inquisitor," the captain replied, demonstrating a comendable ignorance of the inner workings of the Holy Ordos.

"At this rate we will reach Meridian within four weeks and four days."

Whether by particularly astute astrogation or good luck, the Certatus slipped from the warp four weeks, one day and six hours later. It was an exceptional run, though whether that was due to the Navigators skill or pure luck Silvana couldn't have said. The time had passed quickly. Much of the time she had spent in meditation and study. The data slates pictured a world of extreme divides between rich and poor even by imperial standards. It seemed to her that the disappearances might have more to do with the bored scions of a decedant nobility than they did with heretical cults. When she spoke of this to Harry he down played the notion. She had the feeling he was desperate to uncover some vast and malign heretical plot which would put him in Alrik's good graces.

Silvana consulted the Emperor's Tarot several time but each reading proved more confusing than the last. The spheres seemed to be as oppositional as they could be, as though primordial forces were clashing endlessly and mindlessly, leaving fate no room to declare itself.

"Sir," Tiberius declared clapping his heels together in naval salute.

"We shall have a launch prepared for you and you will be on the ground within the hour." The naval officer seized Silvana's hand and kissed it formally.

"Madam, our mess shall be poorer without your company, though I will confess that my regicide game will fell less inadequate for your absence."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

It smelled like all of the coffee houses in the universe were getting ready for the morning rush. The warehouse Rene had set alight radiated heat and smoke poured from the triangular hole in a thick rolling cloud. It was a good thing that the afternoon had nearly complete faded into evening because otherwise the plume of black smoke would have been visible for miles. There was a sudden deep boom from inside of the building and the smoke spat pale blue white flames for a second before guttering back to its original volume. Rene remembered the propane lines that must have fed the roasting oven. He was glad that whatever nameless engineer that had designed the thing had put in some sort of cut off mechanism to the feed lines. Glade because otherwise the resulting detonation might have killed him and the freed slaves in a gigantic fireball. It was hard to be excited about the possibility, the adrenaline of the fight was fading, leaving him burned out and hollow feeling. He had been in enough action know to know that the feeling would fade in a few minutes or so.

Without fuel the fire was unlikely to get hot enough to collapse the building, even though the blaze was sucking in oxygen like a miniature storm system. Leaves and organic trash floated towards the hungry inferno, catching fire a few heart beats before they were sucked into the plane. Steel and concrete had extremely high temperature tolerances which was one of the reasons they had been used for so many millenia. Glass popped and shattered under the relentless hammering of the heat, though Rene didn’t recall seeing any windows during his frantic flight. At least the pungent aroma of burning coffee bean masked the porcine reek of burning bodies. Solae’s voice, beautiful even in an alien tongue reassured him that she was alive, that was victory enough for him.

“Are there other slaves in the other warehouses?” Rene asked, aiming his question at the young clark who had translated Solae’s message. The young Syshin performed an exaggerated nod. A drone zipped past and they all shied away for a moment, instinctively and sensibility scared of the grey mechanical hemispheres that had just reduced a dozen armed men to cat food.

“Free them, and find food and water,” he directed and turned away. The big burned Syshin rumbled something and Rene turned back. The brute was holding the sword out to Rene hilt first.

“He say he sorry he hit you,” the youth translated helpfully. Rene’s back throbbed in silent protest.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too,” Rene said with a wry half smile that was completely lost on the aliens. He accepted the sword and then stepped close to the Syshin, carefully shearing the manicales that encircled his wrists and ankles with small precise cuts. The skin underneath bore the indentations, proof that they had been in place for a long time. He passed the sword back to the alien.

“In case there are more chains,” he explained, pointing from the young Syshin to his hulking elder to ask for a translation. They began to converse in unintelligible Syshi and Rene turned and headed for the manor in something between a fast walk and a slow jog. He was eager to get inside, even though he knew the area to be clear it wasn’t something his subconscious was ready to admit just yet.

The door to the manor swung open at his approach with a ponderous grace that was a sure sign it was armored. It would have seemed like paranoia on many other planets but on New Concordia right now it seemed like the correct choice. He stepped over the threshold his pistol up and sweeping the corners for rooms.

“Good Evening Master Quentain, I trust your stay will be a pleasant one,” a synthesized voice welcomed. The speakers were not as well hidden as the one Lord Armon had used but the effect was similar enough to run chills up his spine.

“Mistress Solae bids you welcome, to her humble home,” the voice went on. Rene grinned at the thought. The home was neither humble nor Solae’s, the reception room appeared to be decorated into a gaudy mismatch of style that only great wealth and complete lack of culture could have generated. Despite the sobering reality that he was a member of the lower classes now, Rene couldn’t quite banish the touch of aristocratic contempt he felt for the vulgar efforts of the parveniew. His father wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, nor would the elder Quentain ever have stooped to owning slaves. He might very well oppress a hundred thousand tenants on a distant world for the sake of settling a score, but out right chattel slavery was far too vulgar to contemplate.

A metalized security door seperated the reception room from the rest of the house. Rene pushed the release switch but nothing happened. He tried again. The AI cleared its electronic throat with simulated embarrassment.

“The security protocols are currently engaged sir I’m afraid..”

“Put me through to Solae right now,” Rene snapped, in no mood to bandy words with a silicon chip. There was a slight pause and then Solae’s voice came over the air.

“Rene?”

“It’s me Solae, I’m alright, though I would be cold meat if it hadn’t been for you,” Rene replied overjoyed to hear her speaking, even in electronic form. In brief terms she explained the situation to him. Rene nodded in response although she probably didn’t have a visual sensor to see the motion.

“Ok drop the door in front of me and only that door,” he directed. After a moment the security barrier slid down into is recess. A pair of Syshin, young females, both attractive and colourfully plumed clung to each other. He lowered his pistol immediately. The women probably understood Imperial after their long association with the household but Solae spoke over the intercom in Syshi. Fearfully, and still clutching each other the moved past him, putting as much room as they could between themselves and an armed human. A moment later two more Syshi straggled into the hallway beyond from side chambers, one was pulling free of a human hand that tried to hold her back.

“You in the room! Come out slowly and keep your hands where I can see them, I swear by the stars this is a terrible day to startle me!” He yelled. A human woman dressed in the same maids uniform as the Syshin stepped clear her hands raised comically high as though she were in a holo drama. The woman was aged, maybe fifty standard and shaped like a pear, she was as unappealing as the Syshin were attractive, with stringy hair that had been poorly dyed to conceal the grey.

“Outside… no wait,” he said uncertain of exactly what parameters Solae had given the drones.

“Stay inside, in that corner,” he ordered, taking one hand from his pistol to point without lowering the weapon. The maid was blubbering now her nose runny as she hurried past him trying not to look.

“There are two more,” Solae’s voice instructed, “A guard and a butler.”

“Is the guard armed?” Rene asked, there was a long pause before Solae responded.

“I don't think so but I can't be sure,” she told him, her voice filled with concern.

“Alright both of you gentleman come out nice and slow. I have video of you so don’t even think about trying anything.” An elderly man stepped from a stairway at the end of the hall, his hands raised. He looked distinguished and wore a formal livery that hadn’t been the style on Capella in twenty years. He marched out straight backed, averting his eyes from Rene. A moment later another figure stepped into view. The guard was dressed in the same half uniform half salvage as the men who had died outside. He was slack jawed and unshaven and his clothig was spattered with grease spots and food stains. He glared at Rene with hateful piglike eyes. Rene was amazed that a man in such luxurious surroundings could be so slovenly, granted Rene himself was filty, covered with dirt and a coating of crushed coffee beans that clung to his skin and clothing, but at least he had an excuse.

As the fellow shuffled past Rene he head a sudden scream. He spun bringing his gun up expecting that the guard was trying something. Instead one of the Syshin maids flew across the room at the filthy guard. Rene had intended the Syshin go outside to join their fellows but they had evidently interpreted his instruction to the human made to apply to them all. Steel flashed in the girls hand and the guard gave a squeal like an animal being slaughtered as see crashed into him. The steel flashed red and the guard and the maid went down in a tangle of limbs. Rene hesitated in a moment of indecision, unwilling to shoot and unwilling to disarm himself to intervene. The maid was still screaming her mouth inhumanly wide, like the Inyori’s had been when they launched their charge against the slavers. In her hand she held not a knife but an old fashioned silver letter opener, smeared with black blood from the deep stab wound she had inflicted on her victim. The guard was easily twice the Syshin’s weight but the girl was on top of him. The blade stabbed down again plunging into his chest with a wet tearing sound that bought a gout of blood from the fallen man’s mouth. Rene finally got his weapon into his off hand and lunged towards the girl but not before she plunged the improvised dagger into the man's groin with a savage stroke. Rene seized the Syshin and tossed her bodily into a corner his pistol coming up to train on the girl but she was a spent force. She dropped the knife and fell to the ground curling into a ball and sobbing. At least Rene assumed she was sobbing, it was difficult to hear over the liquid gasping screams of the dying guard. Black blood bubbled from a puncture to his belly that must have pierce his liver and pools of blood spread from his chest and crotch across the tiled floor. His screams weakened after a moment and his heels drummed on the tiles, then he coughed and lay still.

There was a moment of shocked silence, punctuated only by the sobbing girl. Rene’s pistol barrel wavered and then he let it fall to his side. The weapon suddenly felt like it weighed as much as a battleship.

“He hurt her,” one of the other maids said quietly.

“He hurt us all,” another chimed in.

“Yeah well…,” Rene said, his gorge rising slightly, “I’d say that makes you even.” Judging by the look in the remaining maids eyes, Rene didn’t think they agreed.

“Girls, outside now,” he commanded, his composure returning with the will to action. The human maid started to move by Rene froze her with a finger.

“Not you, the Syshin only. You and you,” he said pointing at the maid and the butler.

“Take me to the command center and for the love of the stars don’t any of you move sudden because I swear, right at this moment I am as jumpy as I’ve ever been.”

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

Silvana suppressed a flinch at the momentary flicker of the Geller fields oscillation. Suggest she look at it indeed. Reaching out she touched the dataslate he had set down, the sense of his intense study lingered on the thing as well as determination to get to the bottom of the mystery that it laid out. She couldn’t read the slate in the way that he understood it but Astropaths had faced that problem for millenia. A snap of her fingers bought a whining servoskull into the room from the storage annex. The thing hovered just above head height on its antigrav plates as it zipped across the room to its mistress. The skull settled above her shoulder like a falcon, purity seals fluttered as it settled. Two long mechadendrites slide from its mouth, one of them encircled her wrist, the other plugging into the input jack of the dataslate with a metallic click. The air hummed slightly with the hiss of compressed air as the servitor began to tap out the contents of the files in extremely rapid pulses on her bare forearm.

“The Inquisitor used me in a number of ways,” she began, her mind was partitioned by her training, part of it completely absorbed in the information being transmitted to her and another part of it equally absorbed with the conversation.

“I have considerable skills in telepathy and mental manipulation, that is useful in interrogations as you might imagine,” Silvana explained she briefly considered speaking directly to his mind but decided that such an act of petty insolence was beneath her.

“Im also able to conduct auto-seances and psycometry. The Inquisitor finds me useful for my astropathic abilities as well, it is useful to have me with operations taking part far from him so that there is a reliable vessel of communication available without having to go through the Administratum.”

Alrik, like many inquisitors, had at least a dozen Adepts that often worked in teams of four or five. Sending the pair of them after something like this was an unusually small footprint. There was no way for her to know if that meant he thought it would be simple, or he was merely forcing his Interrogator to work outside his comfort zone. She had been working independently since before Blademar came to the Inquisitors service and so all of her information was second or third hand. Perhaps when they reached their destination she would suggest they hire some local talent.

“It sounds like the local nobles might react poorly to the open arrival of Inquisition Agents,” said the part of her mind fully occupied with the data slate. They would react with fear, fawning or obstructionism according to the assessment in the files, none of which would be conducive to finding answers. Perhaps the small commitment was intended to provide a touch of subtlety to a sensitive situation.

“I am aware of several occasions in which the Inquisitor has executed rogue psykers,” she replied in a dreamy voice, her mind increasingly fragmented by the multiple pathways it was pursuing.

“I have some training in dealing with such individuals, as you might imagine.” She was glad that her partitioned mind made the statement emotionless. Alrik was not comfortable in the presence of psykers, it was one of the reasons he prefered to keep her operating at a distance. It was a shame, though not a surprise, that the same mistrust had been transmitted to his student.

@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene leaned out from behind one of the towering stacks of crates. Industrial fans spun lazily overhead, circulating the air and filling the building with a low rhythmic thump thump thump that he felt in his chest. It was a noticeable counterpoint to his pounding heart. The doors to the place were ten foot sections of extruded metal, left deliberately ajar to provide a three or four foot entry point. Rene supposed that was a compromise to keep out the damp and promote airflow but it might simply have been a case of the guards being too lazy to close the door.

Whatever the case it provided him with an opportunity now. A shadow filled the gap as one of the guards tried to rush into the warehouse. It wasn’t a mistake a trained soldier would have made. Rene’s plasma bolt center punched him as the fading afternoon light back lit him perfectly. The guard flew back into the door with a dull metallic clang, his tunic smouldering as he slumped bonelessly against the door post. Rene ducked back, momentarily blinded by the sudden light in the darkened building, eyes dappled with dazzling purplish after images. Gunfire tore into the crates in front of him, splintering wood lost in the echoing cacophony of sound reflected off the cheap metal wall. He exhaled hard through his nose to clear the ticklish cloud of coffee dust from his nostrils and darted deeper into the warren of crates ahead of the pounding of feet and shouts of anger.

The warehouse was laid out on a fairly standard pattern although the haphazardly stacked crates made it difficult to navigate. He ran towards the rear trying to stick close to the wall so as not to be stuck in blind corners that he could get out off. The men pursuing him were shouting and firing, at shadows as they couldn’t possibly have a target, but they would figure it out eventually. He burst unexpectedly into an open area where the concrete floor was raised by a few inches. A wire enclosed control station was centrally located though both the console and the rodent chewed stool were coated with a thick layer of dust. Rene followed the cabling with his eyes and registered an ancient and rusted overhead crane system. He paused sighted and squeezed the trigger. The room flashed into cyan relief as the bolt sped to the ceiling, intersecting the connecting bracket of the rusted and disused gripping arm. Metal screamed and burst into gorgeous red flame under the stellar heat of the plasma bolt. Hydralic lines blew out in gouts of dirty orange flame that seemed tawdry by comparison. The gripping hand, a metal x weighing a third of a ton, plummeted into the crates with a shattering crash of splintered timber that was literally painful to hear. Hundreds of pounds of coffee poured from broken crates as dozens of piles went down in ruin. Smoke billowed forth as the dust caught fire and began to burn. Men screamed, though Rene couldn’t have said whether it was in terror, rage or pain. All of those things suited his purposes, so long as it took attention away from Solae and the house.

The rear of the warehouse grew increasingly hot as he neared the roasting oven. Rene could smell the slight methane stink of propane flames as he wove his way back through piles of empty crates. Unexpectedly he ran into a woven wire fence, bouncing back with shock though with no real paine. He took a couple of lunging strides to a metal framed door, surprised to find it secured by a padlock. Rather than waste time he pulled Armon’s sword from his belt and swept the energized blade down through the hasp causing the door to spring open with a musical twang. He stepped quickly through the door and darted around a large hydralic press before freezing.

A half dozen Syshin were huddling in a corner of the large room. A pile of coffee beans, easily a ton dominated the center of the space, deposited by front end loader or industrial tractor. Shovels, their handles worn smooth and shiny with long use lay scattered around where the Syshin had tossed them when the gunfire had startled them. A large roasting oven rumbled along, the slow conveyor empty now that the Syshin were no longer feeding the thing. It reminded Rene of a child hood monster he had once feared, the fires of hell glowing in the depths of its metallic gullet. Most nightmarishly of all, one of the Syshin an older male, was chained to the thing. His skin was blackened with old burns and he writhed against the hot surface unable to get free. Long whip scars mared his skin and two digits on his left hand were missing.

“What the actual fuck,” Rene gasped and the Syshin cringed back from him, those in the corner trying to flatten themselves into the corner.

“We work good master,” one of them mewled in broken Imperial. Rene looked between the chained alien and his cowering confederates in horror. That was why the door was locked, they had enslaved Syshin, presumably males they had no use for in brothels, working on the plantation. He strode forward with the sword, waking screams from the group, and cut the chains holding the prisoner to the tormenting heat of the oven. The metal links clinked heavily as they fell to the ground. Rene cursed himself for not learning any Syshi and turned to the group the corner.

The world exploded in pain as the chain caught him across the back. He spun by the prisoner he had just freed was already on top of him, meaty fist swinging. They went down in a heap rolling across the spilled coffee grounds in a tangle. The Syshin was screaming, a weird warbling warcry like the one he had heard the night before in the forest. Rene bought his arms up in front of him, parrying the prisoners punch and following up with his own elbow. It was like striking a stone wall.

“I’m a friend!” Rene screamed but the Alien was terrified and furious seeking only to kill one of the hated humans. It drove one of its shackled wrists at his throat but Rene, slippery with sweat, twisted sideways so that the blow glanced off his shoulder. He slammed his head forward in a headbutt that connected with the Syshin’s chin, slamming the brutes mouth shut with a painful clack that must have chipped teeth. Rene’s own vision swam but he bought his hand up and around in an open handed strike that would have ruptured the kidney of a human. Judging by the howl of pain the blow elicited there was enough similarity between human and Syshin physiology to do the job. He smashed his knee into his attackers chest and rolled to his feet, blood running from his mouth in a steady stream. Gunfire scythed through the air, ringing the side of the oven like a drum, three guards burst through the door firing from the hip. Rene pulled his pistol, miraculously still on his belt and shot the lead man in the face, the blast of superheated plasma snapping between the teeth of his open mouthed scream, blowing the back of the man's head off. The remainder swung their aim on him but he dived sideways landing against the pile of coffee grounds. He fired again but the bolt went wide blasting one of the crates into flaming splinters behind him. The second bolt hit the man low in the pelvis, vaporising a chunk of his hip and all but severing a leg. The pistol made a chunking sound and the circular ammunition disc ejected, empty, eight charred holes in the matrix where the plasma charges had been embedded. Cursing Rene hurled the empty weapon at the final gunman in desperation. The man flinched as it bounced off his shoulder but the barrel of his weapon didn’t waver. Abruptly the unshaven guards howl of triumph transfigured into agony as the burned Syshin swung a shovel, edge on like a battle axe, up into the man's chest. The sound was horrifying, a kind of crunching sucking sound like a knife being dropped into jelly. Blood gouted from the guards mouth in a spray, driven by the jet of air from his caved in lungs. The man fell to the ground, made a final cough of blood and was still.

Rene lay against the pile of coffee, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, gasping for air. The Syshin made an attempt to remove the shovel but it was too deeply buried to make the effort worthwhile. The alien turned his baleful eye on Rene and spat on the floor. The burns on his back had cracked open and were leaking clear fluid, though Rene couldn’t see any sign that it discomforted the brute.

“Friend,” the Syshin rumbled speculatively. Picking up Rene’s pistol and tossing it towards the marine. Rene made an effort to catch it but the coffee pile spoiled the motion and the weapon landed on the pile beside him.

“Friend,” Rene agreed wearily, spreading his fingers to show he meant no harm, before retrieving the pistol. Awkwardly he pushed himself to his feet. His back was on fire and his head was buzzing like a struck bell. The Syshin who had been cowering in the corner were on their feet now though none seemed eager to approach him. Now that he had time to look he could see that all of them were whip scared and at least one more of them had burns across his back, all wore simple loin cloths fashioned from the sack cloth the coffee was being shipped in.

“Were you from gunman,” the big one asked, its voice a cracking croak as though parched beyond human comprehension..

“I’m from the Government and I’m here to help,” Rene managed but the joke was evidently lost. He pulled an ammunition disc from his pouch and slotted it home, yanking back on the primer handle to charge the weapon. The room was hot from plasma discharge and the liberated heat of burning flesh. It stank of blood and fire as the small blazes he had started at the other end of the building began to pick up speed.

“We need to get out of here,” he declared. The sword had fallen to the ground so he scooped it up and thumbed the power. He staggered to one of the thin metal walls and made three quick slashes. A triangular section of corrugated metal fell free with a clang, the edges red with friction heat and trailing thin tendrils of smoke. Without waiting Rene stepped through into the deepening twilight.

“Freeze!” A half dozen men stood within twenty meters of him, each one pointing an assault weapon at him. Smoke was pouring from the warehouse behind him as it found the new found ventilation option he had just created. Rene’s stomach flip flopped and a cold chill prickled his skin. He should have anticipated it of course they would have surrounded the building. The hot emotion of shame ran through him, shame at having failed Solae, at having to leave her alone to face what was to come. There was no way out, he would never get back into the building before they cut him down, and even if he did it was a choice between the fires and their bullets. The thin metal walls wouldn't provide any protection. He raised one hand and with the other tossed the sword back into the building as though disarming himself, hoping the Syshin could use the blade to make another exit before the fire drove them into the sights of their captors.

“Alright,” he called back, judging the angle to go for, figuring he might take one, perhaps two of them with him before he was killed.

“I’m sorry Solae…” he whispered. With a suddenness so shocking that Rene could do nothing but twitch, the gunmen disintegrated. Just disintegrated. There was a sound like a buzz saw and what had been human beings flew appart in sprays of blood and offal. Security drones, each the size and shape of a half beachball zipped and whirred into view. Under slung weapon mounts traced smokey lines across the darkening sky as they quested for targets. The weapons were small calibre, only 2 or 3 millimeters, but the rate of fire on the zip guns more than made up for their low throw weight. Drones were of little use against real soldiers because they were hard to shield against electronic warfare, but against untrained amateurs they were lethal beyond words. One of the things darted close to Rene who stumbled in a belated ghost of his planned dive, but the thing must have decided he wasn’t a threat and zoomed away. There were another few isolated spurts of gunfire and then the estate was silent save for the crackling roar of the burning warehouse and the distant and distressed clucking of terrified chickens. Solae had made it. Against all odds she had taken control of the manor house. Behind him the Syshin began to emerge, they former prisoner carrying the sword in his hand as though it were a knitting needle. Rene sank to his knees in exhausted relief. They had done it.

Thoughts on pre-made characters/roles?

like 20000 edgy emos in on RP

@ayzrules

That may be the best description of the guild ever posted...

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

Having no eyes had few advantageous, among that meager list however was the fact that others struggled to read your expressions. So much of human expression was held in ones eyes or the set of muscles around the eyes. Silvana’s glare was distinguished from neutrality by nothing more than the slight curve of her lips. No non-astropath would ever feel the shattering impact of a warp jump without secondary shielding. He didn’t know what it was like to feel, to see, the icy fingers of the warp reaching for you, trying to pull your mind appart. She took a deep breath, he was ignorant but that was not his fault.

“I apologize if my incapacity inconvenienced you Interrogator,” she replied, her tone tinged with frost despite her best efforts. She gestured to a chair with formal politeness inviting her guest to be seated. Hieronymus took a seat though she could sense his reluctance. She moved to the sideboard and retrieved a decanter of amasec and two glasses, set them down on the table.

“If the Inquisitor had time he would have installed a second warded sanctum, that is the usual practice,” she went on sitting in the other chair and steepling her fingers before her.

“A few hours of shivering and vomiting is a small price to pay for haste the Inquisitor felt.”

To give herself a moment she poured both glasses half full of the liquor, judging the level by the sound against the leaded crystal. It had a slightly spicy aroma that was not unpleasant.

“Regardless of what you might think. I do not have a problem with you being here. It is not for me to question Lord Alrik’s decisions,” she went on her tone completely neutral in tone and inflection. The amasec tingled on her lips as she sipped it and she felt the clenching muscles of her stomach relax. The psychic over pressure was beginning to fade as her mind grew used to the vibration of this particular Geller field.

“As it happens I have been on Hive Worlds before. Cadeus Majora, Syndicar, Anacton, that mess on Ijeina III,” she trailed off on the last, fighting back unpleasant memories of burning buildings and screaming victims. Her grip on the glass tightened slightly.

“But I have never been to Meridian.”
@POOHEAD189

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene let out a long breath through his teeth. No plan that risked Solae sat well with him but there was a distinct lack of easy alternatives. The recent rains meant that all of the crops were too wet to burn and the buildings were concrete and steel so fire wasn’t a viable diversion. From where they were concealed Rene could make out four guards, they were all armed and looked agitated. No doubt by now they were spooked by the fact that their raiding party hadn’t returned.

“They can’t,” Rene said, voicing a conclusion without verbalising the question. Solae looked at him in askence.

“I was wondering if maybe they were going to go out looking for the men that we, that I, killed last night,” he explained quietly.

“But they can’t, they don’t know what is happening, for all they know the Syshin are waiting for them to try so they can come swarming in here and finish them off. The fog of war.” None of that was immediately helpful of course. One of the guards flicked a cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with a boot. The man, unshaven and a thirty pounds too heavy, slid his rifle into the crook of his arm and opened his fly, urinating onto the grass.

“Well they aren’t the Imperial Guard,” Rene commented dryly. His eyes drifted across to Solae his heart fluttering in his chest in a way it didn’t do when he was in danger.

“Look Solae I…”

“Rene if you are about to make some speech about how I shouldn’t put myself in the line of danger I have every right to take the same risks you do!” she hissed, her voice rising with each syllable. Her eyes smouldered and he raised his hands in mute surrender.

“Okay okay… here is what we will do…”

Rene crouched amidst the stalks of sugar cane only a few feet back from the edge of the field. His skin prickled and stung. Sugar cane was covered with a multitude of small hair like filaments that prickled and irritated his hands and neck. Discomfort could be ignored, a fact on which both the aristocracy and the marines could agree.

“Ready?” Solae asked breathily, she was standing in the clear though she was concealed from the house by the corner of the cane field.

“I am, is your gun off safe?” he whispered. THere was a pause and an audible click.

“Ok, do it.”

Solae stepped around the corner and into view of the guards. It took a second but then a shout went up. Solae let out a scream that chilled Rene’s blood for all he knew it was coming, and then turned and ran. The shouts swelled as the men pounded over the grass towards where she was last seen. Rene lifted the sword and powered it on judging his moment. Behind him he heard Solae cutting through the cane herself, circling back towards the main house through the concealing greenery. At the last possible moment Rene leaped from cover, swinging the sword in a low whistling arch that cut the right arm from the fat guard, continuing up into his neck in a bright spray of arterial blood. The three remaining men were too close and too shocked to react quickly. Rene reversed his stroke and cut another man across the belly. The guard screamed like a gelded animal dropping his weapon to the ground as he clutched desperately at the entrails that erupted from the razor sharp cut. The rifle must have been off safe because it stuttered out two rounds when it hit the ground. The bullets ricocheted off a nearby steel warehouse flying skyward in spray of incandescent sparks. A rifle butt swung at Rene’s face but he parried with the blade and whipped the sword around in a low arc shearing through both legs at the ankles and dropping him in a screaming heap. The final guard staggered backwards trying to get a clear shot, his knuckles were white with terror and his lips were formed into a scream. Rene shot him in the chest with the plasma pistol pitching him to the dirt in a cloud of vaporised tissue.

More shouts of alarm rose from other points on the estate. The screams of the men on the ground were terrible to endure but noise and confusion were their allies now. More guards burst from around the corner of one of the buildings firing wildly in Rene’s direction. He took off at a run, bullets kicking up tufts of earth around him as he hurled himself through the doors of the nearest warehouse. The interior was dark and cool and reeked of coffee. Large wooden crates were stacked to the ceilings and the heat of a roasting furnace in the rear made the place feel like the antechamber of hell. He fired a couple more rounds out the door, more to make sure his pursuers knew where he was than any chance of a hit and ran for the rear of the warehouse, praying that he had drawn enough men away to give Solae a chance to infiltrate the manor.