Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

The melee was beyond brutal. Camilla saw a goblin, perhaps the same one she had first freed, tear a dwarf’s throat out with its needle like teeth, dark blood gouted over its chin as it looked up at her and shouted something in its own tongue before hefting the fallen dwarfs shield to balance the axe it already had. Another dwarf was split from shoulder to hip by a vast overhand strike from a burly orc who held one of the great dwarven axes as if it were a toy. A second chaos dwarf stepped forward while the beast was trying to free his blade and sliced one leg of at the knee. The orc looked surprised as he toppled over and maintained the look of stunned stupefaction as the dwarf stepped and and delivered a beheading coup de grace. The noise was incredible. Weapons clanged over bestial war cries and the swelling chant of the sorcerers. Orc shrieked feral war cries as they smashed their improvised weapons against their dark armored foes. It seemed to Camilla that the very mountain rumbled in accompaniment to the violence.

The Dawi-Zharr were beginning to recover from the sudden assault and in a few moments they would be able to form up into a fighting unit that would be able to repel the nascent slave rebellion with far greater efficiency than the individual dwarves could manage. If there was to be a moment of opportunity, it had to be now. Camilla stood and waved both her arms frantically at their companions, gesturing to the altar. Ivan yelled something and stood fitting an arrow to his recurve bow as he lead the charge down the obsidian steps towards the altar. They were nearly to the ampitheatre floor before the Chaos Dwarves realized their peril. A single spark of light, cold and beautiful as the dawn star leaped from Dietricha’s fingertip and lanced towards the assembled sorcerers. The tiny dart struck something black and monstrous that hung in the air around the altar. Pulsing bands of black energy were suddenly visible hanging in the air like an intricate net. Small cracks of light seemed to be spreading through the sorcery, each pulsing the same pale blue of Dietricha’s spark. One of the sorcerers turned in panic only to be punched off his feet as an arrow struck him between neck and shoulder.

“We need to go!” Camilla yelled over the din and ran forward through the melee. She ducked under the axe swipe of an armored dwarf and thrust the tip of her blade into the gap at the things armpit, it roared in pain and staggered back gurgling as blood began to fill its lungs. Dark steel whistled towards her and she barely managed to parry it downwards, leaping into the air so it swung through the empty air beneath her feet. Cydric stepped forward and delivered a vast overhanded blow that caught the dwarf on the crest of its helmet. A shower of sparks spewed into the air. The helmet deformed like a dished in cooking pot, though the steel didn’t actually break and the dwarf slumped to the ground.

With a crack like all the cannons Camilla had ever seen discharging at once the great black spell weaving shattered in a flash of light so shockingly blue that Camilla fancied she could see through the Dwarves in front of them. The concussion knocked everyone in the room from their feet with a clatter of metal that seemed barely audible after the blast. Rock groaned and a great stalagmite plummeted from the stygian darkness above like a bolt from the heavens. It smashed into the lower tiers and shattered like a morar bursting, shards of rock shredding and crushing chaos dwarves and orcs alike. Camilla lay on the ground across Cydric coughing and gasping for breath. Purple after images of the detonation danced across her eyes. She staggered to her feet, among the first to do so, a few feet in front of her an armored dwarf was pushing itself to its feet. She shoved her blade into the back of its neck feeling bone grate against the point of her weapon.

“Cydric,” she croaked, her throat as dry as the deserts of Araby and reached down to help him to his feet. Dimly she realised that the blast had snuffed every torch and that they were in pitch darkness. Somehow she could still see well enough to move, although just barely. There was a terrifying roar, somewhat attenuated by the ringing in her ears and she saw the beast on the altar bite the top half off one of the sorcerers on the altar and shake the corpse, the legs flying off into the darkness as spine and flesh were shredded by the things maw. It gulped down hungrily even as its great claw disemboweled another of the dwarf things. The creature reared onto its hind legs and sprang into the ranks of combatants still trying to find their feet, scorpion like tail lashing.

Half supporting each other they staggered the twenty remaining feet to the base of the altar platform. Camilla leaped, caught the edge with her finger tips and flipped herself up and over the edge. A moment later Cydric clambered up, breathing hard. Behind her she could hear the screams of dwarves and the roars of orcs only as a counterpoints the furious howls of the monster as it tore into them. There was a sudden flash and a bang to her right and movement behind her. Camilla spun her sword held low to see a sorcerer that had been creeping up behind her stagger backwards with a whole between its beady eyes. Yantz stepped down onto the platform groping blindly, pistol smoking. Dietricha held his hand, like an older sister leading a young sibling in a game of blind man's buff. The altar was carpeted with dead sorcerers, most of them were bleeding from the ears and eyes, heads shattered by the concussion of the blast. Curiously a baleful bull like idol still stood in the center of the altar, apparently untouched by the destruction.

Dietricha raised her hand and spoke a word. A pale blue light, wholly without apparent source, filled the chamber. Combatants, previously blinded, struck at each other with the vigor of terror. A thick pall of dust was falling from the ceiling and it scattered the light like lightning behind a storm cloud. It was a compromise that allowed the humans and orcs to operate, even though it revealed them to their enemies. Ivan stumbled onto the altar, leading Konrad and Skaldi, all of them held bloody weapons and Skaldi’s face was soaked in blood from a scalp wound.

“We need two minutes!” Yantz yelled as Dietricha began to chant. Motes of blue light seemed to suck out of the artificial cloud and coalesce around the wizard. Camilla had a distinct taste of mushrooms at the back of her throat. A green hand appeared at the edge of the platform and she neatly amputated it with a flick of her weapon.

“Are you insane, the whole place will be on us!” she yelled, unnecessarily loud for being half deafened. Yantz was biting one of the oiled cartriges open and pouring the powder into the mouth of his pistol. He shoved the paper after it and spat the ball in.

“It isn’t exactly my idea of a Sigmarzeist Parade either!” he yelled as he pulled a slender ramming rod from the socket and rammed the ball home.

@POOHEAD189

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene nodded as Solae’s order cut through the confusing and rapidly altering situation. Years of training and service conditioned him to respond to an order in a chaotic situation. There was a brief buzz of 2mm gunfire up near one of the higher windows where the security reinforcements had lifted away. That had to be by Solae’s command but since she hadn’t mentionedit there was no point in worrying about it right now.

Kalrio and his Syshin were still standing more or less as he had left them. Some of the females looked nervous but the males were as impassive as though they had been carved from sandstone. The maid had been in contact with armistice. That meant that they could have Gids here within minutes, fast deployment troops by jumper if not heavy vehicles. Rene knew that the deployment of troops was always more problematic than that. Authorizations would be required, commanders would need to be convinced, troops rounded up and briefed, all of which caused delay. He also knew that a single cracker jack with enough skill and drive could cut through all that with a shouted word.

“Kalrio, get your people to start loading supplies,” he ordered. Most of the Syshin flinched at the barked command, too similar to the curt yells of their former masters. Rene blushed with shame, paused and offered a formal bow.

“Please,” he added and then rushed back up the ramp. With a flick of his thumb he safed the mob gun and then tossed it underhand into the cockpit. Lips curling in disgust he made his way into the communications station where the last two crewmen had died. The stench of blood and punchered entrails made him gag but he steeled himself and dragged the slick offal into the back up airlock across the hall. It was a difficult task, but he managed it as well as he could. Once that was done he went back into the hold and did the same for the first man he had killed, piling all three bloodied corpses in the airlock where their stench could be contained and they could be easily spaced once they lifted.

As Rene suspected the hose his gunfire had cut had shut down after amount of run time. He sliced the ruined section off with a stroke of his knife and reengaged the pump with a jerk of a stiff lever. As quickly as he could he hosed the blood and viscera into the drains built into the hold and shut it off. At another time he might have taken a grim satisfaction in the blood of the slavers following the fear of their victims but just at the moment it was all he could do not to wretch. The place still stank but at least the worst of the abattoir reek of blood and feces was gone. He couldn’t imagine that the air on the Bonaventure was going to improve after a couple of days in space though so he might as well get used to it.

Two Syshin banged down the companionway carrying a box of foodstuffs between them their large nostrils flared at the smell of the hold, doubtless even more offensive to them than it had been to Rene. The looked around in panic until Kalrio shouted something at them in Sysi. His voice echoed off the metal bulkheads like the beating of a great drum and the younger Syshi all but dropped the box and fled. The Syshin leader stomped into the hold carrying two large containers of medical supplies one under each arm. Rene remembered Oanh Park’s warning about protecting Solae from shock and felt a surge of gratitude towards the alien. He supposed he wasn’t doing a great job of following her advice, but Solae was tougher than Oanh had imagined.

Rene had a sudden and uncomfortable feeling. If the Gids were in bound, then finding Kalrio and his companions here would lead them back to Amber Horizions. Rene didn’t want to place bets on just what the Gids would do at that point but once it came out that they had sheltered Solae, it wasn’t likely to be anything Rene wanted on his conscience. Kalrio set the boxes down with a clang and started back towards the landing hold. Rene caught the Alien by the forearm.

“You need to take your people and go,” he told the scarred old Syshin, speaking slowly and clearly so that he would understand with his limited Imperial. Kalrio responded with a stream of angry Syshi.

“He wishes to know if you are a superhuman who can carry the remaining ten boxes by himself.” Rene spun and cursed before he remembered that Mia was in the process of being uploaded into the system. Dimly, he recalled Solae mentioning that Mia had been helping to refresh her Syshi, ergo, the AI could speak it.

“I don’t think he meant it politely but my Syshi vernacular is seven decades old,” Mia added, there was the hint of an inappropriate giggle in her voice.

“Mia, tell him that we might have the army coming to get us and that he and his people need to be long gone by the time the get here, they can't be linked to us or the Gids will burn Amber Horizons. The AI sutifully trilled out her own string of alien syllables. The alien grunted a couple of words, one of which was recognisable as Solae, and then turned and strode from the bridge.

“He says he will discuss the matter with Mistress Falia,” Mia advised. Rene shook his head in exasperation. It was probably just as well that he hadn’t ended up in the diplomatic corp. Sucking in air he jogged back to the entry hatch where he met another two Syshin manhandling a second crate of food.

“Leave it!” Rene snapped, “Leave it and go!” The pair dropped the crate to the deck and scurried off as Mia translated. Rene put his boot against the crate and shoved it hard to the side of the companionway and then followed them down the gangplank.

The mansion was well and truly on fire now, smoke poured from the upper story windows and bright tongues of flame leaped skyward like hungry Gwa lizards. The heat of it radiated off his skin and he squinted into the light and picked out Solae’s unmistakable figure hurrying back towards the landing pad. Kalrio was striding towards her. It was impressive, given how the alien had been tortured, that he was so willing to approach such and inferno. The remaining supply crates were stacked haphazardly by the corner of one of the unburned warehouses, just inside the door so they would be out of sight of the descending Bonaventure. He pushed passed the confused Syshin and seized one of the crates of weapons and a smaller box of medical supplies.

“Forget it, there is no time, you need to go,” without Mia to translate he had limited success getting the point across but several gestures in the direction of Solae and Kalrio got the group moving. Sweating and straining he lugged the gear to the ship and up the ramp, dumping it without ceremony in the access way. They would be low on food, but it was going to be much easier to find food than it would be to find medicine, plus he could always hope the Bonaventure had something in its galley, if such a chamber existed on the filthy scow.

“Mia does the ship have an air defence board?” he asked, using the Marine term for an anti aircraft tracking suite.

“I am unfamiliar with this model of houseboat,” Mia responded sounding like a clueless bimbo who needed someone to rescue her. Rene rolled his eyes and headed for the cockpit, climbing into the jump seat attached to the central console. He punched it live and brought up the sensor suite and then, with a little difficulty, set it to display local air and space traffic. The blank return of the monitor showed clear skies. He blew out a quick breath of relief.

“Mia if anything new shows up on this display, call me over the earbud I’m wearing,” he ordered and then raced back outside to join Solae.

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

Silvana was too experienced an operator to wince when Blademar told Lord Sarkonad that they would find his boy. It was probably the right thing to say but her mind went back to the Inquisitorial Court, she certainly would have voted for death if this situation had come up in that context. The Arch-enemy was insidious, brushing too close to its taint was to invite destruction. It was the burden of an Ordos operative that over the course of their career they gained much heretical knowledge that would have led to their execution had they been ordinary citizens of the Imperium. To face Chaos one had to know Chaos but that study was only undertaken after rigorous training and indoctrination. In her case years of testing before she was finally sanctioned. Leopold, if he was still alive, enjoyed no such protection.

Fortunately Volantus Sarkonad was no fool. The word Chaos was not thrown around lightly and the fact that a member of his family had been involved with something of the warp impressed upon him the need to do everything he could to be compliant. He had doubtlessly guessed at the true affiliation of his visitors, even if he was diplomatic enough not to say it, and if he hadn’t guessed himself, Silvana was sure that his sources in the Governor's household would have furnished him with suspicions. Lady Sarkonad protested loudly but within fifteen minutes the family had left the estate and the servants and armsmen not long after that.

Taq by virtue of having already witnessed the incident was given the task of sweeping and securing the compound. While arbites were being called to secure the perimeter of the building no one who had not already witnessed the events of the bedchamber was allowed to remain. Those who had witnessed it were compelled to. While Blademar made the arrangements Silvana took careful picts of the bedroom and began work on charcoal sketches of the psychic impressions she had received during the seance. Once the recording was complete she sent for Taq and his men. The arbites were arriving with hand held flamers when she exited the paint splattered bedroom. She nodded her approval even as her nose wrinkled at the prometheum scent of the burning pilot lights.

Blademar was emerging from the main hallway and gestured her to him. She couldn’t see the gesture but the intention behind it was clear enough, she crossed the room and they stepped into one of the small parlors that lined the main hallway. The parlor was clearly intended for impromptu gatherings or senior servants, but they were still furnished more opulently than anything most of the teeming trillions of Imperial subjects would ever witness.

“Tell me what you discovered,” he commanded bluntly. It was obvious to her that he was upset with her, that was reasonable. The auto-seance normally posed risks only to the practitioner and the querent if she choose to bring one. Perhaps she should have invited Hieronymus, though she doubted he would have gone along with the notion. His dislike of psykers was obvious although he tried to hide it. She opened the book of charcoal sketches, they were rough but expressive drawings, first passes that she would refine later with time and meditation.

“What am I looking at,” Hieronymus asked. The centerpiece of the drawings was the strange glyph that she had seen at the center of the painting when it’s true form was revealed. Silvana’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth as she considered it.

“Its some kind of word or phrase in the lexicon of the arch enemy, it might be a name but it would have to be very short. The paint Leopold had, Im not sure if he knew it or not but it had been tainted by the warp, it drew things in when he gave them form with his mind. Whatever the thing is behind this sigil, it took him when he completed the painting,” she explained. She remembered how the painting had folded him into it, a large version of the sigil had been painted on the wall beyond it.

“I think the portal, or whatever you want to call it was to somewhere on Meridian probably in this very hi…

“Excuse me sir, the boy…” Silvana slapped the sketch book shut as Taq stepped into the parlor. The arbite judged the reaction and froze in embrassent. Silvana felt a burst of startled thoughts as he stepped back.

“He recognises it, the symbol,” Silvana snapped her voice cold. Taq put both his hands up placatingly as she stood, her posture errect and terrible.

“Uhhh I didn’t mean to…”

“Where have you seen this symbol before Lieutenant. NOW!”

“It’s a ganger tag ma’am, one of the newer once I think, I’ve seen it down in the lower habs a few times on beat. That is all I know I swear!”

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla gave Cydric a second passionate kiss, ignoring the taste of ash and scrape of stubble. It seemed more likely than usual that this might be the end and she wanted as many of her last memories to be positive. When they finally pulled away she turned to the party, all of whom were making a point of not looking at the two lovers. She cleared her throat and they turned their attention her.

“Alright gentlemen, I need all the weapons we can spare.”

In retrospect, it might have been the wrong way to phrase the question to a group of mercenaries. Within a minute she had a pile of iron sufficient to arm a small regiment. Cydric contributed his heavy hunting knife and Konrad a dagger and a shorsword he reserved for close in work. Ivan had a pair of small hatchets secreted somewhere on his body as well as a curved knife that pushed the boundary between dagger and sword. Skaldi had a throwing axe, a heavy knife and a strange contraption that seemed to be brass knuckles with a protruding blade. Yant’s produced so any knives that even Camilla was impressed, plucking blade after blade from all sorts of strange places. He even had a pair of Estallian throwing knives that made Camilla briefly jealous.

“Ivan,” she said apologetically, “I’m going to need your coat.” The big Kislivite grumbled and stripped off his bear fur cloak and lay it on the ground. Together they piled the weapons onto the garment and Camilla carefully tied the corners together in an improvised knapsack. The fur was the best choice because it muffled the clink of metal against metal. Carefully she slung the improvised pack over her shoulder.

“You look like Kringel,” Cydric snickered, referring to the Hexensnact legend of a kindly old priest who left presents for children. Camilla couldn’t stifle a giggle.

“Bringing presents to all the good little greenskins,” she agreed. Cydric’s face grew serious.

“Be safe,” he told her. Camilla’s smile broadened.

“Since when?”

The chanting and sacrifices were intensifying when Camilla crept back onto the balcony. The bone chilling monster roared in pain or anger as more runes were drawn on its already soaked pelt. If it had ever been another color it was now a scabrous red black of orc blood. The crowd was intent on the spectacle, chanting or praying in low voices that sounded like rock splitting during an earthquake. She made her way to a large structural pillar carved into the shape of a tusked dwarf and leaped up, seizing one of the beard ornaments, and climbed onto its shoulder. For the first time she was glad that she was filthy, the black coating of volcanic ash was good camouflage against the obsidian structure. Balancing her awkward bundle she leaped to the next pillar, and then the next making her way to the slave pens that Yants had spotted.

It seemed to take her an age, and with every moment she worried that her friends might be discovered, and that it would be to late. Periodically she cast her eyes back to their entry point and caught sight of Cydric watching her. THe slave pens were nearly a hundred and eighty degrees around from where they had entered. The seats ended and a large wedgelike cleft was cut into the cylinder, Below orcs and goblins in their hundreds huddled together. The sheer smooth walls left them nowhere to go but to the narrow exit chute where armored dwarves were waiting to lead them to their deaths. There must have been a hundred of them, tightly packed and stinking of fear. The final pillar allowed her to look directly down on the mass of enslaved greenskins. A vicious looking goblin was graphically relieving himself against the obsidian wall of his pen beneath her. Camilla spat, the fleck of spittle falling thirty feet to hit the diminutive green seen on the top of its bald head. Its glowing red eyes snapped up to spot her. Thankfully it was cunning enough not to roar or snarl. She reached into the pack of weapons and drew out one of the throwing knives. The goblin cocked its head sideways and then glanced around. Neither the jailors nor the things companions seemed to notice. She let the knife fall. It plunged point down into the sand at the goblins feet. The creature sat down with its back to the wall. A moment later Camilla saw the hempen bonds around its wrists fall away. It snarled at another nearby goblin that slunk over to it. A quick stroke of the knife and two of them were free. Camilla withdrew an axe and dropped it to her unlikely ally, sending the weapons down one at a time. The hit the sand with soft crunching sounds not at all obvious.

The Chaos Dwarves on guard tore their eyes from the glorious ritual to drag forth another group of slaves for the offering. A trio of lesser goblins and a scrawny orc lumbered forward. The dwarf approved of their compliance, half the time the beasts had to be dragged physically to the gate. It was only when the creatures were a few feet away that the dwarf realised there was something wrong with their bonds. He opened his mouth to shout a warning but the lead goblin was already leaping, plunging a long knife into the joint between helmet and throat. The second guard swung his shield in bar but a blur of steel streaked from above into the eyesocket of his helmet and he staggered backwards, dark blood pouring from beneath his black steel helmet. The scrawny orc leaped forward and grabbed the axe from the hands of the dying chaos dwarf.

“WAAAAAAAAARGH!” the beast shrieked spraying spittle as its massive hinged jaw distended. The greenskin’s poured forth in a tide climbing over each other to leap to the sand of the amphitheatre floor. The seized any weapon available, grabbing torches and stones. The whole chamber descended into screaming confusions, the great beast rearing back and roaring as it struggled against whatever mystical bonds the dwarves were employing. Camilla watched the swirling melee with satisfaction for a moment and then, belatedly, realised that there was a full scale war between her and the altar she needed to reach.
@POOHEAD189

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla felt her fingertips grow cold at the strange roar. She looked around the group, still mostly dead on thier feet, and wondered if they really had any chance of reaching the altar. Dietricha seemed to be stirring, her eyelids fluttered and a trail of blood ran from her right nostril. It seemed extremely unlikely that the wizard would be able to transport them with her magic. Camilla let out a weary sigh. The odds might be poor, but there was no chance they would remain hidden long enough to regain their strength and for the next few minutes they would at least hold the element of surprise. She squeezed Cydric’s hand.

“Lets go and may Myrmidia be with us.”

They crept out of the passageway Cydric had found and into what seemed to Camilla like an immense amphitheatre. There were scores of tiers each constructed of tesselated black obsidian. At the bottom of the circular chamber, nearly fifty feet below was a floor of black volcanic sand. An altar of brass and red marble was located in the center. Horned dwarf things in long robes stood in a circle. Great brass braziers blazed with fire that seemed to bubble like lava. A great lion headed beast, its dark pelt black with blood stood upon the altar. One of the dark priests painted sigils onto its skin with blood drawn from a bowl. As the bowl emptied it was passed to another priest. A line of prisoners, mostly orcs and goblins, were being lead to the altar. One by one the prisoners were pushed to their knees and their throat slit to fill the bowl. All the while the priests chanted and the crowd roared.

“There are at least a dozen priests on the altar, plus the… monster whatever it is,” Camilla reported. Ivan, with surprising stealth, crept to the portal and peered down. He was shaking his head when he returned.

“Mehbe wan or two handred in ze seat, too many,” he confirmed.

“We could try a rush,” Konrad ventured. Another roar echoed from the chamber and the Imperial’s knuckles tightened on the leather wrapped hilt of his sword. Skaldi scoffed.

“Aye lad, all we have to do is make it down there and its home free, except for the wizards and the monster and several hundred filthy Dawi-zharr at our backs,” Skaldi snapped. Konrad’s face reddened and he took a step towards the dwarf, fist balling.

“I am not afraid master dwarf if you would rather…”

“Are you calling me a coward manling!?”

Cydric stepped between the two holding up a palm to Skaldi, his face stern.

“For Sigmar sake shut up and think!” Cydric snapped. Yantz peeked out into the ampipheter and glanced back at them. His face was pale but he seemed more in control than Konrad. His eyes flickered constantly around, never leaving the drowsy Dietricha for long.

“The slaves,” Yantz declared. The party fell silent and looked at the Imperial mercenary.

“I can see a way into the slave pens. If I know anything its fighting green skins, if we can set them free I’d be my bollocks to a barn dance they tear this place appart or die trying,” he explained. Camilla nodded her head slowly liking the notion.

“Oh aye, they’ll tear the place appart, starting with us the moment we free them,” Skaldi sneered.

“We throw a couple of knives in there,” Camilla decided, rubbing her hands together at the notion of an even partly tenable plan.

“By the time the dwarves realised what is going on, enough of them will be free. We can use the confusion to rush the altar like Herr Konrad suggests.” She looked at Cydric questioningly.

“What do you think?”
@POOHEAD189

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

“Keep out ma’am for your own protection!” the arbite officer was shouting. His words were unecessarily loud as he had been half deafened by the las fire and rolling concussions of the blasts. Tendrils of black smoke were coiling from the room, sweet with the smell of cordite from the grenade bursts. Silvana’s ears were preternaturally sharp, honed in favor of her eyes over many decades and they buzzed with the overload of sonic input. Fortunately noise and chaos were not new sensations for her. She reached down and lifted the officer restraining hand from her shoulder. He was a fit looking man with sandy blonde hair which had been cropped close to his scalp his jaw was very square and shaved completely smooth. She estimated him to be in his mid thirties and he had the feeling of a veteran.

“What is your name?” she asked. The officer was still trying to pull her away.

“Ma’am we need to…”

“What. Is. Your. Name,” she repeated, this time with the slightest jolt of power. It stopped the man more effectively than a screamed order could have.

“Holden Taq,” the officer responded without hesitation, his face slightly shocked. Silvana nodded in satisfaction. As he spoke the words, a badge, previously a fuzzy detail in her mental image, sharpened into focus listing him as Lieutenant Taq. Feet were thundering across the floor now as house arms men in guilded armor and ceremonial livery of red and silver rushed towards the scene. For all their glittering uniforms they carried very practical las guns, whose gray plastic casings gave them the look of stinging insects amidst the pomp and color.

“What we need to do Officer Taq is keep these good people from getting involved with this. Take your men and cordon this room off.” Taq looked dubious but to his credit he didn’t hesitate.

“Form a line, no one in or out including the armsmen!” he bellowed in a voice that could have been heard over a riot. Shaken and unsteady by what they had seen the men shook out into a loose line, rifles held across their chest.

“What authority am I supposed to use to keep house arms men out of their own rooms Ma’am?” he asked looking a little nervous as the armsmen began to square off against the arbites both groups looked nervous and twitchy. Not a good combination for men armed with deadly weapons.

“Tell them you are acting under the orders of the Adeptus Arbites - NAME.”

“But Ma’am…”

TELL THEM. She thought/spoke into his mind. Taq stiffened and then turned and strode to the front of his men.

“Adeptus Business! Stand down boys, it's sorted out!” he bellowed. An angry looking young man with the smooth face of one undergoing anti-acne medicae and a red sash of office stomped forward. There might be a shouting match but not a gunfight. The immediate threat contained Silvana stepped into the paint splattered room. Blademar was pulling himself from under the bed. Splintered wood and torn bedding were everywhere, pieces of down eddied in the after currents of the grenade detonation like miniature tornados. She sighed with relief to see he was still alive. It would have been extremely awkward to explain to Lord Alrik how she had let his Interrogator get killed on their first day on planet.

At least the animating force was gone, torn to shreds and burned by the explosive blasts. The slight stink of the Warp still lingered beneath the smell of explosives and burned paint but it was a passive threat now.

“I am glad to see you are alright Adept Blademar,” she said, keeping to the name he had specified in spite of everything.

“I think it's safe to say that there is more than simple kidnapping at play here,” she added in a droll understatement.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The gore slicked tools were a bust. Whatever the dead crewman had been planning to do after he finished out hosing the filthy hold out, it hadn’t involved cutting through a security bulkhead. Rene felt his tension rising, if the crewmen forward of the hatch had enough skill to get the plasma motors lit the backwash might be enough to kill Solae. There was beyond doubt equipment he could use to breach the door but he might or might not be able to find it in time. Without another option to hand he stood and ran back towards the engineering section of the ship.

In its way the engineering station was just as bad as the filthy hold had been. A large, two story hexagonal chamber surrounded the lowering bulk of a fusion bottle. The bottle was old and flecked with rust, condensate ran down its surface in slow rivulets that made the air feel unbearably humid. The air stank of half decomposed lubricants and hot electronics as well as the sour stink of long unwashed bodies. Pipes and conduits and nests of wiring came of the housing of the fusion plant like cilia from an amoeba. Ladders led up to a second story gantry which circled the upper half of the fusion bottle. Half disassembled machines were scattered on benches and on the decking, some obviously abandoned junk, others only presumably so. Trash, empty liquor bottles and half eaten containers of food lay in mouldering heaps, adding to the stink. Dozens of screens were affixed to the conduit wrapped walls, some of them showing read outs from the power plant and ships systems, others showing scenes of holo porn that ranged in tone from improbable to insane.

Cursing Rene plunged through the trash, searching for a tool locker. If this was how the ship normally operated, and the mold covering several half eaten fast food packages gave him no reason to doubt it, he couldn’t imagine how the Bonaventure hadn’t caught fire and been lost years ago. Amid a half sheared piece of hull plating he found a diamond cutting bar. The teeth looked to be worn down to almost nothing but it was the best he could find. A cutting bar was a high speed rotary saw used for making quick and dirty cuts to structural metal. They weren’t dissimilar to breeching bars that the Marines used in ship to ship actions, though they were considerably larger than the miniaturized military units Rene was used too. The lights suddenly dimmed to almost nothing and Rene had the sudden and irrational fear that the fusion plant was about to go critical due to years of half competent maintenance. That would have been extremely unlikely but ... after a moment though the lights began to come back up in uneven patches.

With no time to ponder power fluctuations. Rene lurched back across the deck, his foot caught in something solid concealed in the trash and he fell to the floor, breaking the fall with his arm as the slung mob gun banged painfully into his hip.

“Stars Above!” he cursed and pushed himself to his feet, vaulting over the last of the detritus to reach the hatch. The hold was as he had left it save for the fact that the hose was no longer spewing water. Perhaps the ready tank had been drained, or perhaps the pump needed user input every so often to keep valves open. He crossed the deck at a sprint, placed the cutting bar against the jam of the hatch and squeezed the activator stud. Nothing happened. Rene looked down and saw that the battery pack was not only empty but so old the contacts had actually corroded it in place.

“Fuck!” he screamed in frustration and pounded impotently on the hatch with the useless cutting bar. Sparks flew where the diamond teeth scuffed the metal.

“What seems to be the problem Master Quentain?” an oddly familiar voice crackled from a dusty intercom speaker. Rene turned to stare at it in surprise. The voice was distorted by the half derelict equipment but that sultry undertone was unmistakable.

“Mia?” he asked in shock. How had Solae managed to get the AI uploaded without being on the ship. The command center, the ship had to be connected to it in order to receive all of the data about the slave shipment, weather data, landing telemetry. In theory the ships own communication gear had lock outs that would prevent the remote installation of something like an AI but a tramp freighter in the back end of nowhere had probably never had them set up properly.

“Yes Master Quentain, I apologize for the condition of the house. I cannot find records for cleaning staff and I am experiencing some difficulty accessing the kitchen.” Rene blinked, momentarily defeated by too many strange impulses. The condition of the house?

“Mia can you open the door?” he asked, tossing the useless cutting bar away.

“Yes but there are two men on the other side who might prefer privacy…”

“Open the door Mia!” Rene implored. The containment door hissed halfway up and bound in its housing. Rene leaned back and kicked the door frame and the door slid the remaining three feet into its housing.

“Has Mistress Solae seen this side of you, you were fairly subdued at the previous manor and based on her reactions to stress she might find…” One of the crewmen leaned out from behind a hatchway and opened fire. The small pistol yipped as he filled the corridor with automatic fire. Instinctively Rene threw himself forward onto the deck unlimbering his mob gun as his body slapped the metallic plating. Wild ricochets caremed down the accessway, filling the air with amber traceries. The shots were too high, the muzzle lifted by the pistols recoil. Rene fired a split second before the figure ducked back into cover. The mob guns aerofoils sparkling uselessly up the hallway. There was a scream of terror as Rene scrambled to his feet and rushed the hatch, working the action to lever another round into the cumbersome weapon.

Behind the hatch the crewman with the pistol, a bearded man, overweight and in slightly less filty coveralls, was fumbling with his pistol trying to reload after foolishly emptying the magazine. Behind him another man, skinny and cadaverous with gleaming oiled hair was typing furiously at a console. The first man dropped his pistol and threw himself at Rene catching the marine in a flying tackle and driving him into the bulkhead. Rene yelled and swung his weapon stock at the mans head but the impact with the bulkhead spoiled the stroke and the metallic stock bounced off the man’s flabby back without more than a grunt of pain. The fat back tried to twist Rene to the floor but the former aristocrat dropped the gun and drove his fist in a rabbit punch into the man kidney. This time the crewman howled in pain and recoiled, half grabbing at his kidney with his left hand. Rene drove his knee up into the man's chest as he straightened. A blast of rank breath blew across Rene’s face but he was already driving his booted food into the man's crotch. Vomit exploded from the battered crewmans lips and he staggered back. The thin man was drawing a small flechette pistol from his belt and fumbling with the safety. With a shout Rene drove his boot into the fat man's sternum tumbling him back into his companion. They both went down in a tumble and Rene scooped up the mob gun, pointed it in the general direction of the crewmen and pulled the trigger.

As the echoing blast faded there was a long moment of silence. Rene let the smoking gun lower so that he held the grip with one hand and sagged back against the bulkhead. The two crewmen were too intermingled to tell apart, flesh and clothing torn to red ruin by the blast. Individual muscles still trembled but that was muscle spasms, not anything resembling life. The flechette pistol had been too much of a risk to take. It was an amateur's weapon, designed to be pointed in the general direction of the target without the need to really aimed, but at close quarters it would have shredded Rene nearly as effectively as the mob gun had shredded the crewmen.

“Would you like me to dispatch cleaning crews?” Mia enquired politely, “Delays may be significant.”
Rene shook his head, though he had no idea if Mia could register the motion without the excellent sensors she had had at Lord Armon’s. He took a step into the small chamber the two had been holed up in. It appeared to be a navigation or communications rather than a pilot station. Rene made a half hearted effort to brush the mist of blood from the console screen but succeeded only in smearing the tacky blood. He went the rest of the way up the access way to the cockpit. It was much cleaner than the rest of the ship although still well short of a military inspection. Three consoles sat facing the forward view port. Through it he could see the manor house and the reinforcement panels rising. He frowned in concern

“Solae?” he said, tapping his ear bead, the damn thing seemed to be struggling to cut through the hull plating. Cursing he ran back down the accessway to where the ramp exited the ship. A containment door sealed the entryway but a quick word to Mia opened it and he ran down onto the landing pad. His heart was thumping, fear that something had happened to her far outweighing caution.

“Solae, we have control of the ship? Where are you? What is happening?”

The Enemy Within: Warhammer 40K RP

The las bolts streaked into the room like glowing triphammers scything into the apparitions. The las weapons blew craters from the creatures and skin and clothing blackened and burned like heated canvas. It staggered them but did not drive them back. The air stank of ozone and burning organics as the fusilade slackened. Silvana didn’t bother to add to the gunfire with her transvassuer, it had already proven itself unreliable instead she reached out with her mind.

The process was painful, the psychic shock of the auto-seance had been considerable and the edges of the Immaterium were jagged and bleeding here. Tendrils of raw power snaked and searched for something to to latch on to, to prolong their limited time in the material realm. Each of the paint daemons trailed a tendril they snaked backwards into the room and through a small door off the main bedchamber. In her mind she could see the impressions of the place she had gleaned from the echo of poor Leopold Sarkonad. It was a store room filled with jars of paint and vials of dry pigment. There was a confused impression of him searching desperately for the right shade. Flashes of him walking markets and artistic districts, even grinding some of his own from rare and expensive ingredients. With deliberate brutality she sheared the link. It was dangerous to touch another's obsession it was too easy to get drawn in, even when the Warp was not involved. The paints were the source. They had to be tainted somehow, making Leopold’s creations into vessels for the things that gibbered and scratched at the walls of her mind.

“Adept Blademar!” she yelled over the screams and curses of the Arbites as they pulled spent power packs and slapped fresh ones into their weapons. The nearest of the creature, unrecognisable under the las burns as anything other than a female figure, was nearly in the door frame. They leaned into the storm of fire like men walking into a strong wind.

“The source of the infection! It is in the cupboard at the rear of the main room. She shoved a mental picture of it at him. It wasn’t polite but she wasn’t going to die because she observed every formal Astra Telepathicus courtesy.

“We need to destroy it!” Though just how they would do that, with a wall of hell infused golems between them and their objective, she hadn't the faintest notion.
@POOHEAD189