POOHEAD189

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"My delectable partner is countess and adept of the Administratum Emmaline von Morganstern, and I am the humble Jovian Elite and Rear Admiral Blasius Deckard," I introduced myself with pride and surety, raising my head to look down on the man. "From Jupiter of the Sol System."

Needless to say we were accommodated quite admirably. I think the proclamation and the badge of rank I revealed was surprising even to Emmaline, though she held it together well. Some might say I was aiming a bit high in my cover, but it made sense once one thought of it. Firstly, I was actually somewhat familiar with the most holy Sol System. Saturn is the headquarters for the Ordo Malleus, and I had visited one of the colonies of Jupiter on an earlier trip with Inquisitor Kronus. The moons were incredibly rich in resources and manufacture, and the orbital colonies were unfathomably wealthy and extravagant. Some even said they rivaled Terra and the colonies of Venus in profligacy, and anyone born upon a planet in the system of humanity's birthplace was given high respect. Jupiter and the Jovian Clans were responsible for the creation of much of the Imperial Fleet along with the forges of mars, Jupiter in particular specializing in the warp drives and gellar fields in all imperial ships. Any son of the clan that was not an administrator of manufacturing was to be an officer in the navy that rose quickly with little merit. I wanted the clout and the reputation to be the talk of the relatively minor planet of Moldar, and Emmaline would be my noble-born liaison and date, and an adept of the administratum. This would have the caveat of people being wary around us, though we would always have that problem being newcomers, but it would also open many doors without my having to show my Inquisitorial seal. The rest I could wring out of someone if I saw the need arise.

In the midst of the Superior Duke Hostas's hurrying, his manservants aiding him in collecting all manner of apparel and finery, Emmaline drew me aside behind one of the curtains. She seemed perturbed about something and glanced over her shoulder before she gave me a very firm tone of voice.

"Why in Emperor's balls did you tell them my real name?" She demanded. A reasonable question. We had only known one another for a short time, even if we were swiftly growing closer, which unnerved me more than I cared to admit. But this was the first time she had come to near scolding in my direction, as she was likely still a bit wary of my Inquisitorial rank, as all sensible people should be. Perhaps she felt I had done it because I considered her expendable? It would explain the ire but she read me wrong if she felt that the case. I looked at her squarely in the eyes.

"There is a slim but very real chance that the men I am chasing know an Inquisitor has followed them, and there is a secondary chance of them knowing it is Hadrian Drakos. If I were to use my true name, we would get nowhere or worse. You, on the other hand, are unknown to them. And in the event of my cover being blown, they will logically assume..."

"...that Emmaline Von Morganstern is an alias as well..." She reasoned, catching on quickly. The blonde woman nodded after a moment, satisfied with the answer. I did not say it, but it also served so there would be no confusion in the heat of the moment. I had prepared the role of Blasius Deckard for over a year for just such an occasion. Emmaline, though resourceful, was new to this life. Best not to take chances so early on. She regarded me steadily. "You still should have told me, beforehand."

"I hadn't expected the question, but true, I should have. I simply did not want you to worry on it until necessary. You seemed to have a lot of fun when we were out and about."

"I did," she conceded, twirling a bit of her golden hair with a finger as she glanced out of the curtains. I watched her as she considered her next question. "So tell me, Blasius Deckard of Jupiter, what exactly are we attending this party for? I thought Inquisitors skulk and raid and burn with flame."

I smirked for a brief moment. It was a sardonic expression, as I knew the reputation of my peers, and it was certainly warranted.

"We have three tiers of objectives on this planet. The first tier is finding Bahometus and his cabal, and finding out who, what, and where Balal Ignatius is, as well as finding the tomb of Xenos our artifact unlocks, or if it's even on Moldar. The second tier of objectives will aid in that, which this gathering is for. Tonight we must either get invited to the Council Meeting of Gralinmakke, which should be easy enough with our stations established. Or, we must get invited to one of the Councilor's estates, Ignatius preferably, but any will help in our investigations. And at this particular gathering, we need to socialize and garner any intelligence we couldn't gain from a datasheet."

"And the third tier of objectives?"

"Skulk and raid and burn with flames." I said grimly. Before she could respond with her trademark witticisms, the curtains opened. We both turned to the good Duke Hostas, who clapped his hands together and looked apprehensive.

"My apologies, but some of our threads and more extravagant accessories are in our sister store a few kilometers away. What time will the party be?" He asked, worried for his reputation. I smiled easily in response.

"Two hours, no rush."

"And where is it held?"

"Nothing very special. It's in the Grand Banquet Lounge for the annual Kaldorae Ascension celebration."

The Superior Duke's jaw dropped so far, I thought he would stub his toe. Swiftly, he ushered us both into the room and made tactical decisions a general of the battlefleet would be jealous of. Clothes flew and men scattered, and before both Emmaline and I knew it, we were momentarily separated. On the Superior Duke's dime, Emmaline was granted a private groundcar and veritably shoved to the other location, as the clothing that was needed was for her outfit. I was accommodated at the current location, measured, weighed, and outfitted expertly. In less than an hour, I was dressed and sent to the Grand Banquet Lounge just south of the Capital's central government building. It looked like a miniature palace, with elaborate fountains of figures that, if I were to hazard a guess, were semi-mythical renditions of the primarchs spitting water out in a stone effigy of a battle between one another. Every few moments a different area of the fountain behind the scultures flowed with water that flew in a cascade of shapes. The sun had risen low, but the lights of the city put starlight to shame. Great Stone figures of a native Moldarian beast called a Sarcinex framed the twenty steps from the grand walkway to the Banquet Hall itself. Ground cars and aircars pulled up by the dozens, and hundreds if not thousands of onlookers stood behind the line of the fountains and took pictures or gazed the party's way as they meandered down the road.

Stepping out of my groundcar, I fixed my suit and stood tall. The outfit was superficially martial in nature, accentuating my strong shoulders and showing off my admittedly fake medals on my left pectoral. A banner of red and black clasped my form from my left shoulder to the right waist. My belt was brass and well tanned leather with imperial designs inlaid with gold thread. My boots were black and polished, and my outfit was a dark navy, befitting the naval colors, and draped across my upper torso, reaching my upper arms and trailing behind me was a cape of crimson. In my back, holstered behind my cape was my auto-gun. At my hip was my power sword, and in my hands was my force staff. The auto-gun hidden, the power sword looking very much like an antique sword of rank, and my force staff merely a fashionable walking stick for this occasion. No one here would recognize any of them, save traitors, and when they did I would see it.

I have been called dashing on several occasions, when I attempted to be. An old associate of mine had even called me such when I was my usual stern self. It served me well when I needed it to, and tonight I would utilize it for all it was worth.

As I made my way up the stairs, admiring the artistry in the stonework of the vaguely reptilian-canid Sarcinex's, I got a glimpse of the party through the vast open doors. Men and women of high birth mingled under warm, brilliant light as servants moved with practiced certainty and grace to bring them what manner of drink and food they desired. I took a deep breath, but before I continued, I heard a familiar voice.

"Not going in without me, are you?"

I turned and beheld Emmaline, striding up the stairs in a way that accentuated the movement of her hips. I am not ashamed to admit my jaw dropped further than Hostas's ever could. Her thick hair bound into a silky ponytail, held in place with a tiara of bronze with a ruby at its center, she wore a sparkling black dress so dark it put deep space to shame. It hugged her body with gusto, moderately cut to show enough of her bosom to distract but not so far as to be considered a floozy by any of the more prudish in the crowd. Her wrists and earrings were golden hoops, and hanging from her neck was a necklace of gold thread with a sapphire sign of terra at its precipice, hanging just beyond the cusp of her considerable chest.

"Wouldn't think of it," I said, reining myself in. Now wasn't the time for staring. I offered her my arm to take. "We'll go in together. But if we ever get separated and can't find one another, meet me at the northern balcony."

"Nervous?" She asked jokingly.

"Do I look, ok?" I responded, as if the question could only mean my attire.

Sails and Spells

Malcador surfaced, taking in lungfuls of air as he did so. Even with his water-breathing incantation, it didn't feel natural breathing underwater. Air was far more accommodating to the human body regardless of magic. Ironically, as soon as he had found fresh air, the glittering sight took his breath away. Before his eyes was a mound of gold and jewels, scattered amongst the hard rocks of the inner cavern. Small beams of light shot into the sanctum from holes in the rock from years of erosion.

The water had cleared his sinuses at least, and he felt somewhat refreshed after the seasickness. He swore he wasn't as bad as he used to be, but long trips at sea were not his forte. Funny enough, it seemed swimming helped him out in an odd way. He put his feet on the stone in the shallow area and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. He had another few minutes of water breathing, and though he was loathe to leave the treasure, he knew he needed to get back to the fellows waiting outside.

He delved back into the murk, making his way through the tunnel with what little light filtered in. It was just about twelve meters once one was fully submersed, and when Malcador made it to the other side, he was murk had congregated at the top of the pond above. Curious, he continued upwards, surfacing and expelling a breath, coughing up water. He was greeted by the screams of the last of his crew, getting impaled and cut into pieces by what looked to be a motley crew of women.

The murk on the surface turned out to be blood, it seemed. Malcador splashed some away and tried to brainstorm on what to do now. He could go back under, but they would just follow him. No spell he had could destroy them all, and even if it could, was he supposed to sail and entire ship back by himself? Realizing there was little he could do, he cleared his throat and looked at the women sheepishly. He raised his hands out of the water to show he was unarmed and said:

"I can lead you to the booty, ladies." In a quiet voice. Luckily for him, people told him he could charm himself out of a death trap. Hopefully, they were not lying.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Truth be told, he didn't exactly know how to answer her question, or how to speak to the Duke properly except for a few platitudes the older man would have enjoyed regardless, considering his fondness for the newly anointed count. Galt wasn't stupid, by any means. His greatest ambition here was to eat food fit for nobility, speak with a few pretty ladies, and make it out with his reward in tact so he could retire and sleep as long as any contented man. Granted, so far so good on the first two counts. Still, he wasn't going to admit that, entirely.

"A wise man would say rising from squalor to count was a leap most couldn't accomplish. Desiring more would be toying with fire," He remarked with a wry look that brought giggles to most women. He knew it wouldn't be a miracle-worker on her. Silke seemed far too sharp and in control for that. But she did seem curious on him beyond a marriage proposal, which admittedly made him curious of her. He took a long drink from his cup as he considered, before she continued with an explanation on why a few eyes cast his way were not entirely welcoming.

"My peers in the slums were often jealous of me, too. I suppose I just have that charm," He joked, but he couldn't hide the irony in his smile. He leaned in to whisper, and while he wasn't severe, he had lost his jovial nature. "I know you've never wanted for food or survival, and I am very new here. But rich or poor, someone always wants what you have." Galt lifted his left hand, and with a deft flick of his hand, a coin appeared betwixt his finger as if he had plucked it out of the very air. "A month ago, if I showed this to the wrong people and left myself vulnerable, my body would be found in the sewers weeks later. Thank you for the advice, but the ruthlessness of others is something I can certainly understand."

The coin slid back within his hand, and it was gone from her sight as if it had never been. He pulled his face back and softened his visage. He did not want to scare her off. She truly was very cute. And on that note, he said into his cup. "As for my ambitions, if you would like to speak privately tonight, you may join me when there are no others to get angry. Just an invitation to speak, nothing more."

"What say you, lad?" Valdemar asked, obviously curious on what Galt and Silke had been speaking about. "Why do you whisper?"

"Oh, the lady was just asking me about what happened when we first met," Galt laughed, and Valdemar's eyes widened and he gave a smile, raising his cup. The King did as well, clearly interested. Galt continued. "I didn't want to make the topic of discussion, so I shared a few whispers of the exploit."

"Like a hero from the legends! Valdemar lauded, giving his grand laugh. "Oh, tell it to his majesty, I'm sure he would love to hear it. Sire, you'll get a kick out of it, I promise! He comes gallivanting out of nowhere, sword swinging! Oh, but you should say it. My apologies, lad."

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Sails and Spells

The group had searched high and low across the island, using a small mountain at its center as a beacon to go by. The ship reached the island from the southwest, and the mountain was northeast at the time. It was easy enough to keep in mind, though Malcador was not paying too much attention. Some of the color was returning to his cheeks, but he was definitely not one hundred percent yet. He leaned on his obsidian staff to keep the sorcerer upright, and as the others paved the way with chopping cutlasses and machetes, Malcador began to feel a tingling in his mystical senses.

There was a good reason why most staves and mystical items were, or were adorned with precious stones rather than sticks or couches or any inexpensive or random item. There was something about jewels that could more easily hold a weave of magic, allowing mages to utilize them as conduits of power. Even merely existing, precious stones could potentially collect magic in a residual fashion which could be seen by a very talented and sensitive wielding of the aether.

"In the mountain," Malcador said breathlessly, clutching his staff like the wizened mentor who had taught him. He wondered how long the trek would last, and idly he took another sip of his waterskin. When he pulled it from his lips, the group had begun to move again. The sun beat down hot, and the bugs, though they had barely nipped Malcador, were large and cruel. He waved them away as best he could and continued on into the ferns and tropical trees as they traversed around the rocky outcroppings until they found a small pool.

A pool with an opening under the water.

"Oi, spellcaster!" Captain Bodaventure called, and Malcador was ushered to the front of the group. The sorcerer blinked and tried to stand tall. He blanched when the Captain ordered him to die.

"With respect sir, why me?"

"Because you got that water breathing spell, don'tcha?" Haldemar asked rhetorically.

Malcador was about to say he could cast that on anyone, but it became clear to him that the Captain only trusted the spell if Malcador did it to himself. With a sigh, he began to chant.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I looked at her, and as her eyes fluttered in a futile attempt to stay open, I smiled.

"I'm glad I didn't." I said honestly, and turned the lights off, closing the door behind me. I did as I promised, bringing her shoes and placing them before her door. As I walked away, I cursed myself as I found my mind drifting back to the woman. Damn Lazarus and his advice.

---

The Caledonia reached Moldar at noon the next day, ahead of schedule. The warp could be made into a relatively accurate prediction, but it was never a sure thing. Caiphon had reported to me in haste, and we both reached Urien to discuss matters as Maldor was displayed on the screen.

The planet was gorgeous, I had to admit. Technically it was a Hive World, but it did not have the blasted landscape of many, instead taking after worlds like Armageddon or Badab before the wars that ravaged both. However, Moldar was strange even when considering Hive Worlds. The planet was 87% water, salt and fresh, with island continents and one larger landmass, the land cordoned off into cities, farmland, and well-tended forests. The cities, however, move out rather than up in an unusual fashion, making what Moldarian's dubbed "ring cities" whose walls could be seen in space. I could grant testament to such a view, watching the blue panet's green masses look like great targets from orbit. It seemed to invite attack, but it had hundreds of kilometers of land between various curtain walls filled with naught but very powerful anti-orbital cannons.

The intel we had received, along with Lazarus's computations through the thousands upon thousands of air codes the planet had received over the last two days, suggested that our target was likely on the Island Nation of Kaldorae, more than likely at its capital of Gralinmakke. The capital being the innermost ring of the greater city. I had personally thumbed through the names of the great houses, and could not find any mention of Balal, but I did find a wealthy merchant lord house of Ignatius, who sat on the council of princes within the capital.

An hour passed, and Emmaline and I, along with one of the servitors on the ship that had been stripped of all party skins and paraphernalia took the shuttle, Urien and Lazarus joining us as support. They would not make landfall with the three of us, but would remain in the shuttle and await further instructions. As we descended, the great city grew larger in view. Many of the buildings were made of whitestone near the center of the landmass, with darker colored construction closer to the coasts. What economic or stylistic reasoning there was for that, I could not be sure.

We exited the shuttle at the second ring of the wall, where the high end shopping would be performed. I had a good amount of funds, and I decided to trust Emmaline on her judgement as she led me through the cityscape.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The night had been very fun. Talking, laughing, drinking, eating to our hearts content. I had been so engrossed in my work and Emmaline's training that I had completely let the tradition of the feast slip my mind. The night had worn me down a peg, but Emmaline was about forty pounds lighter than me and had been drinking beforehand. She was certainly hit harder, but the beautiful woman held it like a champion. I gave her an easy, amused look.

"Actually it's required. Chances are we'll need to disguise ourselves, so we'll need new clothes."

"Eggcellent!" She said in approval, her foot slipping between my feet. Her legs moved before mine, and she would have capsized onto the ground had I not held her up. She clung to me for a moment and hiccuped, finding her feet again. "Tank you. Sturdiness is a good trait to have."

"Just keep your feet a little longer, Emmaline. We're almost there." I said to her. I imagine I had a bewildered look when she put a nebulously placed finger on my nose for emphasis, looking at me. She might be a little sillier, but she had her faculties.

"First nambe basis now? Was the dances that cajsholing?" She said wryly, deliberately keeping the slurred words to a minimum. I raised an eyebrow and gave her a matching look.

"Dance like that again and you'll command the bloody ship." I joked, and she tittered. Another corner, and we found her door. With her weight on my right, I attempted to open the door with my left but she reached for it as well, insisting she had it. I let her go and she pulled the door open, nearly hitting me in the head. I ducked, and she looked at the room like it was an old enemy as the light was off, leaving it a black shadow of nothingness for her to traverse. I stepped in, knowing the Caledonia far better than her and turned the light on for her. The blonde saluted me in a sly way I couldn't tell was truly thankful or with a hidden meaning behind it.

"When do we get there again?" She asked, stepping in to the room and blinking.

"Day after tomorrow," I said, pulling her bunting over her shoulder to cover her modesty a bit more. She had a rose color to her cheeks and she cleared her throat awkwardly. I decided now was a good time for it, and I smoothed my hair back. "I'm sorry about being so firm with you, by the way. I know this is all new, and I think you'll make a good addition to the team. I'll fetch your shoes for you too while you're asleep. Are...we ok?"

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt made a small strangled sound when Silke had caught his lack of details in his story. Blinking, he considered just what exactly his problem was. He was a born liar, actually. Either he was truly nervous here, or the woman had a strange effect on him he couldn't quite ascertain yet. Perhaps a bit of both. He took her suggestion with a nod and a 'as the lady suggests,' hiding his grin with a well placed sip of his wine. Galt's mood and eyes went noticeably sharp and more dangerous when Vildraven appeared, mostly because of the man's earlier abrasive attitude. He wouldn't dare make an enemy of him, as Galt truly enjoyed his father. However, he needn't worry. Silke had handled him as easily as Galt could pick a pocket, something he had to visibly keep himself from doing here.

Silke's family was indeed watching, though Galt did not know them well enough to know if their observation was out of concern or interest. Galt decided he would give them a wave a well, something Vildraven took offense to. He growled in annoyance and made his way towards a seat he felt unsuitable for his quasi-royal arse.

Valdemar watched with disapproval, and then shoved some food in front of the lady and I. "Ignore him. He's a smart lad, but I regret to say I haven't taught him much humility. Maybe war would do him good if there ever is one."

"Let us pray we don't have to find out, my friend." The King replied, and the two toasted in agreement over that. There were smaller skirmishes that occurred between minor nobles or city states, or even border disputes, but a full on war had not happened in decades. Galt had heard stories from his da when he was little, but he had never experienced anything like it. Just a knife fight or barroom brawl here or there.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Her thespian skills were beyond what I had expected, to my delight and the uproarious approval of the boisterous crew. Were this a normal pub or a late-night party at a house of nobility, I would have been worried the men might get a bit overzealous, but as it were they knew not to touch a member of the Inquisitor's retinue, and I believe Emmaline understood that as well. I could tell she was the type of person to take advantage of any situation she found herself in, and I couldn't blame her.

Earlier I had gained a modicum of respect for her, but now I was just impressed. I considered myself a jack of all trades as any good inquisitor should be, for we don't ever know what situation we'll find ourselves in. But she was multi-talented just by being herself, and I had a difficult time thinking of Inquisitors that could command a room like that. None of this translates to the field, but not everything was ground work.

I was enjoying her dance despite myself, but as it turned to the mildly scandalous, I dare say I was as enraptured as the rest of the men. Truth be told, I think I hooted with the others. In fact it was so nice to watch, I did not hear Lazarus approach, which was wholly unusual. Lazarus, like all Skitarri rangers, had his lower legs cut off and replaced with prostheses of inviolate alloy. And whilst that gave them near-unlimited endurance, when not in combat mode, even considering their footsteps were more muted due to synthetic fibers, they walked slightly heavier than the average man. Particularly noticeable on a steel ship.

"I sense your body heat is slightly above average, with increased blood flow." He said, giving me a start. I blinked and looked at him, having known the skitarii long enough to tell when he was mocking me when speaking in his neutral tone. "Do you require medical aid?"

"Shut up, Laz." I said defensively, turning from him as if that ended it.

"Perhaps Miss Von Morganstern also has curative knowledge of human anatomy-"

"If you don't stop talking, I'll pour my amesec into your bare circuits." I said without turning to look at him. He knew I was serious, so to his credit be buttoned what he would consider his lip. I waited a few more moments before I pinched the bridge of my nose and asked. "Did you need something, Lazarus?"

"I believe the artifact we found was of xenos quality, not merely a chaos item."

I turned to him sharply, all embarrassment having flown from me. How could that be the case, when the item itself was in the hands of mutated heretics, and the visions Von Morganstern had given me were as ruinous as any daemon I've seen? I knew both the alien and the daemon needed to be burned, but it was entirely different to think the two might have fused in any capacity. "You're sure of this?"

"It matches what we know of the abominable intelligence known as the Necrons. The connection with chaos is unknown, save for the markings being a perfect match to what we know of the quasi-species and the great enemy wanted it." He considered it for a moment, and knew I wouldn't have much luck thinking about it here. I dismissed Lazarus, who began to walk away, before turning back to regard me. "Studies have shown that time not spent on a task can provide positive results in your mental state and ability to reason."

"What?"

"Have a good time tonight, Hadrian. Worry on it tomorrow." He advised, and walked away without saying another word. I watched my friend depart, and realized with unease that he was right. Perhaps a night without worry or consideration would do me good, and so I used what mental discipline I had to push the implications of the xenos menace out of my head for the time being. We still had a few terran days before we reached Moldar, anyway.

Once I turned back, Emmaline had begun gyrating on the table before performing her flip. I made a strangled sound as her legs went over her head, remembering how much she had drunk and seeing her teetering, though roughly she landed on her feet at the exact spot she had begun. I shook my head with a helpless smile, and raised her hand with my own.

"Trì breachanann!" I cried, which roughly translated to 'three cheers!' The men clambered and clapped, hollering and getting up. The servitors continued their bumping of the table, whether by a glitch or design, and the men took it as a sign to start cavorting and dancing amongst themselves. With a smoothness that I only really used for acts of subterfuge, the hand I had on Emmaline's lowered her arm and cradled it in a gentlemanly fashion.

"Care to dance?" I asked her with a grin.

She considered me for a moment, and with a touch of the theatrical, she raised her nose and turned away from me in mock snobbery, before suddenly spinning into me like a whirring dervish. I expertly weaved her past me until she hung fifty degrees over the ground on my opposite side, held up by my hand clasping hers. Idly I thought she might have really been attempting to throw me off to see if I had what it took, but I knew she would be pleasantly surprised. Before I was inducted into the Inquisition, my late mother had spent a good amount of money for dancing lessons, as dancing was a wildly popular past time on Elysiar, my homeworld. Some people called it "the lucky man's death world" or "catachan's little brother," as it was a strange mixture of civilization and dangerous organic life. A death world is technically classified in the administorum as a world where human survival was a daily struggle, and the humans there could rarely advance past small borders or little groups. Cities tended to be non-existent on such planets. Elysiar's flora and fauna were extremely dangerous, but the humans on the planet had innovated and had been indomitable enough to actually turn the planet into what was classified as a 'civilized world,' which caused a weird juxtaposition of high culture and a normalcy of human mortality. Men and women were educated but fatalistic, they lived fast and died young, and whilst I had most of the cavorting spirit hammered out of me, there was still vestiges of an animal within. An animal who could dance with the best of them.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"A boatless man is tied to the land!" Urien roared, holding up his cup. His men banged on the table in concerted rhythm; even a few of the servitors joined in, albeit a bit off 'key' one might say.

"Bare is the back of a brotherless man!" I replied back in traditional fashion. My voice has always been deep and strong, but when around Urien it was more coarse and theatrical. We both drained our cups with equal enthusiasm, and the men cheered and supped their own draughts, servitors already standing by with fresh cups as they dispensed with the first drink of the night and began to feast of steaming poultry and livestock. At the head of the table was an aptly placed head of a Grox, filled with apples coated in a sweet pastry Urien's people had concocted from an old recipe of their homeland. Hills of vegetables and cups of water dotting the landscape of the table, and further alcoholic beverages began to flow.

"This all seems really fresh," Emmaline said, pleasantly surprised. She sat on a comfortably cushioned chair, wrought in a barbaric style of wood and skins, with more modern pillows sewed underneath to give a good base for any dinner guest's rump to settle on.

"Engum flýgur sovanda steik gæs i munne" I replied, speaking to her directly, though the closest crewman, a man named Bragund, nodded in appreciation of my thoroughly practiced accent. At her questioning look, I gave a rough, less brutish translation. "Nothing comes free. We picked up some good meat and alcohol on Zaebus Minoris after trading a few minerals of the cargo hold with the Red Scorpions. Never hurts to give them something as thanks, and they in return."

"Likt á vidd likt Likt" Bagund remarked as though he were reciting a litany or a solemn prayer. I had discovered, at first to my chagrin and later to my delight, that when speaking their own language, they tended to speak in proverbs. It was not a custom they had on their homeworld, but one they adopted after they had 'transcended to the beyond' as it were, as they felt they were 'doing the works of the gods.' Some guests pitied them their fanciful delusions, but it was not too far from the truth. And honestly, who am I to question whether their outlook on reality is true or not? I do hold many philosophical truths, but for all I know, we are but a figment in the emperor's mind, or the warp itself surrounds all but this pocket galaxy. Of course I did not truly believe such, but as a young man your mind is far more open to possibilities, and listening to Urien and his crew played with ones imagination. Their epics were truly inspiring.

"Láttu ekki happ ur hendi sleppa," I replied back, and then explained chronologically. "Give and take is fair play, and opportunity knocks only once."

"Is lahdy of the cr-r-rew?" The red-bearded Bragund asked, and Kraltar one-eye leaned forward in interest. The latter brute had an ox's horns displayed on his large shoulders and warpaint on his face, melding into his hefty brown beard.

"My crew, yes."

"Aaaaahhhhh!" They both said, waving their hands away in disappointment. "Come now, Inquisitor. Ask her faur us thenn!"

"My crewmate is not required to do anything." I reminded them, regaining a bit of my usual sternness.

"Iht daus not hurt to ahsk, yeah?" Bragund wondered, and I shook my head and let out a breathless chuckle. I admit I capitulated, but only if she felt comfortable. I turned, leaned over to Emmaline Von Morganstern, and whispered in her ear. Admittedly I forgot exactly what I said to her, but somehow it had worked...

Hider

It is custom for any new crewmember to dance on the table to show their exultation of joining. As she is not of Urien's crew, she is exempt, but Hadrian may ask.