POOHEAD189

Pirates - Ye Be Warned

Stonebane bolts punched into the walls with audible, metallic bites. Three in unison, two meters apart in a vertical line from top to bottom. The connected laminated fiber was wound tight by the turning of a small wheel at the base of the crossbow, leaving a solid line of rope from the wall to their belts. Methodically, the crew attached their threads to a joint-thread, realigning it with a specialized bolt before it was loosed. The joint-thread slid along all three laminated fibers, closing them up and making them a part of a single, securely fastened three pronged rope. Galt waited until the rope was as tight as it could be, and yanked on it for good measure.

Bonnie and Steimos shouldered their crossbows as Galt vaulted over the lip of the building, taking point. He landed rougher than he wanted to, but he did his best not to cry out. Instead he cursed. Cursed himself and his Gods damned luck. He neatly leaped over some ornamental brush, silently sliding under a fence placed only for aesthetic purposes. His slide stopped right behind a walking patrolman. To Galt's credit, he didn't make a sound or even looked distressed, even as his heart banged in his years. The sheath at the watch's hip held a wicked sword, Galt had no doubts. The blades of Stauldin were infamously sharp and well forged. He only allowed himself to swallow nervously before he hopped up and slipped behind a garden wall, eyes soaking in the dim collection of foliage. Two seconds and he began to move again, finding purchase on the far wall of the building, following the line of the rope and ascending, grabbing lines and flaws in the stone of the wall. The whistling of the rope sliding through the steel ring of his belt.

Behind him, he felt the rope shudder, suggesting further weight was now burdening the line. He glanced downwards and saw the other two members of his crew following. He was glad they had followed so closely, but knew without a doubt if he had aroused the guard, they would have left him to die. Couldn't exactly blame them, but he would be far happier with more loyal friends. He cleared his throat as silently as he could once he reached the fifth floor, taking out a glasscutter and pressing his sweaty palm at the center of the window, pushing off the wall with his feet until he was standing vertically, using naught but the thread to keep him from falling. Luckily, the three bolts held up his weight.

Galt held his breath, the quiet deafening as he pressed the blade to the glass and pierced it, cutting a circle big enough for a man to shimmy through. It was slow going, the scoundrel certain it would snag and stop halfway. He almost wish it had. Bad luck could be traded in for good fortune. When everything went right, that was when you needed to be most careful. Once he was nearing the end of the cut, he dipped the blade beyond the circle of glass to tip the material toward himself, pulling with his sweaty hand in a common albeit less-than-sure trick.

He placed his cutter back in his belt and grabbed the flat edge of the glass circle. Galt's eyes flicked to inside, the darkness permeating the room obscured his vision beyond the vague shapes of bookshelves and a large desk. There were no signs of anyone inside, but Galt hesitated. Galt wasn't first in because he was brave or foolhardy. Galt wasn't a brave man; some might even call him coward. He ran from every fight he could. He let others go before him, took chances only his arrogance would allow, and he never bet on a losing horse, no matter how much he liked it.

But they had drawn straws, and his had come up short as a cold cock.

Stepping in, he let the rope swing him within until half his form was through, shifting his weight to plant his feet on the floor, finally unhooking the thread from his belt. His eyes did not linger anywhere too long, searching the room for any sign of trouble. It was an office of some kind, a book-keeper's den of little worth but much information, like as not. Unfortunately, it wasn't what they were there for. Next in was Bonnie, silently sliding in head first as Galt surreptitiously hid the glass pane under the desk.

She searched the room as if she was the first one in, Galt side-eyeing her with little patience. He let her do her thing, stepping to the door and checking for any traps, spring loaded or weight activated. As far as he could tell, none were present. He slowly gripped the handled and held his breath as he turned it, the door swinging open silently. His foot followed in its wake, placing his weight of the hall tile. It creaked ever so gently, but it wasn't loud enough to raise any alarm as long as they played it safe. Galt glanced behind him, Steimos wheeling the rope up, a grimace on his square face. Bonnie rolled her finger over and over like a wagon wheel, glaring at Galt, clearly impatient for him to move. The thief never knew what he saw in her, and regretting breaking the first rule of business.

Don't mix it with pleasure.

The corridor was rich with fine tiled wood the color of burgundy. Small lights gleamed from doorways, but any novice could tell it was the moonlight filtering in from open-curtained windows. Galt went right, and while he would have preferred to think of himself like a stalking tiger, he felt very much like a deer, instead. Quiet and frightened, ready to scream at the slightest hint of discovery. He had already been run out of his previous city, and he couldn't stand living out of garbage or stealing pocket change for another year. His stomach and psyche couldn't handle the shame.

"Pst," Galt heard, just as he was about to step into a luxurious dining room. A stolen moonlit glance showed it was connected to some sort of library, well stocked and ornate from the looks of it. A glint on the table reminded him of the silverware, and not a misleading name if their information was to be correct. The forks and knives were reputedly true silver. But he had to rip his eyes away from the delectable prize, catching Bonnie mimicking a jackdaw with her hands, subtle movements of her fingers displaying the thieves cant.

'Not that way. We stay together!' She signed irritably. Steimos was behind her, stepping out of the door and checking for pressure plates along the floor with a surgeon's precision.

'This room connects to the other' he flashed, and continued forward without bothering to wait for a reply. By the luck of the Gods, there was a carpet in this room, and he could walk about easier. The opposite wall held a large window, where the light poured in and gave the forks a glittering, mesmerizing quality. Expensive porcelain dishes were arrayed on a tall cabinet to the right, and doubtless more utensils were stacked within the drawers. By the door stood a desk, and atop it, an archaic dagger sat on a stand. Its hilt gilded and the leather sheath arrayed in silvery patterns. Galt took it gingerly, knowing it was probably useless as a weapon but dangerous expensive. He then plucked every piece of silverware he found off the table and dropped them into his belt sack. Across the way, he caught dark silhouettes moving through the small library, opening cabinets and fishing through drawers. Bonnie, or what he assumed was Bonnie, knelt by a crate, no, a safe? She began to wheel the lock, ear pressed to the steel as her rump lifted in the air.

Yep, definitely Bonnie. He would recognize that ass anywhere.

He turned back to the table, wondering if he could file off an arm of the golden candelabra at the center. Already, this seemed to be a sizeable score. The dagger and silverware alone could feed him for weeks in a comfortable inn, and he didn't have to tell Bonnie or Stiemos all that he found. Galt felt no remorse for any deceit either, because he fully expected the same of them. He had worked four jobs and been given a pittance of the split because he had no idea that's how the game was played. No honor among thieves is right!

As Galt rounded the room, he was nothing but a shadow against the wall. His black hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin helped him blend in with the dark cowl around his form. He glanced out of the window, watching something ethereal move from somewhere across the courtyard. It wasn't until the very last moment that he realized the movement was not from something outside, but a reflection of a gun barrel rising behind him, catching the light as it moved.

"Shit!" He cursed, feeling blood pumping through his veins as his heart rate spiked, the click of the gun followed by an ear-splitting crack. It was so loud Galt wasn't sure if the sound or the bullet shattered the window he dove past. Vaguely he heard Steimos swear in his native tongue, and suddenly the creaky hallway was clattering as footsteps thundered down the hall, the sound of swords unsheathing mixed with the cocking of pistols.

Bonnie threw a small sphere into the hall, smoke billowing from its pores rapidly. Steimos, stronger than the other two, pulled down a towering bookshelf, books and wooden shelves crashed to the floor, pummeling the first soldier as he rounded the corner, coughing from the smoke. Galt turned and saw the man who fired on him round the corner with a saber. He wore a tricone hat and the handsome coat of a military man. Galt kicked the chair at the end of the table into his feet, causing him to stumble just before he was to give a thrust. Rolling across the floor, Galt smoothly made it to his feet just as Bonnie shoved a case into his hands. Galt felt the expensive wood, smooth on his skin.

"What is this!?" He cried as Steimos threw a knife into a soldier's thigh, his gun firing into the ceiling. Dust and kindling fell onto his head.

"I don't know! Just get to the rendezvous poi-!" Bonnie yelled, before a bullet punched into her lower back. The woman's body hit him, and Galt felt a wave of odd emotions as she clutched his form. Fear, anger, confusion. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but did he want her dead? Should he stay and fight? Steimos took a cut to his shoulder, crying out in pain. Bonnie's hands on Galt's cowl yanked at him one last time, and he saw her look right into his eyes as she mouthed 'go, you idiot.'

Galt did just that. The window was no match for a ball of leather, cloth, and terrified thief, and as Galt plummeted toward the tall hedges, he remembered one man cry out in despair.

"He has the Map of Algorab! Find him!"

---

The bleeding on his arm had stopped, but apparently so had his luck.

Galt watched the churning waves with a new set of worries on his face. Gunsmoke and the spray of the sea filled his senses as the merchant vessel threatened to overturn. The ship was a brig, if Galt knew his ships, and truth be told, he really didn't. The ship was just not well guarded, and he had been dodging patrolmen all night. Several times he had been spotted, and like a fox on the run, he ran back and forth, doubling back to keep men off his trail as he circumvented the city, and once he felt relatively well-off, he went straight for the docks. The gates would be well guarded and roads traveled by the king's men. Apprehending a cloak from a warehouse, he had donned it and bribed his way onboard the merchant vessel just before it set off.

Now he had to deal with sea bandits as well as the law.

"Bloody pirates, just go the fuck away." He prayed, clutching the case in his hands as the battle raged on.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

A cardinal world was not too dissimilar from a hive world, though the Ecclesiarchy would certainly take offense to such a comparison. Untold billions lived, worshiped, and died in the vast halls, holy citadels, and pilgrim apartments of the opulent world. From the sky, the planet looked like a great beacon of gold, lights that could be perceived from beyond orbit gleamed brightly even on the dark side of the world. They ruled entire systems, sometimes whole sectors, utilizing resources from hundreds of other worlds to maintain the infrastructure for the billions of men and women who flocked there to give thanks and find guidance from the all-consuming light of the Emperor.

I had only been to a cardinal world once, on Ophelia VII during my youth as an interrogator under Inquisitor Kronus. I still remember how small everything on the planet made me feel, from the statues to the spires to the holy relics set within immense chapels where millions bent in prayer.

We were a full two weeks ahead of schedule. The warp was unpredictable at the best of times, and evidently a month's journey had been cut in half from some fluke that I could, perhaps ironically, credit to divine favor. I figured we arrived when we needed to. I had already had discussions with Selencia and Clara on the aspects of the Mors Logicae, and once they realized it changed very little, particularly for us, they had understood. Once one perceives the ward, one could pierce its veil, and it can not hide physical evidence. The enemy, whoever they were, would hide their true nature from the Ecclesiarchy with or without the ward, so asking an official what they knew served no point regardless. We had them, on their world, weeks before they would anticipate us, if they even anticipated us at all.

The only worry, other than the cabal of chaos infiltrating the most holy Inquisition and the Ecclesiarchy, was the addition of the Mors Logicae meant that there was a greater daemon of tzeentch at work, which was a complication. So far our primary enemies had been of the dreaded and bloated followers of nurgle. Either the two factions were aligned in goals, or one was using the other to further their own ends. But to what end? That was my primary concern as the shuttle with Emmaline, Clara, Selencia, Lazarus, Elektra, and I, entered the planet's atmosphere.

Our arrival could not be announced or perceived, and so we made a fiction, Emmaline and I masquerading as nobles from the planet Gudrun, wishing to find solace for the spirit of our child that died at birth. Emmaline was overjoyed we would be able to go shopping, as our plot required more gowns and finery than the Caledonia tended to carry. Once we made a 'beachhead' so to speak, and found leads to the whereabouts of this so called Teritus Vorn, we would invite down Lucius Raj and perhaps Urien and his men.

The problem, as always, was finding our quarry. Unfortunately, that struggle would cost countless people their very lives...

At The Edge of The World

A day later...

The wet, broken landscape and thick jungle had grown thinner, at least to my eyes. Emmaline and the others still felt as if the ferns and trees were aberrations that concealed wild cats or worse. Mercifully, the rain had stopped, and the men were able to clean their wounds and sleep with some peace of mind. I kept stayed at the fore, clearing a path with a cutlass I had taken from the camp. Swords were not my forte, but I needed to clear vines and what undergrowth I could.

After the rain demon had dismantled their camp and slew their comrades, the survivors of the Basilean fort had scattered to the four winds. A handful had seen Emmaline and I slay the beast and decided to follow us, not for nothing, since we were going to the closest spot of civilization in twenty leagues. Out of the five legionnaires, three were injured, one with a head wound that seemed a miracle he was alive, and the two who had come out relatively unscathed still have vacant eyes, save for the random flashes of fear that passed into their gazes every now and again.

We had found a relatively dry clearing beneath the canopy, past a fallen tree the lot of us had to duck under to enter the area. We spent the evening eating what rations we had left. Titus had pulled out s loaf of bread from his pack and found it swarming with ants, and he had to throw it into the fire and clear out his bag. Cyrian had a few links of sausage and offered to share, and the rest of the troupe had bits to add to the collective pile. Emmaline and I still had a few apples and jerky left, and we made a small dinner out of the lot of it.

As the rain forest grew darker, and the birds began their incessant, endless chanting, we all drifted off to sleep. Emmaline had deigned to take the first watch, insisting she was a bit too on edge to really sleep so soon, and so I trusted her and fell into a fitful slumber. I would be told later, like I always was, that one of my biggest problems was how much I could sleep through. Emmaline told me, when we were alone within Darkwater days later, how she had tried to wake me up to change the watch, and it was the weird angle of her leaning over me that drew her attention to a slight glimmer in the dark, past the ferns that cloaked the endless jungle beyond the embers of the dying fire.

A glimmer that pulled at one's senses, inexorably and involuntarily drawing one closer to the source. A light that tickled the mind's curiosity, and captured the imagination of the one it had chosen to call to.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt, as well as any commoner, had opinions and conceptions of what many called 'the assholes in charge.' He figured there were a few good eggs, but the serfs and the lower class in the city had seen one too many horrible people with the power to abuse dozens, hundreds, if not thousands of people. The fact that a few of the menfolk of the nobility were disrespectful or ignoble when it came to ceremony and manners wasn't too big of a surprise to Galt. He was about to make such a remark when Silke rested her head against him, and his snide remark dissipated as swiftly as it had come.

"I would like to help," He assured her, reinforcing his earlier sentiment. Even if the help he gave was staying out of her way or focusing on his studies, he wanted to make the process as clean and stress-free as possible. Plus he did have a desire to be a bit hands on with the whole thing, but he also realized he had no idea how or even what went into the planning of a wedding. There were the invites and the venue and the food, but other than that, it was really a mystery. He supposed the clothes...

Galt wasn't expecting her questions, but she was right. He really did not know who he wanted to be, yet. He still felt like this whole thing was a masquerade that he somehow lied his way through, even if intellectually he knew that was false. Technically he did use some of his acting skills to make himself look more the part, but he had also never been more open in most of his life as the past few months. And to what he wanted to be? The whole thing seemed overwhelming to him right now, and just when things had started to look more simple. He and Silke, as much as she fretted over it, that was simple. It was warm and nice, and despite her words, she seemed to feel the same.

Almost without knowing it, his cheek rested against the top of her head. Her hair was soft, and she was as warm and welcoming as the fire. Her words somehow elevated the feeling.

"Thanks," He said, honestly touched. Slowly, his arm snake around her waist. It was a familiar touch, but chaste. There was a modicum of feeling there, as if this was how it had always been. Strange, they had yet to share a kiss but already he felt as home right here with her.

He almost said he knew she would be a good wife too, but somehow he felt it would ruin the moment. As if speaking the words aloud cheapened the meaning. So he merely sat there with her, and his mind wandered back to the first time he stood with Duke Valdemar and the King, and he first met Silke. He remembered how pretty she had looked to him then, and the intelligence behind her eyes that endeared him. He had no idea how much she would teach him, and then he had a thought.

"Hey, what did you think of me when we first met?" He asked. Galt smiled, always ready for a joke. "Other than being really handsome, of course. I feel like that's a given, ya know?"

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

"Perhaps we would have been wiser to not call upon him at all, then?" I asked.

"He might inform on me, but the palace is a large place. We can't get in and out without a few prying eyes, but I would rather have steel with me as we do it." She reasoned, strapping the items to her waist with a sturdy belt. Kian did not wish to relinquish his staff, but it did stick out like a sore thumb. He had left it outside the gates after saving Camilla, to better grab it later. Despite my abandoning of the troupe, I held no illusions that after finding Camilla, we would have worn out our welcome fairly quickly.

I grabbed a baldric, a brace of pistols, and a well-balanced sidesword. I was not very skilled with a sword, but it was better than using nothing and another staff or polearm would just stick out.

"We're probably only a small problem to whoever is calling the shots now," Camilla said to me.

"Optimism is a useful trait," I replied a bit snarkily. She grinned, and we drifted together and shared a few moments of passionate kissing, one of many tempestuous moments, before we drifted apart and made our way to the palace.

Camilla opted to swing round the walls of the veritable fortress to the left, passing by many of the major businesses and getting within eyesight of the waterfront. It was more populated here and the walls were taller, the patrols more frequent, and that was exactly why we did not go through the gardens to the east, where they might expect us. It was an unexpectedly good idea, even to the clever Tilean woman. Once we reached the wharves, they were a shadow of their previous bustle, and the patrolmen were more than half what I had imagined. I still saw a few bodies of fallen swordsmen, blood staining the wooden tiles of the docks or the stone of the streets.

Camilla and I vaulted over a short wall, cordoning off civilians from entering a warehouse in construction. We slipped in like ghosts, passing through the half open sky of the superstructure and reappearing near an alley past much of the docks, slowly but surely making our way toward the edge of the district.

"We're going to use the rocks to climb the wall, aren't we?" I asked Camilla. Past the docks, jagged seaside rocks scythed against the waves, glistening from the spray and littered with barnacles. Some of them jutted up the walls until they were a scant arm reach from the parapets, and so far we had only seen a handful of armed men keeping watch.

"Very good, you really are a university graduate," she joked.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I felt as if Sigmar had placed me into a sort of exchange. A life of pleasure and fun at the cost of great danger and ever at the expense of breakfast, it seemed. I had not had breakfast in three days from some calamity, and both yesterday and today my planned morning date with Camilla went awry from some danger. Thinking back to the night before, however, I felt it was worth it. Though I would very much try and have a big lunch.

I grabbed my belongings swiftly and had the chance to put on my travel boots and trousers. However, I only had a small bit of cloth of my robe across my shoulder, but half my side and all of my torso was bare. I scrambled out of the window with Camilla, recalling yet again how we had just met and I'm leaping through a window because of a swift warning from her. Camilla slid out of the window and danced across the shingles of the roof with a grace I couldn't match. Thankfully I was still agile compared to the greybeards of my sect and I followed her well enough, feeling the cool morning air on my chest in concert with the sun's warmth. The streets and curved arches and villas, as well as the towering palace was almost breathtaking in the morning light. Shame I hadn't the time to stop and admire the view.

I saw Camilla's desperate leap and realized immediately the futility of trying to jump like her. True, my legs were a bit longer, but she was an acrobat and I only kept my physique to attract women. Would that be enough to get me across?

Well, no time like the present to find out.

As Camilla began raining tiles down onto hapless soldiers and screaming for me to hurry, I placed my foot on the furthest point of the inn's roof and shoved off. Time seemed to slow for me, and even years down the line, I remember the still image of Camilla dropping the tiles and spinning to take my hand. It's amazing how you can fight every creature and abomination imaginable, from vampires to chaos sorcerers to brutish greenskins, and yet simple heights with the threat of gravity can stick with you.

I hurtled through the air, but with the desperation of survival and Camilla's quick reflexes, she caught my hand. My left leg hit the edge, pain shooting up my body, stealing the energy from the limb. Luckily, I found out later there wasn't a fracture or break, but it hurt like hell, as did my hand. I had thrown out my bandaged hand for her to catch, clever as ever.

"We must goo hansome, joost a bitte moore!" She implored me in Reikspeil. I gave her a tired smile to reassure her I was alright, and with her help and my other leg I pulled myself up on the roof. Behind us we heard a shout. I turned and saw a condottieri with his morion helm poke his head out of our window, turning his head the wrong way then swinging back in our direction. I could not see his expression well, but he shook his fist.

"You will not get away so easily!" He cried, and as if on cue, crossbow quarrels bounced against shingles and scythed past us, one getting close enough to fly right between Camilla and I.

Camilla dashed away, while I limped after her, but as we moved, blood flowed back into my leg and I could put weight on it again. Mercifully the other buildings were packed closer, and together we made it down three city streets, swiftly losing the soldiers who's shouts faded into the distance.

Eventually we stopped atop a sandstone roof with an awning and an area to relax and take stock. A small table under a swift, outdoor cupola was sequestered there for shade. Camilla sat down and I caught my breath, smoothing my mane of black hair back, though some fringes stubbornly set back before my face. My torso glistened with a light sweat, and I had to admit the lack of food did wonders for my early morn physique, but even if Camilla was interested we were a bit preoccupied.

"I say we've overstayed our welcome. Apologies if I'm the cause of that," I said, taking a cloth from my pack and wiping it across my forehead. "I suggest we find what money we can and get the hell out of here. I hear Pavona is lovely this time of year, or perhaps Luccini."

Fucking hell, I thought as my stomach growled.

[+25] [Discord or GDocs] 32F seeking female writing friends

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Bodacious Bounties: Bounty Hunter AU

"Nah, they're just not supposed to be lethal." He said, crouching down and resting his arms across his knees as he admired the underbelly of the Dragonfly. "Though they can be. Hell, it's what the crowd would rather have."

"If we're going to do this, don't go dying on me, cowboy." Jocasta said, cocking her hip and crossing her arms. Neil looked up at her.

"Too handsome to die?"

"Too expensive."

"Ah."

---

The ring was simply a colloquial term. The true arena was a hexagonal wall of reinforced steel and cryocrete and electromagnetic pillars that created a negative charge that cushioned the steel behemoths from hitting the walls with full force if they charged or were tossed out of bounds. Beyond the walls was a hyperfyber glass, bulletproof and impenetrable against shrapnel or small-yield explosives. The stadium around the ring could house ten thousand occupants, but the real crowd would be watching on the holovids. There were thirty million inhabitants of the Golden Girdle at any one time, however the numbers could fly as high as twice that during rush cycles. And these fights would be shown on every public holovid and on many private ones across one hundred thousand kilometers.

First thing was first. Neil and Jocasta needed two things. Firstly, they needed a Rekker, which meant a APC between 3 and 4 meters tall, and secondly, they needed a patron to back their bid, else Neil wouldn't go anywhere near the ring. Just as with everything, the rich and powerful had their toes in anything that could potentially make them more rich or powerful, and it also curbed their boredom. So every fighter was backed by a patron, and had a team that could acts as a spokesperson, a coach, and a medic in times of need. Neil felt Jocasta could serve each of those roles well enough. Hell, he probably only needed a spokesperson.

The Rekker was another thing entirely. Neil had taken all the gear and weapons off the deceased bounty hunters and with a few questions to the right people, located a place he could potentially sell them for some extra cash. Even the most optimistic outcome, however, would mean they were pretty short of a real Rekker. They might have to settle for a piece of junk and Neil's expertise until they won a few matches and could patch it up to win the big prize. Fifty thousand credits a pop for four rounds, with twenty five percent of the earnings going to the patron, and the fifth round was five hundred thousand credits, and an added two hundred thousand for the patron. However, the big bucks were in the betting pools. That was why the rumors of fixed fights came about. A few champions had thrown matches at the finale to win big in the betting. The fighters were now banned from betting after this incident occurred a few times, but that did not stop them from using proxies.

Neil explained all this to Jocasta as they made their way down the Presidium's stairs to the lower quarters, below the casinos, vaults, hanger, and the great mall that dominated the center of this particular station, dubbed 'Alexandria IV.'

"This is all fascinating, cowlick, but where are we going exactly?" Jocasta asked, causing Neil to glance up and smooth his hair on instinct. She smirked and he gave her a look when he realized she had been messing with him.

"We're going to find someone who'll buy these rifles and gear for a good price. Maybe then we can grab a junker or I can game our money up enough to find us a real Rekker to use."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Hereticus." I said, my tone neutral. Emmaline could see my eyes moving as thoughts whirred in my head. She had done some fine detective work, but something did not feel right. It felt as if the answer were right in front of me, but I needed to parse the facts. I glared at Lazarus for a brief moment, until Emmaline drew my eyes.

"Problem?" Emmaline asked, raising her brow. She wore a shimmering dress that suited her. I merely wore my usual fatigues and newly stitched jacket, now finally able to move about without half my torso bandaged up and crushing my ribs. I snapped my fingers for Lazarus to approach with his data slate, my hand out-held to retrieve it. Once in my hands I thumbed through the data.

"On Havenos, he wore Malleus Power Armor. You not only need to be in my ordo, but one of the more esteemed members to even have the access to don such a blessed suit. Being of the Ordo Hereticus makes little sense," I explained.

"Then he just found a Malleus Inquisitor and killed them?" Clara suggested. She seemed more able to think back to that day. Earlier the mere mention brought shudders to her, the inhuman dimensions of the eternal city having done its damage on her sense of self for some weeks.

"That's highly unlikely for many reasons, and for an unordained, veritably impossible. Such a suit could devour the man within if they were found unworthy. No, no this makes me believe that he was not wearing what I believe he was wearing, or the information is wrong. Perhaps both." I remarked, a galactic map surging onto my screen, fingers sliding the expanse of space down as I veered the tablet's screen northward. "And you are wrong, Lazarus."

"Pardon?" Lazarus asked, binary spewing forth a scant second after the statement. It was rare to see the Tech Priest rocked back on his heels. Selencia perked up.

"You are wrong." I said simply, glancing at him. "I haven't known you to be wrong about an empirical fact since I've met you. The Orphidian subsector is quite close to Avignor. It's all within the Scarsus Sector of Segmentum Obscurus. And Emmaline's information of his origins is quite odd. Both Angevin and Ophidian are the names of relatively recent crusades in Imperial history."

"The Ophidian sub was named after the crusade," Lazarus noted, though whether to try and regain a bit of dignity or to see if he was capable of answering correctly, I did not know. He was impossible to read to most humans, but I could see he was disturbed at his own failure at making a single incorrect statement. Lucius Raj watched the exchange with interest from the back, his super human eyes more accustomed to seeing small micro-twitches that betrayed emotion.

"Correct. In fact it was one of the most successful crusades in the history of the Imperium. It was as if the forces of Chaos had fled after the fighting had barely started, hailed as a miracle and a sign of the Emperor's favor. The Angevin Crusade had a similar record, and is known in my Ordos as being one of the few crusades Ordo Malleus has openly aided in. I do not know the specifics of Ordo Hereticus and their conclaves, but I find it difficult to believe they would have one named after the Angevin crusade."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Hadrian?" Emmaline asked, placing a hand on her hip. She seemed slightly put off at my interruption, and while I did not take any pleasure from it, she looked fetching when she was frustrated. "That my information is wrong?"

"Not necessarily." I clarified, handing the dataslate back to Lazarus. "He may very well be Teritus Vorn of the Ordo Hereticus. However, he is not the true enemy. The Ordo Malleus does not go after men, but the very daemons of the warp, and when they are concerned, you trust nothing. This cabal has infiltrated every level of not only a Hive World, but now the Ecclesiarchy and the Inquisition? And he has developed away to strip millions of imperial citizens of their free will all on his own? This man, Teritus Vorn, is just a cog in a greater wheel. There are only two explanations. Either not every piece of information we received is truthful, or there is a much more sinister and devious aspect to their methods. One that might explain your information and Lazarus' misstep."

"Mors Logicae?" Lazarus responded, looking up from the dataslate I have granted him. On the screen, he had been granted access to the entire history of the phenomena. He could absorb the information quicker than I could explain, but I deigned to do so for the congregation listening. Urien watched in fascination and both Selencia and Emmaline glanced at one another before looking back at my position.

"Discovered by Inquisitor Jaq Draco in the late 38th millennium, it is a taint of psychic origins, a ward. Some classify it as a 'disease of truth.' The Mors Logicae activates when one approaches a certain subject intellectually, granting false leads and giving the researcher an inherently wrong mental synapse of the topic in question. Fortunately, Jaq Draco was able to dismantle it by learning two simple weaknesses. Firstly, the Mors Logicae can only work when one does not consider its existence as the cause. Secondly, while it can alter ones perception of facts, it cannot alter facts themselves. It is a taste of the warp, but not chaos made manifest. Therefore, what we have seen is indeed fact, and now that we have acknowledged it is a very real possibility this alleged Teritus Vorn is utilizing it, then we cannot be fooled again unless it is by others who have been fooled."

"That means all information we gather will be false, though," Clara surmised.

"Not exactly. It only works on someone who is looking into a specific subject, as I said. For instance, this Teritus Vorn can land on Avignor, tell everyone he is Teritus Vorn, and he is an inquisitor, and he will have to convince them on his own. If someone there was to ask him his business on the planet specifically, he could tell them any lie he wished. However, if one were suspicious of his motives and deigned to pick them apart, everything they would hear or surmise regarding him would be scrambled by the neurons in their mind or the mind of others. Unless, of course, they suspected the use of Mors Logicae. As we now do. His whereabouts or mundane activities would not be unknowable."

Lazarus snapped the dataslate shut, and with a string of binary that sounded like a long sigh, he approached me and, to my surprise, patted me on the shoulder. I had been about to explain how the Ordo Angevin and Ophidian claim was likely based upon the Mors Logicae choosing the two most illustrious words in the Scarsis sector to garner trust by local inhabitants, but Lazarus spoke first.

"Kronus would be proud," He whispered. I gave a smile.

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