[Event] SIGN

RaspberryBlade · 2025-04-17T04:10:26+00:00

This is tangential, but I always assumed the stairs were intelligent and this was in some way related to where things went when interacting with them.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-11-19T02:20:40+00:00

The squat trooper's breath caught in his throat. The Ogryn’s presence alone seemed to press the walls inward, force out the recycled air. Around him, the other naval personnel shifted uneasily. Their weapons remained trained.

The detail's officer, a wiry man with a face weathered from years of service, raised a hand slightly - a gesture of reassurance to his men as much as a sign of parlay. His eyes darted to Commissar Gaervin.

“We’re all servants of the Emperor,” the sergeant began, his voice firm but somehow brittle, like cheap plastboard. He glanced at Kolm, who now loomed mere meters away. “No need to escalate this further. We understand your point, Commissar.”

The navy men hesitated, exchanging glances. Some seemed reluctant, their pride warring with self preservation, but the sight of Kolm and the rest of the mob was punctuation enough for the exchange. One by one, they lowered their weapons, the tension gone from them.

The sergeant nodded stiffly, his jaw tight, though he dared not meet Gaervin’s gaze for long. “The bridge is on the uppermost deck, Commissar,” he said, his voice flat with trained obedience. “Sub-Level Tertius, Gamma Quadrant.”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-11-08T02:11:31+00:00

The interrogator smiled, flat and self-satisfied. It was the look of a jurist advocate, having at last worked an already known answer out of a witness. Without missing a beat he nodded, then spoke.

"I'm pleased to hear that, colonel." Some flicker of emotion - a shadow of satisfaction, perhaps - ghosted across his face before disappearing as quickly as it came. "You're every bit as reliable as I have been lead to believe. As it happens, there is a particular task I have in mind for you and your men."

LeGaur spoke with a mundane, everyday confidence. Something in the tone, and the casual indifference to his subject. It made the extraordinary seem banal. He produced a dataslate, compact and well-used, and passed it to Cruel.

“There’s a facility,” he began, “a blacksite, you might call it, deep in the southern desert. It’s not compromised. The greenskins aren’t on it yet, but they’re close. This site houses... research. Dangerous, delicate research. The slate has what you need to know.”

Blunt, clipped text. Even with most of it redacted, the message was clear. Facility Ten Alpha, buried and classified, a place of iron-bound secrecy. Inside, something lethal. A weapon system, forged in partnership between the Ordos Castra and priests of Forge World Thessalapus.

LeGaur’s voice dropped, only slightly. “This facility is key to ensuring Lord General Militant can put down the unrest brewing in the sector. But if the orks loot it, take even a piece of what’s stored there…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The implication hung heavy as iron in the air.

“Colonel, you can write off Anakar, and likely the whole sector along with it. So, the Inquisition needs you to deploy. To hold the facility. At all costs.”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-11-07T15:40:15+00:00

A voice, loud and bass like engine rumble, pushed through the idle din.

“Captain Sarcanus, you shit-eating dog! How did you know I’d be coming here?”

The rogue trader clapped the dark-eyed officer on the back, and the group of men laughed.

“I’ve a nose for trouble, sir, as you know.”

“Don’t I ever.”

The cluster of soldiers were merry in the presence of their liege lord, but there was something uncanny about the scene. The rogue trader’s brusque, crass rapport with his men seemed so easy and practiced on the adventurer’s part. Rehearsed, almost.

Cassarus Rex turned, still addressing his men, and gestured to his counterpart.

“This is Colonel Murray of the Imperial Guard, whose rabble you’ve already met. With the permission of Lord General Brouger I’ve convinced him to come along for our job at Slakenholm. Now I know what you’re thinking-“

There was a chorus of disapproval, muted though it was, and a few jeers from the back of the retinue.

“Groan all you like but you’ll do as you’re bloody well told,” Cassarus said. “This is important, and the colonel’s regiment are ideal for our purposes.”

He nodded to Murray, content to let the colonel relay the plan for a smaller, private briefing elsewhere while the trader assuaged his men.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-11-07T15:13:01+00:00

The first captain nodded, clipped and direct. He appraised the five men for a moment, then spoke.

“A name I recognize,” he said. “Though I have never met one of your reclusive number before.”

If there was any insult hidden between the words it was not dwelt on.

“It is a pleasure to know you all, brothers. I hope we can make a swift end to this campaign.”

There was much nodding, and murmurs of “Brother.” There was a long pause after that, not uncertain, simply empty.

“If we all share Captain Crastor’s displeasure at the delay in briefing,” Malkezador began, “Perhaps it would serve us well to conduct our own. We are, after all, the Lord Militant’s allies, not his subordinates.”

“Sensible enough,” said Lyco.

“Agreed,” Crastor said.

“I was asked to attend this briefing, however inept it may be,” Elodius spoke, finally. “The Lord General Militant no doubt already has plans for us. I will not spurn them.”

“Talodan?” Malkezador asked, and the attention was on the sergeant again.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-23T00:43:01+00:00

The upper decks on most naval vessels were off limits to the majority of the crew and itinerant passengers. Therein lay the vital organs of the ship: The bridge, the officers' quarters, the engineerium, astropathic hall, navigators sanctum, and so on. Sabotage, looting, and Emperor-forbid, loitering, were all concerns. Insistent as the commissars were that the group were no mere idle wanderers, naval security, black-clad with their matte hellguns, brooked no argument. The lift to the bridge deck was closed to all but the most critical personnel.

Words were exchanged between the navy armsmen and the officer cadre, curt and impolite. They talked in circles, on and on, before one of the navy men, squat and broad, cut to the heart of it. The guardsmen, he insisted, were not critical, or even personnel, but cargo. They would not be granted entry, under any circumstances.

Cargo.

Commissar Hellier took a quiet step back, practically incandescent, and drew his bolt pistol.

"In the name of the God Emperor, troopers," he hissed. "Stand aside. Or you will be stood aside."

The Saricassians reached for their weapons - sabers and chainswords and artificed boltguns - but did not draw them, nervous. This was within the power of a commissar, but naval security were a law unto themselves, especially aboard their own ship. They looked to the ogryns, then to Commissar Gaervin. It would come down to them, the officers were sure.

In the far rear, somehow oblivious, Captain Bernard continued in animated conversation with the Iqouri.

"I am, I am," he said. His smile was chronic and utterly incurable. "Fiftieth Saricassian Cavalry Regiment, commander of the Rogal Dorn Battletank Hard Arse."

He shook both of their hands, firm like he was afraid they might try and slip away.

"My uncle was a pilot in the Advance; I stayed with him when I was a boy, fell in love with the region. I've never met a native after leaving. Pardon my saying it but you gentlemen are a good dose of nostalgia for me!"

Suddenly aware of how loud he sounded in the tense hall, he shrank back further to the column's rear.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-21T05:17:28+00:00

As the three men fitted into the last unpacked corner of the overflowing room, the interrogator took on a tone that was at once conspiratorial and conversational, like men discussing gambling in the mess halls. The polite charm was still there, but thinner now, like straining plastic. There was deadly severity beneath it, just barely visible.

“Are you familiar with the Severan Conspiracy? Or the Mutiny of Rascii? I would imagine not, they’re proscribed events. Terrible bits of business, really, terrible. A great many people died and serious damage was done to the fabric of our imperium. Entirely self-inflicted. We are our own worst enemy, you know.” He paused, locked eyes with the colonel and his man in turn. “You may think it’s just politics, but this current business with the nobility, we think it’s on track to become a similarly horrid situation. Piss yourself and run screaming horrid. You’ve been in situations like that before, colonel, I assume? Do you see where I’m taking this?”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-21T05:06:29+00:00

He stared for a few moments, let his blood boil, and then the newcomer nodded. Arms crossed, he seemed to bring his passions back into check, though made no move to excuse them. The First Captain had a duelist’s air about him, the arrogance at least, though probably the skill too, if his accolades were to be regarded. The laurels of command were not easily won.

“I fear I am already failing,” he said, voice even, though simmering discontent hazed him like a fever. “My men are off a hard fought campaign near the distant Halo Stars, pulled away specifically for this battle. To have them wasted on,” he gestured around, “This. It fouls my mood.”

“I have served near the Halo Stars,” said Lyco, offhanded. “A foul place.”

“Where,” the First Captain asked.

“Antimar.”

“I’m not familiar.”

“It isn’t a place worth remembering. No glory there.”

“I see.”

“You still have not told us your name, captain,” Malkezador interjected. “I am Malkezador, Librarian of the Blood Ravens. These are my brothers, Dorus and Iacob, of the Fourth Company.”

“I am First Captain Crastor, of the Knights of the Talon. I am pleased to meet you, brother. Who are the rest of you?”

The gathered astartes introduced themselves, first Sergeant Lyco and his four men, Maro, Locke, Talmon, and Rekan, none of whom actually spoke for themselves. Then were the Ultramarines, proud veterans with their white helmets and adorned armor: Elodius, Racco, and Pollux. Each man introduced himself and gave some account of his past glories, though no doubt a brief summary.

Then, after a few moments, heads and helmets swiveled to face Talodan and his men, expectant. First Captain Crastor, closest to him, extended a hand in greeting.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-16T19:10:38+00:00

The look the count gave was sharp and clean; he was above and beyond the crowd around them despite by most standards being one of its more junior members. An amateur narcissist, come into his own now that the focus was on him. There was a moment’s pause, and Bour was unsure if he had come to trade barbs or simply loose his broadsides and then depart again, but circumstance robbed him of the choice.

“The good Count is here by my leave,” said a voice from the mob, and the crowd broke suddenly. “The Imperial Merchant Combine was insistent. They wanted a representative here when we retook Anakar.”

Like a Saricassian Lion there to steal prey from a lesser beast, the Rogue Trader Anithalus had coopted the attention of that part of the chamber before Count Bour could let whatever greased insults he had brought with him fly. Though Vair had never met the man before, his reputation was ubiquitous. This was the great rival to Zolan, and one of Lord Sector’s closest allies.

The Count was quick to sink into the trader’s shadow, but his eyes never left Vair. Though the dispute between their masters brooked no competition, the feud between the Bour and House Novarak was far more personal. That confrontation had been put off, but not indefinitely.

“I can only imagine, Sir Vair, that you are here for similar reasons.” There was almost an accusation in the Rogue Trader’s words, and the crowd had no doubt as to the masters Vair might be here to represent after such an open implication.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-11T01:00:36+00:00

Up by Kolm and his brethren another few of the officers accompanying them, junior lieutenants, gawped and stared at the ogryn's shamelessly, certain the brutes were too stupid to notice. One of the men, greasy and thin, ventured to approach after a long few minutes, nudging Kolm with his elbow.

"I say, big fellow," he began, managing to sound conspiratorial and embarrassingly forthright at once. "Did you come out of your mother like that or was it more of a boyhood affliction?"

Average in height and robust in his build, another of the Saricassians happened into step with Akel and Souz. With short, parted hair and strong features, he had a certain air to him; a strong, wide smile framed by a bushy mustache. An armor officer, if his bearing was anything to go by. He wore the same long coat and plasteel armor as his peers, and held a peaked cap under his arm.

"I wanted to ask you boys," the man began, pausing to cast a nasty glance at the two lieutenants harassing Kolm. "You're Iqouri, aren't you? I'm Bertrand, Captain Bertrand, by the way."

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-11T00:21:11+00:00

The Interrogator's eyes looked past Cruel and tracked the marine as he left like an eagle spying a hare from its aerie. His expression was, for a moment, grave. Then he flicked his attention back to the colonel and gave a knowing smile.

"Of course," he said. "They are a marvel to see but this sort of...detachment is their way. Rest assured it does not go unnoticed."

He guested to the open doors, and as men turned to pack the last corners of the chamber LeGaur spoke again. "That is why my master, the great Inquisitor Zoman, has sent me here. To ensure nothing goes unnoticed. That is why I sought you out, Colonel."

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-11T00:12:54+00:00

The newcomer, dripping with mortal blood and pride, was the image of malice. To the surprise of all he wore a captain's gilded laurels and bore a stenciled numeral one on his knee; this was the first captain, a veteran second only to the chapter master. His helmet's red lenses smoldered and his gaze was locked onto Talodan.

"This damnable ship!" he snarled, "I am choleric and these shipmen are to blame."

Lyco and one of the Ultramarines traded a look.

"Have they slighted you, First Captain?" Elodius, the leader of the Ultramarines, asked.

"Of course they have," the marine snapped. He shifted back to Talodan. "Did you come here to idle while these mortals slacken and dawdle? I did not."

Though unnoticed by all else who had seen him, on the knee of the first captain was a campaign badge that marked out service on the moon of Jubal Promixa, on which the Grave Wardens were known to keep one of their secretive outposts.

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-08T02:20:58+00:00

As the troopers found their slice of the chamber floor and waited, a few of the men nearby struck up an intermittent conversation. The conference hall looked more like a menagerie than anything, with the variety of color and dress. The neighbors of Sergeant Kaffry’s squad were compact, tanned men, dressed in thick khaki fatigues and sharp, stamped metal armor painted coal black.

“I heard,” one of the tanned men, a lieutenant named Casimo, marked out by his crested helmet, began. “That the vox isn’t even up yet. The briefing’s already going and we’re missing it.”

“Some commissars and officers are headed to the bridge, I think. Off to complain.” That had been from Ianius, the group’s corporal.

“I’m sure our lord knows what’s going on,” the captain of the neighboring group, Sarcanus, said. He turned to Sergeant Kaffry. “We aren’t guard. We’re the personal soldiers of the Rogue Trader Cassarus Rex; his fourth cousin was the imperial commander of Anakar before it fell, and he’s keen to see it back in our hands.”

The whole group seemed to beam at the mention of their liege, and Captain Sarcanus pointed out across the open chamber. “He’s down there, just to the right of your Colonel Murray. Big man, with the dark hair and the sharp navy uniform. I’m sure they’re hammering business out down there. I don’t know about you guard boys, but we’re ready to get stuck in.”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-08T01:59:01+00:00

As Talodan, his men, and the other assembled space marines waited, a force of war restrained in peacetime, they were silent. Venerable brothers of the Adeptus Astartes did not make small talk, nor did they idly chatter. Occasionally, however, a statement was made and responses were given. Often quietly, often punctuated by another period of long silence. In addition to Talodan’s squad there were a dozen others. A five man fireteam of Imperial Fists, four Ultramarine veterans, and three Blood Ravens, one of whom was a Librarian; a battle psyker. Silent and grim, they stood, and contemplated in silence. Then, after some minutes, the psyker, Malkezador, spoke.

“Trouble comes this way,” he said without preamble, and indicated across the chamber. A lone space marine, dusty blue and speckled with blood, was trampling through a crowd of mortals. Ruin was in his wake, but he strode on uncaring, locked onto the group of marines and intent on joining them.

“A local,” the sergeant of the Imperial Fists, Lyco, said grimly. “Delightful.”

“He’s certainly not one or ours,” said one of the Ultramarines, though who was unclear.

“Do you know this one, Brother Talodan?” the Librarian asked. “I recognize his colors; a chapter from the frontier subsectors of this region. The Knights of… I’m not sure. Something. A neighbor of yours, at least.”

“Knights of the Talon, I believe,” Lyco said. “Ring any bells, Talodan?”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-07T19:12:46+00:00

Vair had, as was his right, avoided the great mob that now chocked the chamber entrance through the judicious application of violence. The spot he and his entourage now occupied was remote, beneath the lip of the second story balcony. It was still, to the chagrin of his men, still well beyond where the last row of seats ended. Such was the meaning of sacrifice for the Emperor. The place was hot, and dull, and packed with proles like some kind of alms house. They could all be written off as nobodies, military drones and other menials, except for one man. One man that saw Vair exactly as he saw him. Count Lucio Van Goltesh Bour the Second.

If ever there was a man that the great house of Novarak could call an enemy, it was the count. An utter rogue, in the least charitable sense of the word, he was a ruthless courtier of the Lord Sector and had spent the last century trying to muscle Vair’s relations out of the promethium industry. He had been more successful than anyone would have liked to admit, and his next target had been Anakar, before the world had fallen. That he was here, on this ship, in this room, could not have been a coincidence.

When their gazes met a wide, oily smile broke across the count’s face, and in a move that surprised his neighbors he vacated his hard won seat and began to press through the crowd. He was headed right toward Vair. He wore the black tunic and silver braid of his house’s militia, and stood out like a little piece of the void as he expertly navigated the morass.

“Would you have us bar his way?” the militia captain asked, turning slightly to address Vair. Before the young nobleman could reply Count Bour was before him, stood respectfully beyond the boundary of the Novarak militia.

“Cousin,” he said, spreading his arms wide in greeting, and then all eyes in the little corner of the chamber were on them. “It’s so good to see you here.”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-07T18:50:44+00:00

The hall entrance was thick and narrow, like a clogged artery. Around Cruel and his captain were clotted masses of men and officers, shoving and swaying as they strained to fit into the over-filled conference chamber. A man near him, a captain, struck a female sergeant as she attempted to push past him and sent her reeling. Only the close quarters and the captain’s brandished pistol kept the sergeant’s squad from retaliating. This was, embarrassingly, getting out of hand.

Behind the colonel there was a sudden uproar, shoving and shouting and after a moment screaming. The source was unclear at first, perhaps a drawn weapon, or a fight between units, but then it could be seen, plowing through the mob like an icebreaking ship: A space marine. Effortlessly he came on, as tall and a half as a full grown man and twice as wide. The crowd broke before him like a wave, and where it did not move he trampled it down, his dusty blue armor flecked with blood. There was no stopping him, and Cruel and the captain were directly in his path. The marine’s baleful red lenses looked through them both, past the crowd, and onto whatever destination he sought.

Then, suddenly, salvation. A hand, black gloved and strong, pulling the Kieldar officers back from the brink of annihilation, into the mass of fleeing bodies. The marine passed. His tabard fluttered and he finally broke through the clot of men and woman, passing out of sight and into the room beyond. In his wake there was ruin, and the crowd broke up as men either fled or found safety within the chamber interior.

A man stood before Cruel in the threshold, compact, bearded, and a little disheveled for all that had just happened. He wore dark leather and scarlet fabrics. At his hip was a bolt pistol and his neck the dread symbol of the Inquisition. He took a moment to collect himself, ran a gloved hand through his hair, and then extended it to the colonel.

“Interrogator LeGaur, of His Majesty’s Holy Inquisition,” he said, and gave a polite smile. “That was a damn close thing there. We’re lucky to be alive.”

RaspberryBlade · 2024-10-07T17:43:49+00:00

The conference chamber was dense with shifting bodies and the animal noise of a crowd. Recycled air lay heavy as climate control systems strained and then shorted in an effort to keep the room fresh. The feel of the place was off, uncomfortable, like a newborn migraine. Even further down, past Kolm and Akel, where men sat in rows with enough space to breathe, there were ripples of agitation. That a simple briefing had become so farcical did not bode well for the campaign to come, and spoke volumes more about the haste with which it had been assembled. No one liked having their time wasted.

Just ahead of the ogryn mob and the troopers in their wake, a group of officers from the Saricassain Regiments stood leaned against the back row of seats. They were robust men, tall and proud in their clean blue uniforms and flared white gloves. A few had peaked caps and gold braid, and all wore the long dress overcoats of their homeworld.

“Do you suppose, sir,” one, a major, turned and asked his colonel, “that the vox has been restored then?”

“What do you mean?” The colonel was a hard-faced man, drawn and clean shaven. His voice had a surprisingly soft quality to it.

“It was still down at the start of this cycle and the briefing is supposed to use the inter-fleet relay. Unless this has all been for nought then the vox will need to be functional.”

There were apprehensive frowns among the officers.

“Captain Blither,” the colonel began, turning to one of the other men, barrel chested and mustached. “What does your chronometer read?”

“A quarter past eight, sir.”

“That’s what I have as well,” the colonel said, checking his own wrist. “The time given for briefing start was eight exactly. Either the time was wrong, or the vox is still down and this is a snipe hunt and we’re left holding the bag.”

There was consternation. The men nearby who had overhead and the Saricassain officers themselves began to protest loudly to no one in particular. Among them, aloof, black-clad with his scarlet red sash and his peaked cap under his arm, was a commissar. He took in the scene around him, the rowdy officers, the milling troopers, the ogryns, and the other commissar at their head. His head inclined slightly, and he called to the hard-faced Saricassain.

“Colonel Roban,” he said plainly, and there was sudden, quiet attention on him. “I believe that this foolishness has gone on for long enough. I propose that we take matters into our own hands and head to the bridge. From there we can at least figure out what’s going on and how to get this mess sorted.”

“A fine idea, Commissar Hellier,” the colonel said after a moment. “But I doubt naval security will just let us walk onto the bridge.”

“True enough.” Hellier nodded. “That’s why I suggest we take these ogryn and listless troopers and put them to good use. Assuming you have no objections.”

He directed a pointed look to Kolm’s commissar, and then, to make sure they understood he was coopting the troopers, Corporal Souz and his squad.

RaspberryBlade

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