# Trail of Bones



## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

[Halvador, Torek, Viktor, Micheal, Raphael, Daedalus, Jerico, and Darren; you all have on you weapons that can be easily concealed. So no bigger toys, like Crypt's hammer for example. Evander, Antony, Gaerth and William; unlike the others you have choice of what weapons you have on you. Every member of the team has an easily concealed microbead about them so that they can keep in touch with each other. It doesn't work from one town to another, but within a town yes.]

Halvador and Torek; You push past the double plascrete doors leading into the facility, half the spread lights are burned out or flickering, somehow making the medicea facility look uglier than initial impressions. However, its better to be indoors than outside in the constant rain of Lneff Octavus; early terraforming had gone wrong, and while the world was habitable, it suffered from constant rain-storms. Pushing beyond the state of the facility, you walk to the desk and speak with the clerk, who after some time directs you to the morgue where the bodies of the recently deceased lay.

The room itself is in the back of the facility, past dingy examination rooms and several private offices, in the basement level. Entering the morgue, the first thing that hits you is the biting cold, then the piercing voice of the chief doctor of the area as he both greets you and demands why you are here.

[Lets start out fairly simple; your in Jackcrest, a pleasure town of sorts. Its more upscale than the two other towns you have been to thus far. Viktor and Micheal dropped you off outside the facility so that you could examine the body of the latest victim of a rash of murders, this one a close aid to the planetary governor. The others are checking out the aid's villa to save time. Halvador this place absolutely disgusts you, being used to far cleaner and more sterilized facilities yourself. Since Torek is technically not with us, its up to you to get things done; speak with the clerk to get directions to the morgue and speak with the head doctor when you get there. He wants to know who you are and why your here; though whether you are straight up with him, or wish to conceal the fact that your an inquisitorial operative, thats an interesting question.]

Viktor and Micheal; Jumping out of the groundcar you had been in, the rain makes short work of drenching you, Viktor having a bit of fun and jumping down into a thing of mud. Before you is the last of the habs of Jackcrest, far more spacious and luxurious than many people elsewhere on the world get to see. Heading into the building, you inform the servitor-clerk that you are investigating the death of *Selina Bandig*, aid to the governor and the most recent in a string of murders. You are pointed to the elevator that will take you up to the ninth floor, the location in question.

As you enter the villa, staff of *Bandig* greet you and you are quick to go to the scene; though for whatever reason the man you speak to seems reluctant to take you, if only for a moment.

[Well that was odd. As with Halvador and Torek, your in Jackcrest, a pleasure town of sorts. Its more upscale than the two other towns you have been to thus far. You dropped Halvador and Torek off at the towns medicae facility, and after an hour of driving through the mud slicked streets you made it to the luxury habs. Compared to this place, the last town was an utter dump. When you arrive in the villa, the member of the aids staff that greets you seems more interested in something else, and when asked to see the crime scene itself he tries to dissuade you from going. Though a pair of big men aren't so easily dissuaded now are they?]

Raphael, Jerico, Daedalus, and Darren; You are in the town of Landwalk Ridge, specifically the towns most seedy bar, _Last Chance_. The place is dimly lit, the patrons keeping mostly to themselves either at the bar or in alcoves along the walls for a measure of privacy. Raphael and Daedalus themselves are in one of these booths, one of the two observing a slim man at the bar flanked by two much larger men, like minders but with gang tats on every piece of exposed flesh. At one far end of the bar, Darren sits and makes small talk with some no-nothing fool, also keeping an eye on the small man flanked by the pair of larger gangers. Jerico is on the opposite end, chatting it up with a smile girl who despite her good efforts, is gonna be going home mad when all her effort proves to be wasted.

[Landwalk Ridge is located high up in one of the mountain ranges of Lneff Octavus. Its known for having a strong connection to one of the gangs of the area, some partially militant pro-xeno group that seems to like causing a fuss but little else. Could be nothing, could be something, but either way Landwalk is the location of the fourth murder in the series on this world, with the jawbone of the victim being taken as a trophy from what it seems. Just so happens mr. small with two big guards was overheard talking about having in his possession such a trophy or knowing who does, so he warrants a looking into. Real question is what do you do? Confront the man, wait to see what he does?

Jerico, while the others watch the man you've been watching the entrance, and its here that you notice four more gangers sauntering in. They walk over to small man and his guards and start speaking to him, with the bartender being motioned to come over. The look on his face isn't good as you see his eyes dart over to the direction of Daedalus and Raphael. Oh yeah that can't be very good; but what do you do?]

Evander, Antony, Gaerth, and William; This day is not getting any nicer, even for the standards on this planet. Then again, from what you've heard the town of Centerburgh has never been known for having the best of luck, located at the bottom of several mountain ranges its kind of like a pit. At any rate, driving has not been fun, not in this weather and definitely not in this cargo-hauler. Antony brings the hauler to a stop as it turns the last corner before the hab stacks where Luciun Opinek, victim number seven in a rash of murders, resided until his death. Reports say a third of his left femur was taken, which fits in with the path of a murderer collecting bones as trophies. Exiting the hauler, the rain does little to liven up your mood as you hurry into the stacks where Opinek lived.

The place is a mess, and lit by half dead yellow glo-globes that give off a gloomy vibe to this place. People scatter before you, not wanting to get involved in the business of anyone else in this place, how charming. Coming up to the fifth floor, you notice the kicked open door leading to what must be Opinek's hab. Somehow, it looks even more of a mess than the rest of the hab, if thats at all possible. A quick look around and you notice that this place goes on into the habs adjacent, with no one else present. What did this guy own the entire floor or something?

[Evander and Antony you go to the left, lots of tossed about clothes and other stuff, the smell is less than forthcoming sadly. Despite that, your hear looking for the man's notes; before his death Opinek was in charge of investigating these murders and how they might be connected with alien insurgents trying to destabilize authority in the area. At least thats what these notes were supposed to detail, if you can find them. Gaerth and William you take left; this place is more like a study, a place where Opinek might have done his work, its cleaner but looks like much had been taken since before you got here. Looters maybe? Though how desperate and dumb might you be to steal the cogitator of an arbites detective?]


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## Masked Jackal (Dec 16, 2009)

*Evander Sarkadian-Opinek's Hab*

Rain. How appropriate. It did seem to have a narrative flair to it, which combined with the nature of the murder they were investigating, made Evander cautious. A third of of a femur, as a trophy. It was somewhat unusual, it seemed, as skulls, jawbones, or other such bones would seem to make better trophies. A mystery they'd have to solve.

It was little better outside the hauler, though they didn't have to walk far at this point. The eery lighting in the stacks was another detail he noted, along with the way people retreated from them. Probably a wise choice, considering the nature of these places. When they got to this Opinek's residence, he saw the door was kicked in. Still that way from the murder?

[[Others should feel free to talk during any of this, I'll just edit my post.]]


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## Baron Spikey (Mar 26, 2008)

*Jerico Tobias - Landwalk Ridge*

The smile-girl wasn't his usual sort, too much about her was false; dyed hair, fake nails, cosmetics that seemed more at home applied to the bar than this woman, but for all that she was quick-witted and humourous company for a rogue like him, a circumstance Jerico was unable to take advantage of with the current situation.

Clad in his usual attire of much repaired brown pants, the hems covering most of his scuffed flight boots with a faded deep blue shirt tucked into the waist band and an over-large padded grey jacket festooned with bulging pockets thrown over the ensemble, his unruly hair and stubble further enabled Tobias to blend in with the clientele of _The Last Chance_ effortlessly.

Leaning forwards to whisper some vague witticism in her ear, Jerico took the opportunity that her, too predictable, practised laughter gave him to surreptitiously glance at the men who had entered moments before, a thrill of alarm sending his adrenaline sky-rocketing as he noticed that the men were focusing their attention on Raphael and Daedalus. With the barest of hesitations he turned back to his companion, raising his tumbler of cheap amasec for a sip allowed a quick double-tap of the microbead present in the pilot's left ear. 
To ensure the other Agents wouldn't misunderstand his signal he made a show of spilling his glass over the woman's lap, with a startled squawk of indignation the girl leapt off her stool slapping him hard across the face; Jerico winced and attempted to apologise as the smile-girl flounced out the bar.

With the bar's patrons focused on the fuming woman Jerico took a moment to catch Darren's eye, giving a slight nod towards the small man and his minders before crossing his arms, turning back towards the bar- pausing for the barest moment facing their two companion's booth- using the period of time when his movements were shielded from the target to slip his Stub-Revolver from it's shoulder-rig into his jacket's sleeve.

Returning to his stool at the bar with head lowered as if in embarrassment Jerico hoped that the Bounty Hunter had understood what he meant, and that the other two were at least prepared for future unpleasantries...


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

*Halvador Sytari - Jackcrest Morgue*

As the entrance hissed shut behind him, Halvador's first thought was that he was glad to be out of the rain. It never seemed to stop on this planet, a relentless deluge that beat down upon him. He removed his wet-slicker and hat, looking at his reflection in the mirror to ensure his wig looked presentable.

Satisfied that his hairpiece looked presentable enough, he keyed the entrance to the Morgue. The door opened, releasing a rush of frigid air and rancid smells. Halvador crinkled his nose in disgust.

'This facility is not properly pressurised,' he said disdainfully. If any of the bodies here had active bacteria, viruses, or any other of the plethora of pathogens found on any given planet, they would easily escape the facility to contaminate the city itself. 'Pathetic.'

He unslung his backpack, pulling out a clipboard and a white pair of surgical gloves, putting them on as Torek continued through the portal. The room beyond was dim and dingy. Soot or dust covered the windows. Flickering lumiglobes cast shadows about the room, airborne particulates wafted about... _Throne, this place is disgusting._

An unattractive woman sitting behind the clerk's desk looked up at the two intruders. She tucked a grimey braid behind her ear and asked, 'What?'

Unsure of how Torek would respond to the situation, Halvador knew that he had to take the lead, at least initially, until he knew more of his new companion. He strode at a leisurely pace to the desk, setting the clipboard down and smiling at the clerk. 

Forcing the contempt he felt from his voice, he peered at her name badge. 'Good morning, my name is Doctor Halliof. I have been hired by the planetary governor to exam the body of a recently deceased individual of interest.' He reached into his overcoat and pulled out his falsified identicard, flashing it before her.

'Please inform your supervisor that we need to inspect the morgue, its facilities, and the bodies therein to properly identify and categorize the cause of death.' He looked right and left, trying to appear both authoritative and impatient. 'Where is your head mortician?'

The girl looked confused, but pointed to a door branching off the right side of the room. 'He's in his office in the morgue,' she said.

Halvador smiled again, grabbed his clipboard, and nodded to Torek to proceed.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

*Darren Sicamore - Landwalk Ridge*

Darren sat inside the Last Chance, a seedy bar, dark dank and unfriendly. He was used to these types of bars, having to meet his various contacts in some of them, having to take down his bounties in others. Once a fight was started everyone would get involved soon enough. He didn't mind being sat in the bar, better than being outside in the rain at any rate. 

He sat by the bar, a pack of Iho sticks on the bar next to him, and a bottle of amasec next to him. He winced, as he felt a warm shot of amasec flowing down his throat. Soon a drunken old fool stumbled over next to him. He sat down and tried making small talk with the bounty hunter.

Darren kept his answers short and curt, trying to make the other man talk about his history and what he did then what Darren did. It was meaningless conversation but it would keep Darren's cover for a while. Or so he hoped. As the man explained to Darren what a merchant of his standing was doing in a place like this Darren's eyes focused on the other side of the bar. 

Jerico Tobias the pilot for the Inquisitor had knocked his drink over onto the girl that he was chatting to, causing her to slap him and leave with an offended look on her face. He kept his eyes on Jerico, barely resisting looking at the girl as she walked away. He quickly nodded to the target, the man with the bone, and the fact that two more men had walked in and were talking to them looking straight at Raphael and Daedalus.

Darren nodded his head back, hand sliding underneath his trench coat. He thumbed the shock mace that sat on his belt, ready if they tried anything. With his other he drew out an Iho stick and put it to his lips, before lighting it, completely oblivious to the man next to him, who was loudly snoring on the bar.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Raphael Kontos took another deep breath, drawing in more sickly smoke. The Iho-Stick which was perched between his pristine teeth had cast a eye-watering haze over the alcove, nearly obscuring Raphael completely. The Tech-Priest, Daedalus, talked little and thus very little conversation was made between the pair. Yet Raphael did not care for some technological simian. He knew of their greedy ways, of how they would double cross you if they realised you was harbouring wanted technology. Raphael looked towards the side at the large figure of Daedalus, scanning him from head to toe, and sighed.

The overwhelming stench of lubricants and oils made Raphael wretch inwardly. His stomach tightened as though struck and his throat stung suddenly with bile. Yet he was fixated by the crimson attired figure. He knew that the Tech-Priest was drawing fidgety attention from others in the bar, those who were clearly nervous among this bio-mechanical man. Being a Fringe-World, Lneff Octavus probably received very little visitors in the form of the Priesthood. However he did know of Explorator Fleets that had moved through the Fringe Systems, searching for lost Forges and STC’s. 

There was some form of history between Raphael and the Mechanicus. He could not quite remember the circumstances other than it involved a maddened Secutor and some very valuable information based around a piece of old tech upon a Dead World within the Rashad Nebulae. Of course Raphael had declined to give the information and the consequences hadn’t been particularly pretty for either side, but the Rogue Trader cared not. He had a nigh-endless wealth to splurge upon, one where he could replace casualties with a mere flick of his wrist. 

‘Isn’t this a pleasant place?’ He rhetorically, and sarcastically asked, reaching for the cheaply fabricated chalice which sat upon the finely polished-surface of the table.

An old man hobbled by, a wet tunic pulled over him and dripping the forever-rain of Lneff Octavus across the ground. He grunted an acknowledgment and Raphael spared a gently inclined nod. However his attentions were not on the general scum within, but rather a figure sat at the bar upon a red velvet stool. Towards either side of him were a pair of brutes, hired-muscle no doubt. One bore a snaking tattoo around his neck and Raphael made the assumption that they were Gang Tats, not dissimilar to what many aboard _The Regent_ bore.

They were probably packing solid slug throwers beneath the folds of their clothes, at least Raphael couldn’t see any holstered weapons in visible sight through the Iho-Stick haze. Raphael took the chalice in his hand and looked into the murky alcohol which it housed so perfectly, and raised it to his mouth. Before the cold liquid touched his lips however he tilted it off towards the side, sending the liquid cascading onto the floor. He would not drink when there was a task ahead of him. 

He tossed the chalice onto the crescent-twisted chair next to him, the soft foam which laid beneath the red velvet obscuring any noise and continued to look at the Gang Banger with narrowed eyes, his neck arched forwards. He pondered, leaning atop his cane, with crimson jewel skull atop it biting into his glove with artificial teeth and leaving a menacing imprint. With his other hand he reached into one of the pouches fastened at his hip and drew several Thrones, each of which bore the Aquila gloriously. 

‘Go and offer him a drink, Mechanicus.’ Raphael growled forcefully, tossing them across to the tall figure of Daedalus. 

If the Ganger wouldn’t reach out to them, Raphael would do so himself. He saw the signal from the others and felt his hand tighten around the hidden Shuriken Pistol in the folds of his azure cloak and lifted his cane-bearing hand for Daedalus to disregard what he had said, slowly thumbing his weapon into life.

'I hope you can fight Mechanicus, looks like we have a predicament on our hands..'


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

*Daedalus Yekunian - Landwalk Ridge*

The smoke from the pirate's narcotic stick was repulsive. It reminded Daedalus of the smog that was spewed from the stacks in factories on the blessed Forge Worlds, except this smoke was the product of the pirate's own weakness of the flesh, not the production of the sacred machine. The Tech-Priest looked around the bar as surreptitiously as he could, it was disgustingly wasteful, patrons consuming large amounts of narcotics and beverages, while many patrons purchased the services of females that wore enough ornamentation and cosmetic applications to pass for a gilded statue. Typical flesh beings, all mired in narcotics, intoxicating beverages and pointless intercourse. Daedalus could not understand the point behind these things, narcotics ruined the mind, the most precious gift of all from the Machine-God and the act of intercourse was meant for creating more flesh children, and yet they did it and avoided that. It was baffling, but Daedalus had never been interested in the weak beings of meat, the strong was metal and machine, and that future would be ushered in by Daedalus and his fellow Magos.

‘Isn’t this a pleasant place?’ drew Daedalus out of his thought patterns. The pirate was making another attempt at conversation, unintelligent creation of flesh, Daedalus had hoped that he would desist, they had nothing to discuss and Daedalus was aware that the pirate hated him, and his kind. Ungrateful whelp, without the Mechanicus his precious weapons and ship would not exist and he would be trapped on whatever backwater planet spawned him. And his sarcasm was clear, and unnecessary, this place was a waste of the effort made to make the materials that had created it.

While the pirate observed the males sitting at the primary table of the establishment, which was a flattering term at best, Daedalus contemplated the mission at hand. A pro-xeno gang was at large within the area and Daedalus and the pirate, the bounty hunter and the pilot had been tasked to investigate. Daedalus could not have possibly cared less, xenos were corrupting that was not disputable but this wasn't xenos technology being dealt with, aside from calculating answers to possible theories of technological problems there was nothing here that another member of the group couldn't do with more interest. But there was little point in arguing with an Inquisitor, it was like attempting to create a map to an STC, a waste of time and effort.

The clink of a coin on the table drew Daedalus's attention, the pirate was in front of him. ‘Go and offer him a drink, Mechanicus,’ was all the pirate said. ‘I am not a servitor, or what passes for one in this trash heap. Do it yourself.. pirate,’ Daedalus responded, his vox-transponder making his voice sound forceful in kind, privately enjoying the pirate's sneer, then noticed his hand moving from his cane. Daedalus understood instantly, as all good Tech-Priests should. Two of his mechanical fingers, which extended halfway down his arm, broke away while the others remained in place so that none of the flesh cattle would be spooked, while the two moving fingers hooked into a heavy calibre slug pistol. Daedalus had designed it decades ago, and it was still as potent as the day he had finished it, capable of blowing a target in half with a single shot. Although since he had worked for the Inquisition he now often needed to disable targets rather then blow them apart so he had added a lower function setting that shot regular auto rounds, very damaging but not immediately fatal. Lighting up his second eye, his three glowing green ocular implants forming a triangle, only the first active currently followed by the second showed that Daedalus was ready for a battle if one broke out.

‘I have fought for the Machine-God before your brood-parents had even been spawned pirate. Do not question my skills, in any regard.’


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## hippypancake (Jul 14, 2010)

*Michael Crypt - Hab Unit of Sedlina*

Michael landed in the water with a loud splash as the water shot up to soak him thoroughly, and he looked at his robes quickly making sure his small autopistol was still concealed. Crypt looked over to see the Catachan had landed in a puddle of mud that had similarly doused him with its contents; Crypt smiled slightly and reached a hand out to help the man up. 

“Oh the woes of having to jump out of a moving object.” Crypt said. He looked around the Hab District they were in, this place was far more luxurious than the place that only an hour ago Crypt and Viktor dropped off Halvador and Torek, and it surprised him that the living conditions could improve so quickly, but he hid that thought as he started to head towards the Hab unit that had belonged to the late aid Selina Bandig.

As the doors opened and the big preacher walked through the doors he noticed and sweet smell in the warm drying air of the unit. Crypt walked up to the reception desk where a servitor was working, “Hello we are here to see Bandig’s staff.” As he was finishing the servitor was already pointing towards the elevator. “9th floor” It said as it continued its work, and without a thanks Crypt headed over to the elevator, and as he reached it the doors opened and he stepped in.


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

*Gearth Madellus - Opinek's Hab*

With a sluggish burst, the cargo-hauler came to an abrupt halt as Gearth awoke from his sleep. The patter of rain on the tarp can be heard soothingly to Gearth as he finishes a prayer to he Emperor and jumps out of the cargo-hauler.

Raising his face to the sky, Gearth lets the icy rain hit his shaved face and head to fully awaken him. "A fitting day to do the Emperor's work." Gearth said as he withdrew his shotgun from the bed of the hauler and walked with Evander and the others inside.

Inside, Gearth noticed the quick glances from the residents inside at his shotgun and how they quickly departed. "It seems the agents of the Golden Throne are welcomed everywhere these days." Gearth said sarcastically, following the others up the stairs to the victim's room.

As they neared the door, Gearth watched Evander stop and soon enough Gearth saw the busted door to the victim's room. Without thinking, Gearth withdrew his shotgun and slid in several shells before waiting to follow the others inside


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## Anfo (Jul 17, 2009)

Viktor jumped out of the jeep and landed in a somewhat deep puddle of mud. For a moment, Viktor was back of Catachan, running through the water soaked jungle. Speaking of water, this 'rain' was barley a drizzle. Viktor kept having trouble figuring out why people thought that this was a down pour. Crypt reached down and helped Viktor up, Viktor smiled in thanks. 
“Oh the woes of having to jump out of a moving object.”
Viktor laughed, "I've jumped out of bigger faster moving vehicles...like that Valkyrie..." Viktor shook his head. Now wasn't the time to be reminiscing. 

Viktor saw Crypt checking his auto pistol. _Good idea,_ Viktor thought, as he ensured that his Fang was easily accessible. Viktor didn't bother to check his pistol. He wasn't good enough with it anyway. 

Viktor looked around the area they were in now. It was the nicer of the cities, but it wasn't the most luxurious of places. Viktor took note that the streets were deserted. This bothered Viktor some, but on closer look, most of the buildings had on few if any lights. Almost like no one was home...

Once inside, Viktor let Crypt do the talking. Crypt would be better at doing the talky parts anyway. Being a preacher and all. Viktor normally didn't make jokes at peoples appearance, but Viktor couldn't help himself when he saw Crypt getting into the elevator.
"I think I'll wait for the next ride up Crypt." Crypt look somewhat confused so Viktor continued, "Well, I mean that thing might not be able to lift you, let alone both of us."

Crypt shook his head slowly and Viktor stepped into the compartment. It wasn't cramped or anything, but Viktor laughed until the doors re-opened. Viktor then followed Crypt out.


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## hippypancake (Jul 14, 2010)

*Michael Crypt - Selina's Villa*

“I think I’ll wait for the next ride up, Crypt.” Viktor said, and Crypt slightly tilted his head in confusion. “Well, I mean that thing might not be able to lift you, let alone both of us.” Crypt shook his head in amusement and stepped over so that the Catachan could step into the ever-shrinking compartment, “Just wait until we get back to the ship.” He said with a grin, he enjoyed working with the ex-jungle fighter, since the Catachan is the only other person that was around the same weight as him, and just like him it was almost if not all in muscle. As the doors opened the preacher stepped out. “Here let me get out of the way of your girth.” He said with a final joke before they were greeted by a man. “Hello, you must be Crypt and Kornel. I am Tyr Gaius, Selina’s adjutant.” Tyr said with a smile. “Hello, it’s nice to meet someone that is part of the Emperor’s flock.” Crypt started with a smile. “We travelled a pretty far distance, and we are ready to get to work, so where is the crime scene”

Crypt’s eyebrow raised slightly as Tyr started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Um, we are happy that you are so…excited to get to work.” He said his eyes lowering to the ground. “But there is no real reason to begin right now” Tyr started acting more and more distracted. “My child your advice is taking in very high esteem but you must remember that this is the reason that we are here and we are ready to start right now.” Crypt replied coolly. “Well we don’t need to start with the crime scene, we could start somewhere else.” Tyr said. “Tyr, we need to start at the crime scene to figure out what is needed of us.” Crypt replied with a little more force this time. “Well how about we start tomorrow.” Tyr said desperately trying to avoid the crime scene. Crypt sighed slightly and turned to the Catachan. “Viktor why don’t you try and _persuade_ the man.” Crypt said with a faint smile.


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## Starbuck (Apr 6, 2010)

Antony waited outside by the hauler for a few moments. Letting Gearth Scare away all the possible witnesses and spring any possible ambushes. Antony was not about to die in the rain, thats not how he wanted to go, not that he wanted to at all. So to fill the time he balance his wickedly sharp throwing knife on his index finger. When Gearth sounded the all clear Antony trotted inside and immediatly noticed two things, the horrid stench that seemed to just fill the air, and the fact that this low level arbite had a very large hab. To Antony this meant crooked cop, he knew them and back in his day loved them to a degree. He wondered if this had been the man's downfall. He rummaged around in the clothes for a bit knowing that it was pointless. Growing quite bored with the fruitless search Antony went back to the hauler to check on his sniper rifle.


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## Anfo (Jul 17, 2009)

Viktor laughed and Crypt's response, "Here let me get out of the way of your girth.”
Viktor stood back some as Crypt tried to convince Tyr to talk. It was obvious that he was hiding something. And Tyr wanted to wait until tomorrow. The argument went back and forth until Crypt turned to Viktor saying, “Viktor why don’t you try and persuade the man.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, he knew what he was supposed to do, but Viktor was unsure if the man would talk. There was only one way to find out...

"Crypt, go down stairs and make sure we're not disturbed. I'll come down when I'm done."
Crypt left and Viktor turned to face Tyr, who at this point was shaking and slowly backing away.
"Mr. Gaius, If you just tell me that we can see the body and crime scene, then I won't have to touch you."
Tyr opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He continued to back away. Viktor grabbed Tyr and thrust him onto a seat. Viktor then tore the sleeves off Tyr's shirt and ties his hands to the chair. Viktor pulled out his Catachan Fang, the long blade shined if the light.
"Please, you don't have to do this! I don't want to die!" Tyr cried, tears started to roll down his face.
"You're no good to me dead. Tell me and I'll let you go, dammit. Until then I'm going to...I'll let you find out." Viktor said smiling.

Viktor planed the tip of his Fang on Tyr's shoulder. Slowly he pressed the blade into the skin of his victim. Viktor then began to push the blade down Tyr's arm. Tyr screamed in pain for a short time, blood was oozing down him arm.
"I'll tell! I'll tell, just stop, please!"
Viktor used his free hand to use the microbead, and hailed Crypt. Viktor then turned back to Tyr, and stopped the knife when he made it to the bend in his arm. "If you don't take us to the crime scene, i'll continue where we left off." Viktor wiped his blade off with a table cloth, he was careful not to knock anything over. Viktor placed the blade back in it's sheath just as Crypt walked out of the elevator. Viktor then walked over to Tyr and untied him. Using the sleeves he used to tie up Tyr, Viktor makes a crude bandage for his wound. Standing up slowly, Tyr stays as far away as possible from Viktor and Crypt. Viktor once again falls in behind Crypt and whispers, "Did anything happen while you were down there?"


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

William had been unusually quiet during the ride to the Arbites' hab unit, he had never heard rain before he had been picked up by his first inquisitor so long ago, and now it served to calm him when he was restless. The hauler finally came to a stop and they all got out, Gaerth scaring away all of the residents with his shotgun before any of them could be talked to, William smiled before following them all into the hab. 

He wore a tight fitting suit that covered most of his body like a second skin, the material and way that it was made serving to cool his body off or keep it warm if need be. Black Guard issue pants covered his legs and he wore combat boots to cover his feet while a small vest covered in pockets hid his small kevlar vest that protected his vital organs from anything sharp getting to them. In these pockets he had a multitude of small tools should he need to use them, some ammo for his silenced auto-pistol, and one or two cigars.

The throwing knives that he so loved were strapped around his waist on his belt and as they entered the hab unit and made their way to Obinek's home he fingered one of the blades aimlessly. To hide most of what he was wearing at the moment he had chosen to cover himself in a large overcoat, it also served to keep him quite dry, not to mention conceal most of his appearance. 

He pushed one of his hands through his grey white hair and watched as the others stopped outside of Obinek's hab. He smiled at Evander as he passed him and made his way through the kicked in doors, *"Looks like our good lawbringer had an unexpected visit."* He looked around and saw the mess that had been made, seems whoever was sent was not ready for Obinek to put up a fight, cocky? 

William looked at Gaerth as Anthony and Evander went into a different room and nodded towards Obinek's study. As they entered he saw that it too was also trashed, *"Whoever killed Obinek sure wasn't subtle, shit they trashed this place."*


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

*Gearth Madellus - Opinek's Hab*

His shotgun raised, Gearth entered the room the room first. 

"All clear" Gearth said, lowering his shotgun.

Gearth made his way to the right side of the room to the Arbites study. Noticing William entering the study

"Whoever killed Obinek sure wasn't subtle, shit they trashed this place." William said

"I'm not so sure if it was the murderers who trashed this place or the scum residing here who did. An Arbites is rarely popular and from the "grandeur" spacing of this place, i'd say this lawman had some...unscrupulous dealings." Gearth said examining the room

After walking through the room, Gearth finally noticed something out of place. Literally. 

Turning to William, Gearth suspiciously sweeped his gaze over the room once more. "William, this arbites man, he was investigating the murders correct?" Gearth said. "Have you seen any sign of his cogitator in here?" Gearth asked


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## Masked Jackal (Dec 16, 2009)

Evander smiled back easily. *"Yes, but before, or after he was killed?"* The question wasn't really meant to be answered, as they'd have to find out during their work. Hopefully, there would be some evidence, but if the inhabitants of these habs had done as he expected....

Apparently they had. The Arbites' home looked like it had been looted. It did not stem his earlier suspicions, but he had to be sure. He turned back, seeing Antony about to leave. *"Antony, before you leave, check the lock to see if it was broken. I want to make sure." *As Antony did that, Evander went left, seeing Gaerth and William take the other side of the hab. He started rummaging through the piles of clothes and other things. Looters likely wouldn't care about the notes, but the murderer might, and if they were gone, it would be a sign that these murders were connected with the xenos, and that the murderer was covering his tracks. Of course, with this mess, it would be hard to find them, and the notes might not even be in the hab at all, through no effort of the murderer. It would hurt to have to go through this smell for nothing.


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## hippypancake (Jul 14, 2010)

On the ride down he started to hear Tyr crying out in pain, and Crypt reached up to his microbead to tell Viktor to gag him so the whole world didn't hear when the screaming stopped. Simultaneously the door slid open and he stepped out only to be joined by Tyr and Viktor a few moments later. "Did anything happen while you were down there?" Viktor said. "No although I could hear the racket you were making from here, possible idea next time to gag him so he doesn't scream as loud luckily only the servitor was here." He replied pointing over to the servitor-secretary. "Get any information out of him? or is he just going to lead the way to the crime scene." Crypt looked down at the man's arm which was covered in blood smudges and a crude bandage. "I tried to help you" he reminded Tyr who looked down to the ground again. Crypt sighed and waited for his answer.


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

*Halvador Sytari - Jackcrest Morgue*

Halvador followed Torek's quick advance down the passageway to the morgue. Conditions hardly improved the deeper they delved into the facility. The air stank of antiseptics, the musk of death and decay ever present in the background, cloying in his nostrils.

Lumiglobes flickered, illuminating puddles lining the walls. The place was a cesspool of filth, floors with improperly constructed drainage piping creating a breeding ground for bacteria. He inhaled deeply; the moist air also meant that the scrubbers in the recycling units were working poorly, if at all.

The pair reached the end of the hall, and Torek slammed the doors inwards. Immediately they were greeted by a gush of even more frigid air. The two mens' breaths became visible, as the sub-zero temperatures maintained to minimize decomposition of the dead enveloped them.

A tall, spindly man rushed to confront them, indignant at this unexpected and unnannounced invasion of his domain. Torek stopped in place, Halvador off his shoulder. The agents stared impassively at the mortician as he composed himself.

'Who are you? What are you doing down here and why was I not given prior notification?' The words came out in a deluge, tied together as though the man was either nervous or simply a wind-bag.

Whichever was true, Halvador did not feel like allowing this low-level talentless grox treat him as though he was a damned commoner. While by no means arrogant, the doctor bristled at the thought of this backwater washup condescending to _him._

He pulled the Gubernatorial mandate and authorization from his breast pocket and shoved it into the mortician's face. 'I am Doctor Halliof, and I do not have time to address you or your inadequacies both as a physician and a mortician.' He paused, savoring the look of disbelief coming across the other man's face. 'You know who we are here to see and why we want to see it. Point us in the direction of Selina Bandig and then get out of our way.'

The mortician, taken aback, could only point towards one of the shrouded corpses in the hall. Halvador lifted an eyebrow, straining to get it above his darkened glasses. The other man understood the hint and disappeared through the front entrance.

Halvador and Torek approached the body, and the doctor lifted up the sheet to see woman's the body underneath.

Halvador took his glasses off and looked at his companion. 'Well that's odd.'


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## Farseer Darvaleth (Nov 15, 2009)

*Torek Karchenfiender - Jackcrest Morgue*

Torek Karchenfiender yawned as he walked into the medical facility, leaving the freezing rain behind him. His black-leather trench-coat swung around him, concealing the gun and knife he carried with him. The firearm was a matte-black revolver, with six barrels, already loaded. Torek had, however, put the safety-catch on; he didn't want to lean on something and end up shooting himself in the balls. His knife was a small, combat knife; a sharp blade, and a strong, wooden haft, kept inside a leather holster. Torek tapped his headset, and it immediately sprang into life; the _Iron Gauntlet_ on Torek's wrist flickered, and began to come online. When it had warmed up, Torek ran a quick check; he brought up his other hand, and passed it over the blue-light in his covered palm. Suddenly, a static, clipped voice filtered through his headset;

**Subject: Living, skin-cell, hand, human. DNA: Recorded: Torek Karchenfiender.** Torek was satisfied the ancient device was working, and stopped it before it relayed any more information. 

As Torek entered the facility with Halvador, he immediately noticed alarmed glances from one of the medical staff. Following the man's eyes, Torek noticed he was staring at the _Iron Gauntlet_. Torek immediately smiled, and explained it was not a weapon. He demonstrated what it did to the man, who was completely mystified, and walked on. _Why does everyone think it's a bloody weapon?_ thought Torek to himself, flexing the device with his fingers. It would not be long before he needed to use it.

Torek allowed Halvador to address the non-plussed secretary, before following his directions to the morgue. Torek spoke to his companion; "Jeez, this place stinks," Torek wrinkled his nose, trying not to gag, "so how come you're in this mess, anyway? I'm a detective; I've done a few jobs, most of them small time. Torek Karchenfiender's the name." Torek continued in a hushed voice, "The Inquisitor picked me up in some damned brothel-tavern, not really making good first impressions. But I was only there because I was told it was the place to go to get hired... and I guess it was true." Torek smiled at the memory of the half-naked women dancing around him and the Inquisitor as they made their acquaintances, the background whirling with tempting flesh whilst Torek was completely un-interested in what they had to offer.

Entering the morgue-proper, Torek shivered slightly as the cold air hit him. Halvador spoke with the man there, who also stared at Torek's hand-scanner.

"It's not a freakin' weapon, just piss off." said Torek, not bothering with subtlety. He was tired of explaining himself to every single little piece of Imperial bureaucracy he had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting. The man took the hint, and left the morgue, after showing Halvador the body.

Halvador looked at the revealed body, and turned to Torek. _"Well, that's odd."_
Torek agreed. He had studied chemical and physical science on Terra, and so knew a little of medical science. Obviously not as much as his companion, but enough to notice the oddity.
"OK," said Torek, flexing his hands, "you're the medical expert. I can do any chemical or physical stuff you need, and can scan this body down to molecular level. Anything you need info on, just ask me and I'll get it sorted." Torek drew up a couple of chairs, and sat down. He would let Halvador work, and would watch in the mean-time. He had intended to study more medical science, and so watching a master would prove fascinating to Torek.


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## Starbuck (Apr 6, 2010)

Antony decided it would not be wise to irritate his comrades this early and in this poor of weather so as a gesture of good will he decided to check the lock. As he examined the lock he noticed that the inside was covered in scratches, a sure sign of an unskilled lockpick trying his hand. However, it was hard to tell how recent the scratches were, they could have been from 10 years ago to 10 minutes ago.* "The lock has been picked, or at least someone at sometime has attempted it, its nigh impossible to judge how long ago the damage occured. * Antony called out. As antony left he had a nagging feeling about the lock. He finally decided that the rifle could wait, and decided to double check the lock. As he performed a more thorough search he found that the lock had indeed been picked recently, and by someone who knew what they were doing. The theif had used the old scratches to hide his mistakes. *"Looks like our friend here had an unwelcome visitor not too long ago, a pro by the looks of it too."* With that Antony left before the remarks about his contradictory statements could be voiced.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

*Centerburgh*

Evander; Checking the place out, you come upon where the murder, or at least a murder, occurred as you come upon Opinek's bed. Soaked with now dry blood, its a mess to say the least; getting in close though, you notice bullet holes in the bedding and wall, as well as a round embedded in the wall behind you, but no gun from that one. Further inspection and you notice something else, looks like several shards of glass embedded in the wall just above where Opinek's head would have been. As you examine these, you feel something move behind you, turning with a weapon at the ready, you find nothing there.

[Those shards seem rather strange, do you try to get them from the wall or call over the others? And what was that before? Trick of the mind maybe, perhaps this place just feels wrong or something, like a piece of the puzzle is missing or obscured from sight?]


Gearth and William; Further inspection of the place, and you find traces of an obscura stash hidden amongst Opinek's stuff. Well if anything that should point to him being corrupt to some degree. In another hab with its wall knocked away, you find where Opinek kept his work and notes, much of it destroyed or missing. A few of the files that were more hidden, make reference to an anti-imperial group going by the name of the Serpentine Infernum. Though there is precious little else on the group except mention of being seen in Landwalk Ridge, the mining town Baybel, and a lingering presence here in Centerburgh. Whoever these people are, Opinek went to some trouble to keep these notes on them hidden, so maybe they have some connection with the state of this place or even his murder?

The information you were looking for isn't here, but at least these notes give you a potential lead. As you examine them though, and look for others clues (and maybe take some of that stash if thats your thing) a noise from the other room catches your attention. You call out to Antony and Evander, but Antony does not answer and Evander's reply is to far away.

[If its not Evander, and possibly not Antony, then who might that be?]


Antony; Examining the lock, you find that it has indeed been picked recently and by someone who knew what they were doing. You confirm such to Evander before making way to the hauler to check on your rifle. As you descend the steps, you can't help but feel like someone is watching you, but whenever you turn to see there is nothing. Making way down again, you again feel yourself being watched and followed, this time whoever it is makes the mistake of making a noise, and you turn in time to see something rushing out of sight. Might have been one of the residents, might have been whoever made the place into a mess, might be something worse; at any rate whoever this is may know something.

[Then question for you is, do you go after this person on your own or call for the others? Your on the second floor now, no time to go running for them or shouting to them (its why you have the microbead.) Remember, you don't know the ins and outs of this place, so there is a chance that there is another way out and whoever this is may use it to get away.]


*Landwalk Ridge*

Raphael and Daedalus; As you ready for something bad potentially happening you give each other a look, or try to at least. Even after a decade, Daedalus still can't really read the merchant and well, and yeah like its even possible to read an ever cloaked, more-machine-than-man compatriot. Looking back to the bar, you notice a glance form the target in your direction before he bids on of the newcomers closer to him and whispers something. A quick nod and you don't need to be a mind reader to figure out what had been said as the ganger points the others in your direction, garnering the attention of other patrons, some who Daedalus notice bear similar marks to the gang tats of these four.

A crash from the side gets everyone's attention, looks like whoever Darren had been next to fell on him or something and now both lay sprawled on the floor.

[Yeah that can't be good, Daedalus has noticed that this place has at least three or four other gang members that he can see. None of them look to be as hardcore as the minders or four gangers (and for the record the target and those six are all part of the same gang) but they might cause some trouble. There are a pair of off duty arbites officers, and that might help to dissuade any kind of trouble in here, but you never know with some gangs. Might be a good idea to get out of here, Darren and Jerico haven't been noticed yet.]


Darren; You prepare for something bad possibly going down, but as you do the no-nothing next to you seems to get angry by the fact that your ignoring him. With a grunt he shoves you, asking you in slurred speech what you have. Trying to blow him off doesn't help, actually it just makes him more angry, as likely anything would at this point. He drunkenly half lunges, half falls, into you and you both topple to the ground; a mug of something crashing on top of his head but he's a bit to drunk to feel the pain or care.

[He's trying to fight with you, but thats really not happening; disable him, get him off you, whatever. When you do stop him, you realize all eyes are on you and that can't be all to good. Maybe try to pretend he's a friend of yours or something, or maybe a bounty, how you handle that is up to you because you may have been made. If there is a chance of that, do you try to play things cool or just sod it all and go after the target, who you can't see at this time.]


Jerico; Like Darren you get ready for what might be trouble until the bounty hunter and another go sprawling on the floor. Well that certainly helped distract attention from the rogue trader and magos at least. While attention is focused on them, you notice the target hop the bar and crouch low, the bartender making like he didn't see that while the guy tries to slip out the back.

[Quick, while attention is as far away from you as possible get the fuck after this guy. Follow him to the backroom, beyond the kitchen and up a set of stone steps to rooms in the upper level. He'll duck into a side-room, probably to confound and avoid Raphael and Daedalus from finding him. Do you go after him yourself or try to contact the others? Its more silent up here, as everyone is down below, so you might alert him to your presence if you try to get the others.]


*Jackcrest
*
Halvador and Torek; With the sheet pulled back, you are awarded the sight of Selina Bendig minus a portion of her left shoulder. Examination shows that a chunk of the shoulder-blade was removed, and while she was still alive from her features. The body is still, far more so than it should be, Bendig having died less than thirty hours ago. There are odd puncture wounds in her abdomen and leg, a crude attempt had been made to seal them up but Halvador's trained eyes are not fooled. Halvador mentions these wounds, and Torek goes about searching for what might have caused the wounds, eventually coming across a vial with what appear to be shards of glass.

[Why would someone try to cover these wounds up? There is no mention of them in any report, and though they could be nothing, that may not be the case. Halvador, further inspection of Bendig's body reveals several puncture marks, these more in line with drugs though. The Gauntlet reveals the shards to not be of any substance used by the Imperium, it might not even be glass of any kind for that matter despite how it looks. There are traces of toxins on the shards, unknown in origin or type, though at least one of the toxins seems to be built around increasing physical sensation.]


Viktor and Crypt; You wait for an answer from the man, who with resignation snaps his fingers twice before a large guard servitor seemingly detaches from the wall. _"Please, you must understand,"_ he starts, finally looking at you. _"Mistress Bendig did much for the governor and was afforded several oversights in order to allow her to maintain her image. I cannot take you to the scene because it is in a portion of the villa that I am not permitted to enter. This servitor will take you there, but please I implore you, be discreet in what you find."_ He said before motioning for you to follow your new 'guide'. As you leave, Viktor notices the start of a marking on the man's back, looks like a snake tat of some kind.

The servitor leads you through the villa, silent as the grave, until you enter the aids bed-chamber. Its large, both the room and the bed itself, the Emperor alone knows how a simple aid of the governor got all this. Indicating for you to go through a set of double-doors, the servitor makes several clicking noises before a recorder begins to eject from where its mouth would have been. You take the device and head through those doors into a wardrobe about a third the size of the bed-chamber.

[After some quick searching, you find a device at the end of the wardrobe that requires an audio identification, which the recording is so it would seem. A portion of the wardrobe pulls away to reveal a set of winding steps leading to two chambers. One which might as well be a dungeon or crude operating room, signs of recent use and blood possibly marking it out as where the death of Bendig occurred. The other room looks to be a small study with many notes with slight information about various people or groups. More than once the name Serpentine Infernum comes up, as well as possible links to groups and individuals on the planet. Beyond that though, it looks like someone else may have made off with a portion of the notes.]


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## Anfo (Jul 17, 2009)

"Please, you must understand," he starts, finally looking at you. "Mistress Bendig did much for the governor and was afforded several oversights in order to allow her to maintain her image. I cannot take you to the scene because it is in a portion of the villa that I am not permitted to enter. This servitor will take you there, but please I implore you, be discreet in what you find."

Viktor paused, _Bendig? I could have sworn her name was Bandig._ Viktor decided not to question the man further, for the time being. As Tyr walked away, Viktor saw what looked like a snake tattoo on his back. Viktor glanced down at his own are, there a black viper was tattooed. Viktor didn't pay to much attention the the tattoo, many people have tattoos.

The servitor led Viktor and Crypt to the bed chamber. The room was massive. Not to mention the size of the bed. Hell, ten people could sleep on that. The servitor ejected some recorder device, Viktor grabbed it and looked at it shortly before tossing it to Crypt. 

Following Crypt to the wardrobe, Viktor orders the servitor to leave before turning to Crypt, "Did you catch that too? Bendig? Wasn't her name Bandig?" Viktor said, as he started to search the room. After a short time, Viktor and Crypt find a hidden door of sorts. With the door open, Viktor looked up the winding stairs but couldn't see much. Viktor looks back a Crypt, "I'm going to look around up here, feel free to come up if you want."

Once Viktor was at the top of the stairs, Viktor heads into a room that looks like a dungeon, they are blood stains on the floor and walls, but Viktor couldn't tell where the body had been left. In the other room, Viktor found a desk with note cards scattered across it. Viktor skimmed over a couple of them before deciding to take them. Viktor neatly placed them in his vest pockets.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The pirate was manoeuvring his face into a set pattern. Daedalus understood that he was trying to convey a message, how illogical. A simple machine attachment and a burst of binary tuned so low that no flesh-being would have the auditory capacity to hear it and the entire retinue could talk in private in the midst of their enemies. But of course he had been shot down when he suggested it, fools. They had no appreciation for the subtleties of the machine. Silently one of the Tech-Priest's fingers broke away and slowly emerged from his elongated sleeve, it moved in a faint cog wheel symbol which meant that Daedalus understood.

A quick 360 sweep of the bar was worrying. The retinue's flesh-beings had failed to notice more of the pro-xeno gang present in the bar. They bore less symbols of ink on their skin and wore attire that would be more fitting for remaining inconspicuous, it was no surprise that the flesh-members had failed to identify their alligience. They barely paid attention to anything, everything was high-powered weaponry to them and rapid discharging of said weaponry. 'Pirate, several patrons of this establishment are of the same organization as those we are currently observing.' Daedalus said in as low a tone as his vox could manage and that could still be heard by inferior auditory capacity. Daedalus himself had a light sensor system built in, very high-tech and only available to a high-ranking Magos of the Mechanicus. It allowed him a 360 degree field of vision when active and drained very little power, but its sensory information was often useless so it was frequently inactive. But one benefit of it was that Daedalus could harvest information without having to move a single inch, still as a statue and nobody would assume that he could see the entire structure interior from his position.

A cursory glance at the bar showed the ganger glance at Daedalus and the pirate briefly. He had noticed them, likely the result of the flesh-beings indelicate approach to this operation, or because they had insisted on taking him with them and Daedalus was not exactly inconspicuous. A crash quickly drew Daedalus's attention, the bounty hunter was fighting with a patron of the bar. Daedalus almost cursed in Gothic, although two centuries in the priesthood had taught him restraint but this!. Was he such a fool that he could not contain his own foolishness long enough for the operation to be completed?. The arbites that were present here would likely break this up but things were turning against them now. 'Pirate, it is my analysis that exiting immediately would be a wise stratagem. The bounty hunter has already destroyed our chances with his own foolishness.'


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## Farseer Darvaleth (Nov 15, 2009)

*Torek Karchenfiender - Jackcrest Morgue*

Torek regarded the corpse for a couple of seconds, eyeing the extraordinary hole where the left shoulder-blade should've been. The removal had been savage, by the looks of it. But perhaps there was a more medical reason for it, rather than Torek's rough approximation. Hopefully he could learn from Halvador, and have some surprise knowledge when he eventually returned to Terra to study the medical sciences. The thought of Terra made Torek smile; it was were he had solved his first case, the death of his own mother. Every time Torek was faced with a difficult case, an impossible solution always eluding him, Torek would think of his first case, and take heart. If he solved a mystery the finest Terran police force couldn't solve when he was a teenager, he could solve anything.

Wrenching his mind back on task, Torek cast his eyes up and down the corpse again. The body was unnaturally still, rigour-mortis having come and gone. This was strange, as the body-stiffening effect normally lasted for quite a while after the victim's death. Torek had been told the woman had died perhaps thirty hours ago, but checked just to be sure. The Iron Gauntlet confirmed it;

**Skin cell. Neck. Human; DNA registered: Selina Bendig. Organism deceased: 28.96 hours ago.** 

Torek lazily brought his hand back, when suddenly the headset buzzed again;

**Ruptured shoulder-blade; Selina Bendig. Object removed 28.89 hours ago.** 

Torek was amazed by what he heard. Her shoulder-blade had been removed _before_ she was killed, not after. It is possible that the wound had killed her, but... of course, Torek could always check.

**Source of death; unknown. Possible relation to shoulder-wound, but the system calculates high probability of a secondary cause.**

Torek blew out a long whistle, before turning to his companion;

"Well, Halvador, I don't know what you're seeing but this might help clear things up. Selina's shoulder was removed _before_ she died. I know, I know; she probably died of the wound, right? Wrong. My device reads the odds at precisely 76.2 to 1 that she died of other causes." Torek then sat back down in his chair, and frowned, "But what exactly these causes are, I have no idea."

OOC: I will edit the time of shoulder-removal relative to death if you want, darkreever. I just went with my imagination.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Darren's hand was still on the activation rune for his mace, just in case anything kicked off. It seemed like it was about to kick off, and Darren pulled the Iho stick out of his mouth, extinguishing it on the bar. He suddenly fell, a weight crashing him to the floor. He looked over and was surprised to see the no-nothing man that had been blabbing to him on top of him. Evidently the man had become annoyed at the lack of attention that Darren was showing regarding his stories and had in a fit of drunken anger decided to attack him.

This was not good, it could blow Darren's cover and the whole op. He rolled to his feet as the drunk tried to kick him in the face, barely missing Darren. Darren had the advantage, he wasn't the drunk and had been in situations like this before. There would be no talking down to this man, he probably wouldn't listen anyway, the only thing left to do was knock the guy out. Darren wasted no time, he had to deal with this threat. He dealt a left handed uppercut to the jaw, before grabbing the guys head. He brought it down on the bar once, knocking the guy out, with a little help from the large quantities of alcohol that the guy had obviously washed down his throat. 

Darren wiped his face with the sleeve of his trench coat, before noticing that the whole bar were staring at him. Shit he though to himself, had he been made? If not could he talk his way out of this? It was worth a shot. He flashed a smile at the patrons of the bar, "_Its all ok guys, this is my friend who recently went through a tough couple of months, his wife left him. Obviously he has drunken too much and had to take his anger out."_ He showed his hands to all, apologising for his "friend". He threw a couple of notes to the bartender,_ "That is for any damage and this is for a round of drinks for the whole bar on me."_ He grabbed the mans body and dragged it to a booth at the side, before returning to the bar to grab his drink. For now he would see if he had played it safe, hoping to the Emperor that his cover hadn't been blown. He looked around the bar nonchalantly, looking for the target. The target was nowhere to be seen. Shit again he thought. Darren quickly grabbed the mans arm, pretending to take him outside. The target must have fled, hopefully they weren't too late to stop him.


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## Masked Jackal (Dec 16, 2009)

*"The lock has been picked, or at least someone at sometime has attempted it, its nigh impossible to judge how long ago the damage occurred." *Evander nodded at Antony's appraisal, briefly acknowledging he heard it, deciding that it might be looters after all. Discarding some of the refuse that h had been searching through, he came upon Opinek's bed, and final resting place ironically enough. Bullet-holes were on the wall, in the bedding, and it was obvious that either the perpetrator was unskilled, or hated Opinek immensely, to waste such firepower. There was also a bullethole in the wall behind him. Had Opinek fought back?

*"Looks like our friend here had an unwelcome visitor not too long ago, a pro by the looks of it too."* It surprised Evander a little, and he felt some pride for the thief, that he had apparently gone back and checked his work, despite his obvious disinterest with the crime scene. *"Thank you, Antony, good job." *So the murderer had attempted to make it look like looters, and was highly skilled to boot. He would have to be careful in his appraisal of this crime-scene, as any of the proof could have been fabricated to lead them off the trail.

He began examining the wall where most of the bullets had gone again, noticing something strange just above where Opineks head likely would have been. Shards of...* "Glass?" 

*Just as Evander muttered that, he felt a tickle at the edge of his awareness, a slight sound, a blur in the corner of his eye. His finely-trained reflexes brought out his bolt pistol in one smooth motion, and pointed at the source to find...nothing. 

He kept his pistol hovering there for a few seconds before lowering it, but still keeping it out. He couldn't just dismiss feelings such as that, even if they might be irrational. He tapped the microbead in his ear, contacting the rest of the group. *"Everyone, report, have you found anything? Seen anything strange?"* The last part seemed almost stupid to add in, but he still couldn't shake this feeling. And then there was a sound, further off, followed by a dim question from either Gearth or William.


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

*Gearth Madellus - Opinek's Hab*

Moving through the hab, Gearth fruitlessly searched through the study, trying to find some clue. Leaving William alone, Gearth moved on to another part of the departed's room, clearly where he kept his work and information. 

Searching through the room meticulously, Gearth approached a roll top desk of the detectives. Crumpled notes, files on known criminals, and arrest orders were all that Gearth could find. 

About to give up, Gearth opened the last drawer to find it appear to be empty, with a crack going down the middle of it. 

Further examining it, Gearth realized it was a trap door and ripped the shelf from the desk. 

After bringing the butt of his shotgun down on the trap door, Gearth threw the broken wood pieces away to find a small, unsuspecting file underneath it all.

Setting the file on the desk under the dim light, Gearth began to shuffle through it.

Furrowing his brow in irriation, Gearth thought it was just another file on some insignificant cult until he saw reported sighting of the cult: Landwalk Ridge, the mining town Baybel, and a lingering presence here in Centerburgh.

"This might prove useful." Gearth before a noise in the other room caught his attention

"Evander? Antony?" Gearth yelled

Gearth fails to hear Antony even respond or Evander's muffled response.

Racking his shotgun, the penitent slowly began to make to the other room cautiously, ready to fire as he mouthed a quick prayer to the Emperor for a steady aim


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## Starbuck (Apr 6, 2010)

Antony barely caught Evander's reply, *"Thank you, Antony, good job." *. Feeling slightly more full of himself than normal Antony continued his descent back to the hauler. His recently inflated ego was suddenly punctured by the distinct and chilling feeling that he was being watched and followed. As he tried to remain calm and not give away his intentions he swung around as fast as possible to see, nothing. There was nothing there. Dismissing his feelings, though unable to shake them, he continued. Then that's when the tail made a mistake, the tell tale scrape of a boot on dusty concrete. Antony whipped around, fluidly pulling and throwing his knife with pinpoint accuracy at the sound. However, he was a fraction behind the tail who had realized thier mistake in time to avoid the knife and escape out of sight without giving much in descritption other than, a cloaked figure. Stunned and not wanting to pursue his pursuer, not wanting to meet up with his possible assailent in some corner of a hab he did not know the lay out of, he went to retrieve the knife from the wall when the vox seemed to roar in Antony's ear, "Everyone, report, have you found anything? Seen anything strange?". He immediately replied trying to keep his voice steady, *"Antony here, I was being followed, but they managed to escape farther into the hab, right before you voxed. Im heading back up to Opinek's* As he raced up the stairs Antony longed for the mountain-man Gearth and his shotgun.


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## hippypancake (Jul 14, 2010)

"Please, you must understand," he starts, finally looking at you. "Mistress Bendig did much for the governor and was afforded several oversights in order to allow her to maintain her image. I cannot take you to the scene because it is in a portion of the villa that I am not permitted to enter. This servitor will take you there, but please I implore you, be discreet in what you find."

As Tyr started to leave Crypt looked over to Viktor to see that he was staring at the back of Tyr where a large snake tattoo was, but he didn’t think much of it. As the servitors led them Crypt thought to himself _What could ruin a murdered person’s reputation?_, but before he could give voice to his thoughts he waited for Viktor to give them orders to leave, and while he was doing that Crypt studied the room.

The room itself was massive, _I could hold church in a room this size_ Crypt thought humorlessly. He was broken out of his state of thought when Viktor threw him some form of a recording device, "Did you catch that too? Bendig? Wasn't her name Bandig?" Viktor said as he was studying the room. Crypt thought back to all previous statements about the murder he had heard. “Why yes I believe you’re right her name is Selina Bandig…or so we were told.” Crypt said thoughtfully “Either the arbites force here, or the aide has been lied to, and I think the latter was too close to the decease for her to lie to him” As he said that Viktor found a hidden door in the back of a mammoth wardrobe. “I’m going to go look around up there, feel free to come up if you want” Viktor said as he headed up the stairs.

Crypt opted to look around the bed-chambers and wardrobe first. Looking all over the room, and taking in every detail. Afterwards he headed up to look for Viktor, and when he got to the top floor he was surprised with all the blood that came from a single person. Then he walked into the study to see Viktor looking through the notes. “Find anything?”


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

William had moved himself to the other side of the room while Gearth went away at the desk. He had to admit, although the man wasn't very subtle, or rather not subtle at all, he was happy that he had a shotgun backing him up things got sticky. As he rummaged through the shelves of books he found a small hand crafted wooden box with no lock on it, *"Strange...."* he said as he opened it to find a small stash of Obscura,* "Well it would it seem that the harshness of the Arbites life was a little hard for Obinek to handle on his own."* he said this more to himself then no one in particular and stuffed the box into one of his greatcoat's pockets, after all if he at some point ran into a drug addict during this mission it would be very useful stuff.

He turned to see Gearth reading through some files and made his way over,* "Found something?" *he said while holding his hand out so that he could read it. He went over it carefully, apparently an anti-imperial cult had been sighted in a few places, the closest being here in Centerburgh. Interesting, if Obinek had had an interest in them then they should certainly look into this cult, he picked his head up and looked at Gearth, *"I say we memorize the locations of this cult and then burn the papers to prevent others from getting to them."*

But before Gearth could answer him they heard a noise coming from another room, Gearth called out to both Evander and Anthony, only Evander's muffled reply coming from too far off. William folded the files and then stuffed them into a pouch on his vest to give to Fabian later, this new threat was bigger then burning these papers. He pulled out his pistol and brought it up before him as he followed a small ways behind Gearth, his whole body tense and ready for anything to run into his vision,* "Careful Gearth, keep your eyes and ears open my friend."*


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## Baron Spikey (Mar 26, 2008)

*Jerico Tobias - Landwalk Ridge*

Face still lowered in apparent embarassment, Jerico was in fact watching the target as intently as it was possible without revealing his interest; a crash of bodies and smashing glass heralded the Bounty Hunter's companion taking umbrage at being ignored.

As with everyone else in _The Last Chance_ Jerico was momentarily distracted by the brawl, with a jerk he remembered to check on the small man they were here to interrogate in time to see, the surprisingly acrobatic, form of their target disappearing over the bar and through a backdoor.

"*Little sh-*" the Pilot managed before he slipped off his stool and slid round the side of the bar, staying bent at the waist so as to remain hidden behind the chest high panelling. He needn't have bothered as everyone was still glued to the drama going on on the otherside of the establishment, straightening up and going from scuttle to sprint Jerrico heard Darren's voice ring out just as he was headed through the back door "*Its all ok guys, this is my friend..."*.

A grim smile on his lips Jerico flew through the kitchen area of _The Last Chance_ bouncing off the far wall with a grunt and curse, taking a moment to catch his breath he slipped his revolver from within his sleeve before cautiously stalking towards the door that had obviously been opened moments before as it had yet to close fully- taking a deep breath the pilot stormed through the portal, Stub-Revolver extended before him, and all but flew up the stone steps revealed.

The first thing to hit Jerico at the summit, other than the dim lighting, was the relative silence "*Throne's sake!*" he muttered to himself in frustration, there was no way he could risk using his microbead without alerting the man he was pursuing- a factor Jerico definitely didn't want to risk without even knowing where the small man was or how heavily armed he might be.

Several side rooms off the main landing presented themselves to the Agent, with a sigh he began a lilting whisper with his finger moving to point at a different room with each word
"*Eeney, meeney, miney, mo, grab a bastard by his balls if he screams...squeeze*" it wasn't a very rhythmic chant but Jerico swore it was a lucky one- approaching the closest doorway on his right the cocky fly boy was proven correct in his belief, as soon as his head cleared the entry he had a split second to feel vindicated before the pistol butt impacted with his forehead.

Stumbling into the corridor once more he saw a gun barrel rise to dominate his view, throwing himself to one side just as it roared, the target following his firearm out after Jerico in time for the pilot to land the flat of his boot square in the smaller man's groin- a pained grunt was his reward as the man bent double. Getting shakily to his feet Jerico couldn't be sure he'd be able to see clearly for long enough to land a decent punch so he shoulder charged his target into the corridor wall and slammed his head repeatedly into the plaster until the struggling stopped.

With a groan he slid down next to his unconcious opponent, tapping his microbead
*"Target acquired or whatever, erm...I'm upstairs might need a little help getting the fragger out cause...think *ugh* about to pass -"*


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The situation simply kept deteriorating. There was a fleshy bump as the bounty hunter and his drunken fellow collapsed, sprawling across the ground in a alcoholic-smelling heap. Raphael allowed a maliciously driven sneer to escape from his pursing lips as he continued to watch, his jet-flesh slowly warming as his amusement came out in a low laughter, although it was barely audible over the clanking of glasses and creaking of stools. He couldn’t help but to leave go of his Shuriken Pistol and slap his palm against his face, shaking his head with his hand as he did so. 

‘Well, now we are frakked….’ He intoned as he caught a blue-haired Ganger listening to what the target was whispering into his ear, a animalistic grin separating his tattoo-embroiled features. 

Raphael was a swordsman first and a shooter second. The pub was a prime situation for the former, however at the current prime state of fullness, Raphael would struggle to bring his cane-blade to bare. If he began shooting, only the Emperor knew what would happen. He didn’t care for the loss of innocent bystanders, he had murdered in cold blood previously, but he didn’t exactly fancy becoming the whore for some thug on a Penal World. Of course, he wouldn’t let that happen. He had a ship at the ready but he couldn’t really say he would want to risk something like that.

‘Lowborn. They never can do anything right, eh, Mechanicus?’ He asked, although he knew that the crimson-clad giant was too preoccupied to hear him.

Well, the Tech-Whore probably didn’t care enough to listen. In the decade or so which the pair had served alongside one another, a grudgingly annoying relationship had developed between them. Daedalus was a unreadable bio-mechanical beast, one of which Raphael had very little trust in. Raphael was a tough figure who did not enjoy the company of many, bar those such as Obadiah and his own crew. Daedalus was simply one of those kinds who Raphael had little tolerance or care for, and he wasn’t about to waste his life for that….Thing.

He took grasp of his Shuriken Pistol once again. Raphael could not entirely recall how he came into possession of the weapon, other than it had once belonged to a powerful warrior-prince of Zahr-Tann whom Raphael had ran with along the Southern Brim for several months. He remembered his earlier years vibrantly, however exact details had long since faded into a canvas of memories which was impregnable to decipher. He had once been piratical, working with the Eldar of Zahr-Tann closely to gain his own needs.

‘I do believe, Mechanicus, you are right about us leaving…’ He said and motioned towards the closing entrance, which had allowed the forever-rain inwards as Darren left ‘Shall we go, now, then?’


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

*Halvador Sytari - Jackcrest Morgue*

What had once been Selina Bendig now lay cold and stagnant, utterly immobile upon the table. Corpses did not bother Halvador in the least; in his profession, he had been exposed to more death than most of the rest of his species. However, something about this one was different.

He gazed at her face for a moment. The woman had, he imagined, been beautiful in life. High cheekbones and a perfect nose graced a face that, were it not spider-webbed by swollen blue capillaries, had in all probability been the envy of many. His eyes traced down the body as he quickly switched his mind back to medical matters.

The shoulder had been removed, shorn clean off from the body. The cut was clean, almost delicate. Halvador leaned in closely and adjusted his goggles, zooming in upon the gaping wound. The incisions were precise and straight, no signs of hesitations in the cuts. The flap of skin hanging over the muscle was smooth; no ragged chunks or uneven, sawed cutting to hint at any sort of physical effort involved. His immediate thought was a power weapon wound, but no swordsman he had ever met would stop at the simply lopping off of a shoulder. No, she would have been split in half. Something about it was just _wrong..._

He reached into a pocket and fidgeted around one of his many medi-tool kits. He pulled out his micro-tweezers and lightly clamped onto the outer flap of skin. Peeling it back slightly, he noticed an odd colouration about the wound. Zooming in ever nearer, he noticed that the state of decay, given the estimated time of death, was completely contradictive to the report he had received. Studying the severed blood vessels along either side of the removed flesh, he noted that all had been fused shut. No discolouration from an actual heat... no, it was as though they had just _grown_ together.

He frowned deeply and stood up while Torek continued sweeping his gauntlet over the corpse. Halvador retrieved the mortician’s paper notes and began flipping through them, speed reading to confirm his suspicions. His scowl intensified. Judging by the rate of decay, the discolouration of the skin, and other factors, her time of death had been approximately twenty-nine to thirty hours before. The decay on the lower arm, however, below where the shoulder had been severed, was very slightly less severe than the rest of her body.

_It was cut off before..._

‘_Well, Halvador, I don't know what you're seeing but this might help clear things up. Selina's shoulder was removed before she died. I know, I know; she probably died of the wound, right? Wrong. My device reads the odds at precisely 76.2 to 1 that she died of other causes._’ His companion plopped into his seat, clearly confused.

_...she died. Thank you, for your astute observation without any sort of clinical or surgical experience,_ he thought. Turning his back to Torek once again, he focussed again on Bendig.

‘_But what exactly these causes are, I have no idea._’
Halvador glanced over his shoulder and smiled wryly, ‘Torek, my friend, please let the doctor do the, you know, medical evaluation.’ The man had good intentions, he knew, but having someone assume to tell _him_ how to do _his_ job just infuriated him.

‘You are correct, though,’ he admitted. ‘The removal of the woman’s deltoid and shoulder blade would not have been fatal. The wound was sealed.’ Moving along in his evaluation, he noticed a series of pock marks along the inside of the woman’s elbow.

‘Ah, our governmental goddess had a bit of an addiction, it would seem,’ he murmured. Nothing really that important, and certainly not fatal in any case. While it was true that this world had its share of low-level dregs and addicts, he doubted that any of these lesser crimes would warrant the attention of the Inquisitor.

He ran his finger lightly from her neck down her chest, pushing gently against the corpse’s skin to feel for any sort of irregularity or uneven tissue damages. He had tools that could perform the same tasks with both more precision and detail, but he preferred to trust his expertise first, machines second. He would confirm his findings when he felt he needed them.

Her skin was smooth and clammy, common for those who had been dead for little over a day. Passing his hands over her naval... _my, my, what is this?_

Halvador leaned in, inspecting her stomach, where he had just felt an irregular bump where none should be. Not quite a bump, a slight ridge, nearly akin to scar tissue. He reached into his right knee pocket and pulled out his skin-tissue scanner to detect any irregularities.

An incredibly useful instrument, but limited in its practicality. Without knowing precisely which portion of a body was to be inspected, it would take hours to properly do the job. Halvador smiled grimly, _and that’s why I trust my hands first_.

He tuned his goggles to receive a feed from the scanner and began slowly pressing it into the skin. There was a puncture here. He looked further, seeing a very faint difference in the colouration of the skin tissue in the vicinity of the wound. Quickly running his eyes over the rest of the woman’s abdomen, he noticed several more of the concealed punctures.

‘Torek, I’ve got something!’ He said excitedly. ‘Puncture marks in the abdomen, I count six.’ Running his eyes down her pelvis and leg, he saw even more. ‘More on the upper leg. Something was inside of this woman, and it was removed. Look around, try to find anything that looks,’ he paused for a moment. He was not sure _what_the detective should look for. He had no idea what had been in the wound, nor why it had been removed. ‘Um, something small and preferably sharp.’

He removed a scalpel and began cutting the first wound back open.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

*Centerburgh*

Antony; Heading back up to Opinek's hab, you nearly walk face first into Gearth, or rather nearly walk into his shotgun. You jump back, knife in your hand without even thinking about it, before you lower the weapon. And thats when you feel like something is once again watching you from behind, you turn around again and only just manage to stop yourself from throwing your blade into the chest of an armoured figure. 

Gearth and William; Weapons drawn, you all but jump on top of Antony when entering the main hab section. A smile creeps across William's face from this, until Antony turns around and you notice three figures moving; three heavily armoured figures each carrying weapons. _"Weapons down now, in the name of the Emperor's law you shall answer the reason behind this trespass of one of His law-bringers."_ One of the arbites officers declares.

[Antony and William you will be rather quick to lower your weapons, these being fully armoured lawmen with heavier weapons and the drop on you. Gearth not so much, keeping his own shotgun aimed in their direction. Either call for Evander, or begin to try and explain things to these three, or spin them some sort of tail so as not to give to much away, depending on how discreet you want to be.]


Evander; While looking at the shards, you pull a device from a pouch at your waste, an extractor that takes two of the shards; will likely be a good idea to have someone examine them later. Thats when you hear the declaration from the main section of the hab; your out of sight, and its obvious that whoever is out there does not know your in here. You could give the others some sort of instruction via the microbead, or try to diffuse the situation.

[Up to you really, you are Fabian's interrogator after all, an inquisitor in training in some rights. How do you want to handle this?]

* Landwalk Ridge*

Daedalus and Raphael; You carefully exit the bar and enter the downpour of Lneff Octavus, three of the gangers and the two minders following you with the discretion of a space marine amongst squats. Outside is cold, and the biting rain quickly drenches you, something that is a bit bothersome to Raphael but less so, if at all, to Daedalus. Motioning for the mechanicus man to follow him down an alley near the bar, you both take a quick turn that the gangers are all but happy to follow.

[Not to much cover here, but looks like most of these guys are aimed at close combat anyway. A pair of mining pick's, one chain-blade, a heavy sword, and the last one with a hand-cannon, or at least some sort of heavy calibre pistol that would take both of your hands to hold. There is enough room for you both to go about fighting with little trouble, but these gangers are much bigger and slower. Have fun.]


Jerico; Vision fading in and out, you hear noise coming from where you approached. Turning your head, groggy vision allows you to make out a cloaked figure in a high coat and combat boots. The figure walks past you and kneels next to the target, who is starting to stir, opening his eyes he see's the figure and starts to reach for something, but the figure jabs him with something in the side of the neck and the target goes limp. Trying to get to your feet, its only then that the figure turns to you, reaching for something in his coat and jabbing you in the arm. Instantly your vision becomes clear and any pain from before is gone.

_"Have fun getting this guy?"_ Fabian asks, pulling the hood of his coat off his head with one head and offering you his other to get back to your feet. Six and a half feet tall, grey eyed, brown hair long with a trio of blue braids hand down the front of his face; Fabian was an interesting figure to say the least. _"Looks like Daedalus and Raphael are doing a good job of keeping the gangers below busy, lets get Darren and sneak this jackass out the back."_ Fabian said before speaking into the microbead built into a knuckle.

[Fabian's got this guy, you go on ahead and make sure things are clear. Get Darren back here and probably deal with the bartender, you noticed him tipping off the bartender to Daedalus and Raphael before so he'll likely cause trouble. Try to be discreet though, no telling how many of those gangers left and how many are around.]


Darren; As you haul the unconscious man towards the door, a chirp from the microbead alerts you to contact being made. _"How many went afterDaedalus and Raphael?"_ The familiar voice of inquisitor Fabian asks. You tilt your head towards the unconscious man, as if to speak to him, before answering Fabian and in turn being informed to leave the gangers to the pair and to meet Jerico in the back.

[No one is really paying you any mind, except for the one ganger and the bartender that is. Need to get to the back, but how?]

*Jackcrest*

Torek and Halvador; It takes a little bit of time, but Torek does eventually find the shards, in a vial on the head morticians desk, all but buried beneath a mountain of reports. Sadly, this is something the gauntlet can not help with, if only because Torek is looking for what might be strange shards amongst a plethora of glass. Once found though, analysis confirms the shards to not actually be glass; its xenos in origin and laced with several layers of toxins. Blood samples taken from the body confirm what appear to be minute traces of these toxins, but being xenos there is no telling just how much of an effect they might have had. Other than that though, nothing more can be gained from the examination; it is strange that no mention of the shards can be found in the report. Might be a good idea to seek out the mortician and try to find out why his notes are lacking in that department.

[On a good note, I don't think I need to give you many prompts here. When searching for the mortician, you'll eventually head back to the person near the entrance only to discover that he left in a hurry. Why? Who knows, but his leaving will have been very recent, so you might be able to catch up.]


Viktor and Crypt; As Crypt makes his way up, Viktor mentions that he is going below, possibly to find that man from before to see if he can get more information out of him. Crypt remains above for a few moments, to possibly locate anything more; in the end stumbling upon a hidden picter that activates to display a feed of the bed chamber and events leading up to Bandig's death. This would include at least one decent shot of her killer, or rather killers; one impossible to identify, the shadows seemingly wrapping themselves around him or her. The other one though, a face not easy to forget, not when you had met him when entering here.

Returning to the bed chamber, Viktor shakes his head before something from the corner of his eye catches his attention. Sidestepping, Viktor dodges a swing from the guide servitor, the limb slamming into the wall with a crack of stone. With barely any effort, it tears the fist free and turns to you again before advancing slowly. Well that can't be good..

[Crypt, you come down to alert Viktor of what you found only to see him fighting the servitor, and I don't think you need more prompting from me in regards to what you should do next. Needless to say though, this thing is not a push-over. Viktor, well what more do I need to say? Again this thing is not a push-over, it actually lands a glancing blow that throws you across the room, leading you to figure its not a guide unit, but a modified combat servitor.]


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Darren watched as the mechanus and the pirate moved out of the bar. They were quickly followed by the minders and all but one of the gangers. Darren was about to head out into the rain, and give them a hand when a cool and calm voice penetrated his ear via his microbead. He listened to the calm voice of Inquisitor Fabian. "How many went after Daedalus and Raphael?" Darren felt calm surge through him, Darren respected Fabian above most others and was glad that he was here to help them.

"_My Lord good to hear your voice, the two minders and three gangers have followed them outside, they stood out like a sore thumb here."_ He answered, tilting the man in his arm so it looked like he was speaking to him. Fabians voice immediately came back on the vox, telling him to leave the gangers and help him and Jericho get the target out the back. 

_"Yes sir, I have one ganger and the bartender still in here to deal with, I will try and keep it quiet."_ He answered before turning back to the bar. "_Oh mate, before I go, one more thing. Can I use your phone in the back? I just need to give someone a quick call." _He left the unconscious man in a chair before moving over to the bar while he said this. The bartender gave him a firm no with the ganger moving towards him, obviously thinking about his boss. 

Darren moved till he was right next to the bar with the ganger telling him to leave before he swung into action, drawing his shock mace in one fluid motion and hitting it into the side of the ganger. He hoped that he could take care of the bartender quickly after the ganger, or that Jericho or Fabian could come down and help him out. He smashed the ganger again with his mace before getting punched in the stomach. He snarled and headbutted the ganger, putting him down on the floor again.


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

William smiled slightly as Antony walked right into Gaerth's shotgun, that would have been a messy mishap had Gaerth been an idiot and pulled the trigger. Yet something else stirred behind Antony and soon three heavily armed and armored Arbites appeared out of the darkness, *"Weapons down now, in the name of the Emperor's law you shall answer the reason behind this trespass of one of His law-bringers."* William lowered his weapon and curse silently as Gaerth silently refused to lower his own, this was going to make it harder on them.

He toyed with telling these men the truth but realized that that might work to their detriment, why were these Arbites suddenly deciding to appear now rather then when they had first entered? 

An interesting tidbit that made William not want to tell them who they were and why they were really here, so he decided to use his wit an attempt to lie to them and get out of this situation in one piece, *"I am truly sorry officers for this trespass but we are all good friends of Obinek. He had found us not too long ago, our hab had been ransacked and robbed by some cult he said he was investigating, you see we are all Guard Veterans, retired of course, and had some of our old equipment in our home. His guess was that these criminals were searching for weapons and would probably be back to our home to search for more and so he kept in touch with us. He gave us a direct line to him should anything happen and this morning while we were out meeting up with some old friends our house was visited again, so when he did not answer we decided to come by and tell him in person or at least leave a note. Thus we found his hab like this and entered hoping to find out what had happened to him and then go and notify the local Arbites Precinct."*

It was a bare assed lie and one that he had conjured up out of the blue but he hoped that it would explain why three shady and armed men were in the hab of a dead Arbites. He knew that he looked the part as did Gaerth partly but he hoped that his two comrades played along and did not screw them over by trying to be honest with these three. Hoping that Evander was listening in, he smiled at the three Arbites and waited for their answer or for his two friends to say or do anything to help make his lie more concrete in thier eyes.


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## Masked Jackal (Dec 16, 2009)

After a bit of pondering, and looking at his surroundings, Evander decided to extract the glass from the wall. It wouldn't do to have someone come in later and remove this evidence, and if his suspicions were right, they were competent enough to do that. 

Just as he finished, he heard the declaration of the Arbites officers. He stalked closer, to overhear what was being said, as they had obviously seen Gearth and William. He put a finger to the microbead in his ear, but pulled back when he heard William's voice. A bluff. Indeed revealing themselves as who they were would probably be detrimental, but they'd have to hope this worked, otherwise they'd either have to fight the arbites, or go along with them, neither particularly appealing. Evander pocketed the extractor and the samples it had taken, hiding it in his coat. He was probably a bit too well-armed to be taken as innocently as the others in the retinue, and he looked around for an escape route, hoping he wouldn't need it.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The drowning downpour of rain quickly assailed Daedalus, yet it was little more then a brief sensation in his frame, and his cloak robe had been treated with special oils and unguents that prevented moisture from taking hold within the fabrics. He could see the pirate was actually affected by it, typical organics, frail and distracted enough that mere water discharge from chemical changes in the atmosphere or a minor drop in temperature readings could affect them so much. Rain and cold were unknown on the Forge worlds, apart from the occasional acidic downpours which were barely more then an irritant, and Daedalus was not affected by it at all. The gangers he could see were affected, and were close behind them.

Daedalus quickly hooked two of his tendrils around his unique pistol and followed the pirate into an alley. The close-quarters of this area would favour them, with quick reactions and accuracy they would be able to terminate at least two of the pursuing organics, disorienting the others and allowing for a quick extermination procedure. A brief spark lit up in Daedalus's core, the closest thing he could express to an emotion, carefully laid plans were always a good thing, no matter how mundane the topic, a carefully laid plan was always helpful. The proximity of the hostile organics was becoming closer and closer, Daedalus began an interior countdown to combat. The pirate could react after Daedalus had already fired, organics after all could not match a tech-priest in reaction timing, and Daedalus had no intention of wasting his time informing the pirate of intention when action would do that for him. 3.. 2.. 1..

Daedalus quickly spun around and fired his unique pistol, the crack of the shout impossibly loud, the sound decibels had actually been proven to be louder then Astartes pattern bolter weapons. The shot took the organic carrying an unwieldy hand-cannon right in the chest, the force bifurcating the hostile into two pieces, and punching a clean hole through the high section. As the remaining organics allowed their revulsion to overtake their intent to kill them, Daedalus found that extremely foolish and another sign of organic weakness, a thought sequence of several binaric codes altered the pistol's firing pattern to full-automatic. A series of three shells, standard .75 calibre bolt shells rather then the Vengeance rounds created for the pistol by Daedalus himself, released from the pistol and smashed into a second organic, the target wielding an obsolete chainsword variant, the shots each exploding violently within the hostile, tearing his right arm apart in a shower of blood and ripping a hole in his abdomen. 

That, while usually enough to halt an organic due to their predictable panicked reactions to losing an appendage or large amounts of internal fluids, was not enough this time. The hostile charged forward in a blind attempt to drive the chainsword into Daedalus's frame. Before he could even start his swing a tendril shot out of Daedalus's robe, from his right hand, and skewered the hostile through the primary heart. Quickly retracting the tendril back into his robe Daedalus ran a scan of the area, the pirate could deal with the remainder of the hostiles, organics like him seemed to enjoy combat for some reason that Daedalus did not care to try and deduce, so better to let him do it rather then waste ammunition on lesser organics such as these.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Raphael hated the rain. Raphael hated the cold, biting wind. He was Void-Borne, he hated all forms and variations of the weather. His obsidian-fleshed face was assaulted by a rapid strike of water with the first step he took into the darkened streets of Landwalk Ridge. Lume globes, inlaid upon walls, cast sickly yellow-white light over him and he licked his lips dry, although the dryness was immediately replaced with wetness once again. He snorted in a great gout of air, feeling it stifle his nostrils and reverberate a shiver along his cloaked form.

He led the way, with the Tech-Whore bringing up the rear. He pretended that there was no followers, no wet slaps upon the ground behind them. He pretended that he was not in the harsh downfall, but rather the comfortable confines of his ship. Of course, it was all fake illusions. He knew where he was, he knew that they were being pursued by the tattooed Gangers. He allowed himself a quick glance over his shoulder and cursed inwardly. The damned red-robed cur that was Daedalus had completely blocked his vision, obscuring the figures following them almost completely.

His cane, slick with rain, clattered loudly as they entered a dingy alleyway. Daedalus stopped, turning around, whereas Raphael continued to hobble onwards, uncaring for what the Tech-Whore had in mind. A sudden boom, loud and terrifying, caused him to halt. He still didn’t turn, looking down at his cane with hooded eyes. He stepped out of the other end of the alleyway and into a narrow street which spindled off towards starboard and port; fat-bodied lume globules allowing a clear vision of the entire area. It was deathly silent. Oh, so deathly.

Silently, he stood, leaning ponderously upon his cane with both of his gloved hands. The pair of hired muscle, one of them carrying a long, broad blade in a reverse grip and the other wielding a pick axe sidestepped around him, while he could feel the breath of a third upon his neck. Slowly, he twisted the skull-top upon his cane until there was a satisfactory click which was audible to just him, his advanced senses easily picking it up. His juvenat operations had not only made him appear as his handsome once-self, but had also boosted such senses.

‘Not gonna hurt an old man like me, are you, boys?’ He asked, his tone frail but warningly efficient. 

‘Oh, ya isn’t gottcha clue..’ Growled the blade-bearing fellow, his unintelligent words a mockery to the ears of Raphael. He was a wiry figure, his face aquiline and covered in strange symbols. 

‘Must I really hurt you, boy?’ Raphael demanded, his face twitching as it grew cold beneath the constant pounding of icy water.

‘Ya ain’t got a chance!’ Retorted the Ganger, throwing himself forwards, lifting his blade behind his head for a downwards strike. 

Raphael barely moved. The street was filled with a loud scream and the Ganger stopped, his legs shaking violently. His face twisted in agony, growing pale and his mouth hung open. A trickle of blood ran from the corner, dripping with the rain drops onto the floor, and the minder parted from hip-to-shoulder with a arterial spray that turned Raphael’s face rich red. Cane-sword dripping, Raphael Kontos grinned manically and sidestepped a blow from the other minder, his azure-furred cloak lifting in the wind.

Another three blows of the razor-edged pick were thrown at him, each of which were easily dodged and parried. The Ganger’s face twisted in shock, initially believing that Raphael would have been an easy kill. The first hit which struck Raphael, was exactly that, a hit. The toughened knuckles of the Ganger connected with his brow, drawing a seeping wound that momentarily blinded Raphael in his left eye. He flicked his hand around, sending the cane-blade upwards, and bisected the minder’s arm at the elbow.

‘Fugger!’ He yelped, clutching his gore-spraying arm with his remaining hand, tears streaming down his chiseled face.

‘Oh shut up.’ Was all Raphael said, swiping the tip of his blade across the larynx of the man, lacerating the flesh with shocking ease.

The sound of running feet caused Raphael to turn. The remaining Ganger was sprinting away, his weapon gone. Raphael slowly slipped his blade back into the false-cane, slamming it into the ground and reaching into the fold of his robes. His hand came back up seconds later, wielding his Xeno sidearm. It thrummed into life and a monofilament round was shredded into nigh-invisibility, slipping forth so that it rested against the firing mechanism ponderously.

He could feel the tip of the pick in his shoulder, and now he realised why the Ganger no longer had it in hand. It dangled from his flesh, however luckily, he had all but lost any sense of feeling there after his fiftieth juvenat operation. He grasped the long barrel of his pistol in his other hand, steadying his aim and clenching shut one eye. The squalls of rain seemed to part so that Raphael had a direct aim upon the fleeing Ganger. His grip upon the trigger grew tighter. Tighter.

And finally;

‘Bam.’


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## Starbuck (Apr 6, 2010)

Almost before he had finished his thought, Antony's wish was granted, albeit not exactly how he had planned it. As he rounded the corner he quite literally ran into Gearth, or more precisely his shotgun. The impact knocked the wind out of Antony and as fast as he had been running it left Gearth unmoved. Antony was doubled over trying to reinflate his lungs, as well as do his best to ignore the looks of amusement and near laughter that covered Gearth's face. That was when Antony got that cold clarity that occompanied his earlier feeling of being watched. His stomach immediately dropped and his mouth dried out. Antony hated the cold sickely feeling that now twice in one day had come upon him, it was not ordinary fear-he had experienced that often enough, this was different. He could not put his finger on it, and thats what made it all the worse. Within in microseconds of the feeling washing over him he was already moving back, spinning around to face the source of his discomfort, and pulling his knife into throwing position. As he took aim he took longer than normal, he wanted to see what had been following him and unsettling him so. In that extra split second he realized that the figure running towards him was firstly armoured heavily, and secondly an arbite, two things that Antony did not prefer in a target. As the arbite approached Antony put away his knife and decided he would let William or Gearth do the talking as he never much liked arbites-a carryover from his days in the gangs, hoping that they would be able to talk them out of the situation. He took a step backed and leaned up against the wall, still very much unsettled from his two encounters.


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## Baron Spikey (Mar 26, 2008)

*Jerico Tobias - Landwalk Ridge*

Retrieving his Stub-revolver from where it had fallen on the stained corridor carpet Jerico gave a quick nod to his Master before heading back whence he came, gun outstretched before him the pilot was far more cautious in his progress down the plas-crete stairs, carefully placing each foot so as to minimise the scuff of his boots.

Pausing for a moment to gather his courage he swang quickly into the kitchen area, gun tracking the crowded environment from fryer to pots, to sink and back- seeing no threat he reholstered the firearm and took the opportunity to slip on a pair of reinforced flight gloves, the left hand of which was slightly bulkier than the other with in-set circuitry threaded through out it's surface.

Once more Jerico found himself at the rear door of _The Last Chance's_ bar area, a swift peek round the door frame showed him the bartender mere feet away and Darren swinging into action as his Shock Mace hit the ganger with a meaty thud and explosion of breath. Noticing the bartender's hand go for a sawn-off shotgun hidden from the rest of the bar by it's position the roguish pilot clenched his hand into a fist causing the circuitry of his glove to begin to glow for a moment before it erupted into a undulating field of electrical energy.

Hearing the thrum of the shock gauntlet the barman swung round shotgun held in one hand, but before he could bring it to bear Jerico was on him, catching the shortened barrel with right glove and wrenching to one side mere moments before he struck the man in the kidney with as much strength as he could muster. With a silent scream the bartender toppled to the ground where he lay clutching his side, Jerico stepped forwards and took hold of one of the bottles on the bar with the intention of smashing it over the agonised form below him, noticing the bottle's label he took a quick gulp of the contents and with a brutal wrench clubbed the hardened glass into his opponent's temple.

*"Are you done yet Darren? The Inquisitor wants us in the back"*


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

Gearth liked to consider himself a sharp and steady shooter, but as he and William rounded the corner on Antony, Gearth gave a mental prayer of thanks to the Emperor for stopping him from obliterating Antony's head. 

As Antony doubled over on the floor in shock, Gearth's face split in an amused smile as he lowered his shotgun. "You might want to start looking where your going Antony." Gearth said 

His amusement died the second he head the creaking of the stairs and the sounds of booted feet. Raising his shotgun back up immediately, Gearth watched the Arbites officers burst from the stairs towards them

"Weapons down now, in the name of the Emperor's law you shall answer the reason behind this trespass of one of His law-bringers." One of the arbites said.

As William and Antony both slowly lowered their weapons, Gearth made no such mood. This Opinek showed signs of being a corrupt official and Gearth was instantly suspicious of these arbites too.

Gearth instead aimed his shotgun straight at the three arbites officers and stayed silent as William spun a clever lie


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Evander; Looking around you see that there really isn’t much to this place beyond the bed. Well the bed and a window you’d be able to fit through that is. Carefully making your way over to it, you can barely see outside thanks to the constant downpour, but you do see that there is a platform just outside. Looks less than safe, but you hope for your sake that’s just the doing of the rain and not its actual state, or this could get real ugly real fast. Trying to make as little noise as possible, you make your way out into the rain, turning back to close the window you had just exited from when you just barely make out a sound to your side. Turning your head quickly, you have just enough time to see the butt of a weapon about to plant itself in the center of your face, before it actually does. You see stars, and the world around you grows rather blurry, and as your legs give out and you fall forward, a rough gloved hand grabs you by the collar and keeps you from falling to your death.

Training kicking in despite the lack of focus, you bring a half closed fist into your attacker’s, and savior’s, armpit. With a howl of pain, the hand helping you falls limp and you sway back a step only to receive a boot to the chest and fall back into Opinek’s hab, shattering the window in the process and sustaining a few cuts on top of what may be a broken nose. Trying to roll to the side, that boot is thrust into your side, bringing yet more stars and a whole lot more pain. *“Caught one tryin’ ta sneak out the backway! Bastard dislocated my friggin’ arm.”* Your attacker calls out, hauling you by the collar out into the main way and throwing you at the feet of the others.

[Bet you weren’t expecting that in the update.]

William, Antony, and Gearth (and Evander); As William finishes with his lie, the three arbiters stand still, the lead one keeping his shotgun aimed specifically at Gearth as the big man refuses to lower his own gun. _“What fools you take us for anyway? You ain’t ex Pras-Nines, whole regiment is red skinned with an Aquila tat under the right eye.”_ The leader finally said, pointing to the man on his left who lifted the visor of his helmet to reveal beat red skin and an Aquila tattoo just below his right eye. Before anyone could react, there was a loud crash from one of the side rooms, where Evander had been, and then the sound of heavy boots crunching through glass. Turning around, Gearth found himself staring into the barrel of a fourth arbites shotgun as a fifth one entered, dragging a half conscious Evander with him. One of the officers arms was limp at his side. *“Caught one tryin’ ta sneak out the backway! Bastard dislocated my friggin’ arm.”* He said just as another member of the arbites officers cracked Gearth in the small of his back with a shock maul.

The weapon itself was not designed to cause lethal damage unless set to max power, but it was designed to deliver a jolt, and the person wielding it could more than easily hurt someone since it was still a physical object. Normally the blow would have put the target on the ground; however with Gearth the effect was less so. It did force him to drop his shotgun to the ground, but he remained upright, and in one fluid motion turned around and put a fist into the officers helmeted head, throwing him back against a wall and shattering the visor. Three of the four remaining officers had their weapons on him, but the point had been made; you lot were not who you claimed to be, you had some reason for being here, and you didn’t want the law to know about it.

_“Enough!”_ The leader roared before picking the downed Evander up and shoving him into William and Antony. _“One way or another you shall answer for what you are doing here. Now I shall ask you once more for that answer, or the arbiter’s will torture the answers from you at the precinct house.”_ He declares, once again looking to William, since he was the one to speak the first time and might be the most forthcoming with an answer. Antony, on the other hand, is left holding Evander upright with one arm. From his position, he can the exposed flesh of the arbites leaders neck, where his torso and helmet armour both end. With his free hand there is the option of a knife to the main artery; one of these guys is already knocked out and one down to one working arm.

[Well so much for that one; was worth a shot at the very least, this is a far out world with only a few details. Right, so might be time to come clean, or try to take them out. Regardless of the choice, only one of you is a true inquisitorial agent who bears a seal to indicate as such, you know discretion and all that. (Talking about Evander) Evander’s vision is still blurred, and the pain in his side is no picnic, but he can manage for the most part. And Gearth is unarmed, or at least not armed with his shotgun at this time, and has two shotguns trained on him.]



Jerico and Darren; Dropping the barman to the ground, all that’s really left in the bar are its other patrons. Many of who, until a moment ago, had gotten out of their seats and started to advance on the bounty hunter; with sudden realization you become aware of the fact that these half dozen individuals may also be part of that gang. Would make sense, this being a location they were known to be around and all. However their movements had come to an end when the inquisition was mentioned, the lead ganger paling at the thought, dropping the push blade held in one hand and nearly pinning his foot with it. 

Without further pause, the entire group fled for the door, one being thrown back as if to keep a wild beast distracted. As you stand there and watch the scene, heavy footfalls from behind the bar alert you to someone approaching, or rather Fabian coming to the front of the bar with the gang leader over his shoulder like a ruck-sack. Slumping the sedated man onto the bar, Fabian nodded his head from the pair of arbites officers to the left behind ganger. _“Should any inquiry be made, that one was the cause of it all, trying to rile up others to turn with promises of the inquisition of backing. He will, of course, have no such thing.”_ He said, any and all traces of life fading from the gangers face before he passed out and the officers hauled him out of the bar.

Grabbing a bottle and three glasses from beneath the bar, Fabian poured a measure into each one. It was an unnamed bottle, amber liquid that burned like a great fire on the way down. _“I keep telling you, we operate off the grid as much as possible; not using the I word unless absolutely necessary.”_ Fabian finally said, pouring himself another glass and passing the bottle to Jerico. _“_Jerico_, take our prisoner out back and get him to the safe house. There is a cargo-four someone was nice enough to leave ready and running; take Kontos with you as well. See if the two of you cannot get in touch with the ship or the other teams, see how their progress is. Mr. Sicamore, if you would be so kind as to follow those fleeing men to find out where one of their locations are that would be nice. The dear magos Yekunian shall join you in this; two experienced eyes are grand, but two plus however many, if any, eyes he possesses might come in handy. I have to make sure the arbitrator assigned to this city will follow through with the information suppression.”_ This Fabian said before knocking back the drink and heading for the front exit. 





[Well you heard the man, out the back with you Jerico, and out the front with you Darren. Jerico, you’ll actually find Raphael already waiting for you, standing over the form of one of the large gangers that had fallowed him and the magos outside before. The cargo four itself is actually fairly small, and gets its name from the number of wheels it possesses. Won’t be fun getting back to the safe house, a run-down factory complex serving as a temporary base of operations, but you will not encounter any trouble. Other than it taking the better part of an hour to get to, in no part thanks to the weather, I’ll leave it to you and Raphael to have a little fun in describing the place.

Darren, slipping out the front brings you from the nice warmth of the bar to the cold and wet outside world. As you exit, you see Fabian motioning down an alley where some of those gangers went. You remain on their tail for a good twenty minutes, running into Daedalus at some point, before coming out to a warehouse nestled between slummed down hab-stacks. The rain does little to help your trained senses, but you can make out at least two or three gangers standing guard near one of the stacks. Do you want to try and sneak in somehow, or maybe make way back to the safehouse and return here later (or tip off the local law in the near future.)]

_Raphael_ and Daedalus; the shot doesn’t make a sound as the rogue trader pulls the trigger; barely even pulls from recoil even. A nearly invisible disk does launch out and slice clean through the fleeing man’s shirt, skin, and spine before exiting out the front of his neck though. His body goes soft, jelly like, and physics kick in, momentum keeping his body moving forward but gravity pulling him down, and the now paralyzed ganger smashes his head into the back of a cargo hauler and lands in a heap; his head bent a way it should not be. Removing the tip of the pick proves to be more painful for _Raphael_ than the actual wound itself, and takes a decent chunk of flesh with it in the process, though more skin than anything else. Casting the irritant to the side, a set of clicks in your ear, actually a binary code indicating that it is Fabian, alerts you to an incoming message. _“Raphael, head ‘round back of the bar and help _Jerico_ with the target. See if we can’t find out the progress of the other teams as well. Magos Yekunian, our hunter of men and other targets is currently tracking other gangers that were in the bar, please assist him in this and maybe even try to find out who they are reporting to. Let’s see if this target of ours is worth anything at all.”_ The inquisitor curtly said before cutting the link.

[Sorry for the slightly smaller update for you two; best to look at the stuff above for extra idea’s/details on what to do. Otherwise, Raphael your already at the back of the bar and Jerico will be with you shortly. Daedalus I am sure you have more than one vision type, so it won’t be too hard, even in this rain, to track down another off-worlder in order to find Darren.]




[Halvador, Viktor, Crypt, and Torik; have gotten nothing from you (of this Crypt is mostly excused, so your still on the previous update.]


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

William took on a different posture then what he had before, he stood taller and his arms and muscles all tensed, his face one of anger. It had been worth a try, how was he supposed to know one of these idiots was a fragging gaurd vet? Oh well, he thought, time to come semi-clean. He spoke up as picked helped Evander to his feet, his voice deep and full of authority,* "Fine. You want to know who you point your guns at, then you shall. We are agents of the God-Emperor's Holy Inquisition, and our reasons for being here DO NOT need to be known by you or your men, so before you make the idiotic mistake of shooting us and therefore signing your own death warrant I suggest you put your weapons down." *He looked at Evander, *"Show them your seal." *Looking back at the Arbites officers he spoke again, *"Our personal transmitters are linked to our Lord directly, should you cause us anymore trouble I can gaurentee that he will take your lives into his own hands."*

He hoped to the Emperor that these men were smart enough to let them all go, he really was not looking forward to fighting three fully armed and armored Arbites officers and one with a hurt limb. Just in case though his knives were within quick reach and he knew that the implants on his knuckles and fingers would more then do the job up close. He had faith in his comrades also, but he hoped that Evander would have his seal, seeing as how William never carried his. Yet an idea popped into his head, should this meeting go south and they had to kill these men then their equipment and armor would come in handy, indeed they could impersonate these men for the time being if they needed to, or at least he could. The lead sergeant seemed easy enough to get a hold of, his voice and manuerisms obvious for an Arbites officer, and if the others were killed then he could essentially be the only survivor of some horrid attack. William hid his smile as he secretly hoped for this meeting to go downhill, the opportuniy to impersonate a possibly corrupt Arbites an exciting thought.


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## Masked Jackal (Dec 16, 2009)

There wasn't much to work with in this room, that was for sure. However, there was one exit, a window, which Evander quietly made his way to. He couldn't see much outside of it, but there was a platform just out the window, and Evander immediately opened it up, slowly of course, to get out of there. He stepped out onto the platform, and turned around to close the window just as stealthily. He couldn't have anyone noticing he'd left.

That all became redundant a second later however. All in a moment, he heard the sound, turned, and the butt of a gun hit him square in the face. A hand stopped his forward fall as his legs gave out under him. Nonetheless, Evander was well-trained, and he thrashed out with his left fist, hitting the man's armpit, and causing him to let go. Evander almost smiled at his success as the man howled in pain, but a kick to his chest stopped any satisfaction.

There were some slight pinpricks along his arms as he fell through the window, and Evander gritted his teeth as he hit the ground. He only bared them further when he was kicked in the side, although he did roll over slightly, only to be caught by the collar of his jacket. *"Caught one tryin’ ta sneak out the backway! Bastard dislocated my friggin’ arm.”* Vaguely, Evander realized that any cover they had was blown, without a doubt. They'd have to fight, or...or...

His thought was disrupted as he was dropped to the ground. He heard some words from someone, threatening them. He was lifted by his collar, and thrown, only to be caught. It was a few seconds before he could regain his senses, but he recovered in time to hear Williams declaration, as the man helped him to his feet. 

Evander suppressed a reprimand for William, knowing that if he were to do so, they would lose face in front of these arbites. Besides, it wasn't like Evander was in that good a position to make such a forceful speech. He reached into his jacket, and produced the Inquisitorial rosette. He drew himself up, regained his posture, and started speaking. * "What my friend here says is correct. Put down your weapons, or you will suffer the wrath of the Inquisition."* His side still hurt, and his vision was blurred, but he had to appear as a proper member of the Inquisition, and make sure these arbites knew they were fools for defying them. Nonetheless, Evander kept a hand on his side, ready to slide it down and pull out his pistol if necessary.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

Daedalus emmited a faint click, his sound of irritation, the pirate's cursed xenos-tech weapon. It wasn't enough that by standards of faith he was lax but he even disgraced the fine weaponry of the Mechanicus by using an Eldar weapon. Daedalus, despite his distaste for the alien weapon, did admire its results. The organic meatsack was sliced by the translucent disk, his spine severed and his body cut off from the functions of his inferior brain. As Daedalus moved to observe the corpse a faint clicking in his auditory capacitors alerted him to an incoming message. His vocabulator core activated with a light hum and began relaying the message through Daedalus's own vocal-transvoxer, in the Inquisitors own voice.

“Raphael, head ‘round back of the bar and help Jerico with the target. See if we can’t find out the progress of the other teams as well. Magos Yekunian, our hunter of men and other targets is currently tracking other gangers that were in the bar, please assist him in this and maybe even try to find out who they are reporting to. Let’s see if this target of ours is worth anything at all.”

Having nothing to say to the pirate, he had clearly heard what had been said, Daedalus left without a sound, his cloak fluttering in the wind. The bounty hunter was slightly more agreeable, in that Daedalus had no real issue with him at all, and nothing of interest in him. Finding him however would be trivial, Daedalus's optical sensors switching into their secundus setting. The vision in Daedalus's optical tri-nodes changed abruptly, the area becoming blue and hazy yet the few lifeforms in the vicinity were blazing orange and red, their uinsettling organic parts in action, Daedalus was secretly pleased that he couldn't see them actually working, it was repulsive and he couldn't fathom how all that fluid moving through their joints did not vex them.

The magos could see many organics within the rain, for most finding one amongst them would be impossible, yet Daedalus had thought ahead long ago. He had secretly given each member of the Inquisitor's retinue an injection consisting of a dye-gel of his own concoction, it was utterly harmless and would flush out of their inefficient systems but the dye would have given their blood a very light coating and when exposed to a thermal scanner like the kind Daedalus had installed as a secondary optical system they, rather then glowing orange, would glow a bright blue. He could see the handful of blue individuals and extrapolating from the Inquisitors message he predicted the likely course the bounty hunter would take in order to locate him. Satisfied with his calculations the tech-priest set off, expecting to meet the bounty hunter within only a few chronological minutes.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Darren nodded to the Inquisitor and Jerico as they came out back behind the bar, taking down the bar tender. At least we have the target he thought to himself as he pushed the now unconscious ganger onto the floor, taking his seat. Darren took a shot glass, filled with amber liquid from where the ganger had been drinking and in a second knocked it back. He felt the warmth flow down into his stomach, relishing it as it did. Fabian was speaking about not using the Inquisition as Jerico had to clear the bar of the gang members that had been advancing on Darren.

He appreciated the help from the others, and it was very timely. Fabian started to give orders and Darren immediately finished a second shot before nodding, _"It will be done sir."_ He had to track the other ganger's down with the Magos Daedalus. He had nothing against the Magos, he was incredibly useful in fact, he would be in this situation with his bionical parts, but he just wasn't really human was he? He moved outside into the cold wet rain, pulling up his hood as he started to move. He visualised the ganger's, stumbling away from the bar and hitting anything that got in their way.

Bins had been turned up, people were getting to their feet and cursing those young rough hooligans that had pushed them into a puddle. After about five minutes of tracking the Magos caught up. _"Magos, good to see you I am sure that your "eyes" will be off great use in this situation."_ He nodded to him before they continued onwards. They followed the ganger for another quarter of an hour before reaching a warehouse. Two ganger's stood guard out front. Darren turned to the Magos _"I wanna get a look inside that warehouse, see what they are guarding then tip off the local law enforcement. Do you concur?"_


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

(OOC: like we talked about, I sort of forced Torek's hand since Farseer withdrew from the RP, if you think it's inappropriately done just let me know and I'll revise)


With Torek's parts filled in, hopefully in a relatively unobtrusive manner: 

Furrowing his brow in frustration, Halvador finished cutting open the last of the six puncture marks riddling Bendig's stomach. He had found little out of the ordinary in the tissue around the wounds. He had withdrawn several tissue samples for Torek to test from around the wounds, but a visual scan had found nothing.

He set his scalpal down and frowned, then picked up the autopsy report for yet another read through. As he had confirmed the first four times he had read it, there was no mention of either the wounds in her torso or their closure. While he did not doubt in the incompetence of the mortician or any of his assistants, he still found it unlikely that the man would have even had the skill to disguise the wounds in such a manner.

'I think I've found something!' Torek said as he hurried over to Halvador. In his free hand he gingerly held a small glass vial, not unlike a specimen container used to preserve organs or other biological samples.

'My, my, what have you got there,' Halvador said softly as he zoomed his spectoculars in on the vial. He held out a gloved hand in which Torek placed the vial. 'Where did you find this?'

'Buried under a stack of documents,' his companion replied. 'My Gauntlet detected a mass discrepancy under the pile which turned out to be this.'

Halvador nodded thoughtfully. 'I'm not much good for spectrum analytics,' he said, 'but this just appears to be full of glass shards.'

Torek nodded enthusiastically, 'I thought so too, at first. A diagnostic scan revealed that there are slight microscopic variations at the molecular level within it, xeno in origin.' A hint of a smile formed at the corner of the bigger man's lips.

Catching on, Halvador felt his own excitement rising. 'And how many variations did you find?'

'Six.'

'_Xenos,_ of course!' Halvador exclaimed. He hurriedly withdrew his samples for Torek's perusal with the _Iron Gauntlet._ 'I took these tissue samples from around the wounds, scan it and tell me what you find.'

The man held his tool over the specimen vials, nodding as he finished with each. 'Each have trace amounts of toxin, something exotic that the _Gauntlet_ cannot identify. It does match, however, some of the discrepancies found within the shards.'

This confirmed Halvador's suspicions, the shards had been, if not the cause of, then at least extracted from the wounds. He opened up his hefty backpack and delicately wrapped up the vial of shards for transport back to the Inquisitor.

However, as one question was answered, more were presented themselves. Halvador donned his customary frown once again. Why were the shards not mentioned in the autopsy report? Who had covered the wounds up? He closed his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder, preparing to depart this dreary and filthy place.

'Torek, let's visit the mortician, I'd like to ask him some questions,' he said as he pulled the white sheet over Bendig's corpse. The pair hurried off through the entrance, intent on getting at least some answers to the discoveries they had made in the morgue.

As they approached the front desk, they noticed the pimpled secretary was absent. Looking around, Halvador saw no sign of any of any of the other workers either. He apprached the front desk, ringing insistently on the bell on the counter. He glanced around the darkened atrium, unable to detect any hint of activity. He saw papers scattered around, and a half eaten pastry left on the desk.

Torek picked a slicker off of the coatrack by the desk, rifling through its pockets. He withdrew an identicard, the kind required to access the more secure levels of the facilities. He held it out for Halvador to see. Zooming in with his glasses, he could clearly see the name and picture of the head mortician. The man had left his coat inside during a torrential rainstorm.

The workers had abandoned the facility, quickly. Halvador was unable to stifle the shiver that ran up his spine as he realized he and Torek were utterly alone.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The round was all-but silent. A whisk of the air sounded in his ears, the familiar firing tone of his beloved weapon. A fiery star illuminated his features for a second, and a nigh-invisible disc was sent scurrying forth, through the squalls of forever-rain. The rain had always interested him. Being Void-Born, Raphael was unnatural to any form of weather. Even the cackle of the wind was alien to him, being used to the mechanical thrumming of a ship. Raphael, used to such minute rounds, was able to follow the coruscating disc, grinning as it grew nearer on the man, like a fox on a hound.

It neatly split through garment, flesh and bone. The cut itself was nothing more than a scarlet strip across the broad of the Ganger’s neck, though a continuous gurgle of blood leaked down his chest. He continued to move for several steps, legs jerking awkwardly, arms quivering in a spasmodic, sickening motion. The Rogue Trader holstered his weapon deliberately slow, sliding it back into the folds of his cloak, leather-holster creaking as the torrent of rain hammered against it. 

Raphael filtered across the stormy street, his boots slapping wetly on the cobbles beneath him. Rain might have been a rare sight for Raphael, but it was certainly one that he didn’t care to for. He had seen miasmic nebulae, undiscovered races and much more in his lifetime. Some cold water, wasn’t something he often dwelled on in his thoughts. Raphael wasn’t one for torture, but the prone form of his wannabe killer was alluring. He flicked his cane down several times, each cracking against the lolling skull of his enemy.

Small, crimson indents showed on his skin. He had caused some form of damage internally, but it mattered not. What would this piece of scum be worth to someone as important and well-off as Raphael? He swept his cane in the air above him, momentarily halting the rain that wracked his form, and with a narrow exertion of air, brought it down. There was a distinct crack, followed by a dumb moaning, before nothing but silence.

‘No frakker fraks with me.’ Confirmed Raphael, his attentions now on the pick implanted in his shoulder. 

It stung when he yanked. It came free, surprisingly easy. A flap of skin and a small, moist chunk of meat accompanied the sharp tip. He winced, using surprising effort to curl his augmented features. He tossed it away, sending it clattering across the soaked surface, bouncing. The meat-skin lump ripped free with a odd squelch, though Raphael ignored such things. He hated this world. He hated every frakker who was born on this world, and every frakker who had turned it into such a cesspit. 

And then;

“Raphael, head ‘round back of the bar and help Jerico with the target. See if we can’t find out the progress of the other teams as well. Magos Yekunian, our hunter of men and other targets is currently tracking other gangers that were in the bar, please assist him in this and maybe even try to find out who they are reporting to. Let’s see if this target of ours is worth anything at all.” Came the foreign voice of Inquisitor Fabian, distorted by the fizzle-pop of the Vox frequency. Of course, that wasn't the Inquisitorial equipment. It was the frakking rain.

_'Bout bloody time.._


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## Baron Spikey (Mar 26, 2008)

With a grunt of exertion the smaller pilot grabbed hold of the gang leader and tried to throw him as effortlessly over his shoulder as Fabian had, almost doubling over under the added weight Jerico rose upright unsteadily with a new glimmer of respect for the Inquisitor's physical superiority.

A muttered curse later and Tobias headed for the exit to the rear of _The Last Chance_ each step laborious and undercut by vulgarities, *"Fat little shitting, grox fondling turd" *spat the former smuggler as he, none to gently, maneuvered his prisoner through the heavy steel portal.
Almost instantly the two men were drenched by the sheeting water pouring from on high, spluttering as the rain filled his mouth as he tried to curse at his fortunes of late the pilot didn't even see the Cargo-4 at first.

*"What the hell?!"*, to say the small truck had seen better days would be an understatement, beaten and worn the vehicle looked precisely how Jerico Tobias currently felt, patchy grey with the faded insignia of what seemed to be a courier service on one side the pilot was not confident in his chances of getting it started let alone getting to the safe house in this monsoon.

With a sigh of resignation he dragged the gang leader over to the truck's rear door, realising that opening said door and placing the suspect inside would be difficult Jerico dumped the gang leader's slumbering body on the stony ground, swung the rear panel clear before roughly dragging the smaller man's form into the vehicle's austere interior.
Wiping his face to clear some of the moisture from his eyes the roguish pilot, with all the humour knocked out of him by the damp conditions, scurried over to the driver's side and settled himself within the far more desirable padded seat to await the trader's appearance.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

William, Evander, Gearth, and Antony; for seconds there is nothing but tense silence. The arbites leader slowly lifts up his visor so that you can see his face, winking at you before nodding forward with his head and dropping the visor back down. _“What kind of a fool do you take us for? No agent of the inquisition would be this far out, or brandishing such a fake thing. Haul these three out of here and let the confessors get some real information out of them.”_ He yelled out to the rest of the squad and the message was fairly clear: for show just in case.

The rest of the squad grabs you roughly, with the exception of Antony who is shoved in the direction that Evander had come from before. The rest of you are are forced down into the main of the hab stack, and then led out into a matte black rhino bearing the mark of the arbites. As the gang-hatch begins to rise and cut off the pouring cold of the outside world, the arbites leader finally removes his helmet and sits down on one of the armoured benches._ “My apologies for all that; it was suspected that Opinek was less than pure and a detail had been assigned to watch over his home just in case whoever he might be in bed with went to his place for something. Add that to the trail of bones killer and most mysterious people start to look suspicious.”_

[Gearth and William, you obviously never got much of a chance to inform Evander of what you found, so now might be a good time for that one. Evander, the squad leader is speaking to you specifically, feel free to venture as much information forward as you choose. You three are currently on your way to the arbites precinct house, you’ll arrive there next update so for now your stuck in a rhino with five arbites officers, one of which (three guesses as to who) is glaring at Gearth.]

Antony; As the others are manhandled out of the stack, you are given the chance to make your way out via the broken window. Obviously whoever, or whatever, you saw was not one of the arbites; far too bulky for that. Maybe it was someone with information about this Opinek, or perhaps a nobody that mustered up a little courage. You venture out into the rain and your skin immediately alters, darkening to reflect the wall you press against.

[Mini-update for you pending your choice. You hear something from above and can scale to the roof to find out what that is, or you can go below to the ground and make your way to a more secluded location and possibly find someone who might know something.]

Jerico and Raphael; You get into the hauler and the thing nearly sputters out as soon as it starts. That’s nearly though, in the end it gets moving, though the rain slicked stone ground is not too much help here. A fifteen minute drive away from the bar and you come to a halt before a partially burned out building. Might have been an antique vendor or holding house, too much damage to be entirely sure; whatever it was though, more than suitable for the inquisitor. Jerico hauls the knocked out man into the building and into the back, unceremoniously dropping him to the hard ground before looking for something to bind him with. Raphael, on the other hand, makes his way to the building’s second floor and to the remains of a room he had taken for himself.

[Jerico, once you find something to bind the man, feel free to either rough him up a little and see if you can’t get some information out of him, or head to one of the upper levels. Second level has a few rooms most of you are using for personal affects and the third level is being used as a landing pad for a shuttle. Unlike the inside wares of the building, the superstructure is still in good condition. Raphael, obviously silence and rain are ‘nice’ but perhaps someone like you might prefer something more comfortable to listen to and be in.]

Daedalus and Darren; The magos almost imperceptibly nods in agreement but the real question for you is how to get in. Always the option of one of you leading the guards away and dealing with them while the other proceeds inside; or you could try going into the other hab-slum and make your way over the top of the warehouse. That could be a good idea.

[Daedalus, you switch visions to a more heat based sight, you are unable to detect anything in the second building’s upper levels but do determine there to be six life forms in the ground level. Looking to the first one, the one with guards, there are just as many inside. So whichever decision you two decide, you will need to be careful. Mini-update pending on choice and actions.]

Halvador; You peak outside into the rain and think you see one of the staff running down the street and turning a corner. You can only imagine why everyone fled, did they know more than any had given or something? Just as you turn to tell *Torek* about the person fleeing, the detective suddenly collapses to the ground and begins convulsing. You rush over to him, trying to make sure he does not choke on his own tongue or harm himself. As the spams begin to subside, you quickly look him over to see what happened and notice the slightest of puncture wounds from one of the shards from before. It had just scratched his flesh, but apparently that was enough. Checking *Torek’s* vitals, you detect that his heartbeat has become irregular.

[Do you help him and risk letting information slip away, or do you go after the runner and risk *Torek* ending up on a slab?]

Crypt; You return to the main room in time to see Viktor take a blow from something large. It takes him full in the chest before hurling him across the room only to bounce off a wall with a crunch. The ex catachan’s blade flies from his grip, embedding itself in a couch and managing to turn the thing over in the process. The enemy, a large servitor, turns to your presence and advances on you. Dodges to the side, you avoid its first blow before delivering one of your own to the inside of the servitors armpit. A wide swipe nearly takes you from your feet, and you could swear your hit did nothing.

[Viktor may be out for the count and your not exactly fully armed here. Could always go for your compatriots blade and try that, or use whatever weapons you have on your or something. This servitor is no joke, a blow will deal a fair amount of damage, but then again your no joke either, and you’re a warrior priest to boot.]


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

Gearth followed Evander down the stairs to the arbites black vehicle. As they all loaded into the vehicle, Gearth silently watched the head arbites turn and adress Evander.

“My apologies for all that; it was suspected that Opinek was less than pure and a detail had been assigned to watch over his home just in case whoever he might be in bed with went to his place for something. Add that to the trail of bones killer and most mysterious people start to look suspicious.” The arbites spoke. 

Gearth waited and listened as Evander conferred with the man. As they finished speaking, Gearth decided it was time to reveal the information he and William had obtained.

"Evander, when we were searching through Opinek's rooms we found two important things before we were interrupted." Gearth said looking at the arbites. "William found a box of obscura that the corrupted had tried hiding. I searched through Opinek's drawers and found a file on an anti-imperial cult called the Serpentine Infernum situated here, Baybel, and Canterburgh. Opinek had gone to lengths to hide these in his residence." Gearth sternly said. "It might bear worth looking into."

After talking with the team Gearth relaxed his head against the metal frame of the vehicle. Mouthing a prayer to Him on Earth, Gearth opened his eyes to see one of the 5 arbites officers glaring at him. Smiling, Gearth realized it was the same one that Gearth had punched earlier in the hab.

"Hows the face?" Gearth asked jokingly to the arbites


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The drive back to the operation base was relatively quiet. Raphael wasn’t bothered enough to make small talk, and instead hummed an old sailors tune to himself. It probably annoyed Jerico, and when that thought came to the Rogue Trader’s mind, he hummed louder. Rain wracked against the windscreen, marring the illuminated road. The wipers arched up, spraying away the wind-swept water. Jerico was a skilled driver, and Raphael commended him on that. Raphael could pilot the largest of warships if needed, but when it came to mere land crawlers; he was useless. 

After a short period of time they arrived at the base. Around the windows were charred rings, and a blackened streak passed along the centre of the building. Raphael had pondered what it had been when they had first arrived, but now he didn’t care. It was sufficient enough, though it was not as comfortable as his antiqued beds aboard his vessel. Raphael stepped out calmly and slammed the door shut behind him, using his cane as a purchase as squalls of rain hammered into his side. 

He hobbled through the entrance, a pair of reinforced doors that appeared to be far shabbier than they truly were. Thus was the way of the Inquisition. Deceitful but deadly, secretive but truthful. It was a web of lies and backstabbing, and Raphael enjoyed it immensely. He clambered up a flight of stares, illuminated in sickly green by a row of strip-lights. His assigned quarters were at the end of an adjacent hallway, the wood-framed doorway glistening slightly. 

He pompously marched forwards, patting away the traces of wetness still upon his face. His bodysuit remained dry, each individual section having a miniature thermal radiator embedded beneath the fibres. It had cost him a portion of his wealth, but it was one which Raphael could afford with ease. He pushed the door open with his boot, and a narrow crack of light parted the darkness. It partially revealed his bed, the red velvet blanket messily pulled across the rough surface.

Before entering, he slipped one arm between the gap and flicked on the illuminator lamp. Dim shades of orange crept across the ground; and slowly the other trio of lamps sputtered into life. His room was one of the larger within the building. It curled around in a rough semicircle, and in one of the rounded corners, a trio of cupboards nestled. They had been salvaged from the room, and now held an abundance of greatcoats and furs. Towards the other was a chemical shower and a rusting sink, but it was enough. 

Slowly, he stripped naked. His wry form shivered in the cold, but he embraced it. He was borne of the Void, the eternal iciness of space had accompanied him all of his life. This was a simple attempt to mock that above. 

He winced, feeling warm trickles slide down the small of his back. It was an horrible sensation, unnatural and alien. He reached one hand over his back, slipping a pair of fingers into the circular gash upon his shoulder. Blood bubbled, strands of meat dripping thick ichor beneath his nails. He pushed his fingers deeper, trying to incite a reaction. There was none, no pain nor relief. It was nothing. Much of his body was effectively dead to him, neither reacting to pain nor touch. Others, such as the soles of his feet and palms of his hands, stung daily. 

The Void-Pirate had traded in such sensations for eternal beauty. His gracefulness would never deteriorate, never mar. He fondled with a trunk set beneath his bed, sliding it out and flicking open the latches. He placed his weapons and clothes inside, swapping them for a narrow device. It whirred into life, strands of electricity dancing between the feelers atop of it. They stabilized into constant lines, sizzling the air and adding the stench of ozone to the room. 

Removing his hand from the wound, Raphael slowly hovered the device over it. His fingers were slick with crimson, dripping in a staccato fashion upon the cold ground. The aromatic tang of burning flesh drifted outwards. He grimaced, feeling the fibres unravel and entwine, and slowly the wound was cauterized. He deactivated the archaic thing and slipped it back into the chest, sliding it beneatht he bed with his foot.

He replaced his clothes, taking a golden-black bodyglove from one of the antiqued cupboards, slipping it over his form. The radiated material folded into every groove and bulge, taking his form but leaving it ambiguous to prying eyes. 

He sat upon his bed, rubbing his cheeks with his fingers. He was tired. His eyes fluttered open and close, and slowly he felt himself drifting away. To ward away the darkness he reached out and tuned the baroque music player, and a chortle of static filled the room. It startled him, before the music disc began to spin at extreme speeds. A blurting rendition of the Kontos’s famed opera music resounded outwards, crackling vehemently. 

Raphael adjusted the dials, leveling the volume out. He rested back, head sinking into his pillow, and allowed the music to play until his exhaustion became predominant. He dreamt of his fallen family, once again. He dreamt of riches long lost and murderous actions against rivals. But most importantly, he dreamt of the women..


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## Baron Spikey (Mar 26, 2008)

The incessant whistling, it was like a bellowing air horn placed next to his aching head!

Within moments of picking up Raphael the chemicals that Fabian had revived Jerico to some sort of painless functionality with began to dissipate, leaving behind a pressure that settled uncomfortably behind the left eye and a pulsing in his brain that made him think it was attempting to escape from its bony prison.

Noting his displeasure the Rogue Trader began to whistle ever louder, with a whispered curse disparaging the aristocrat’s parentage the battered Pilot depressed the small truck's accelerator further sending it hurtling through the murkily lit, puddle laden streets at a speed verging on the suicidal- anything to end this journey and escape the 'jaunty' tune currently pounding its way into his brain.
Pulling into the shadow of the building Jerico shut down the powerful Hauler's engine with a stutter and gurgling sigh, as he unclipped his safety harness Raphael was already stepping out of the vehicle cane in hand, no longer whistling to Jerico's relief. The smuggler joined him outside the vehicle but in the driving rain lost sight of his compatriot for a moment, thinking he'd made his way around to the rear of the vehicle in order to unload the 'passenger' Tobias slammed his own door and moved to the rear compartment door as well.

*"Right, if you cover me I'll grab the little shucker from the back-"* on not finding the Rogue Trader at the truck's rear Jerico trailed off in momentary confusion, before the sudden outpouring of light from the safe house doorway attracted his attention.
*"Seriously? You're just going to leave me to carry the target and secure him, in this?!"* shouted the amazed pilot, the rain and rising wind whipping away his words before they could possibly have reached their target, *"You arrogant bastard!"*

More vitriol would have been directed at the retreating voider if the wind hadn't chosen that moment to deposit significant amounts of rain water into Jerico's mouth, a coughing fit the result. With a final, head burstingly violent, retch the former smuggler threw open the plas-steel doors, grabbed the smaller man within by his shirt and levered him over one rather bruised shoulder- an off-balance kick with his flight boot firmly closed one door then the other, and with a groan of exertion he tramped through the double doors of the building.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unceremoniously dumping the gang boss onto the bare ferro-crete of the building's rear most store room, Jerico vented his frustrations by balling his fist and bringing it crashing into the jaw of the prisoner, who'd begun to groan and awaken, bouncing the back of his head off the floor and certainly rendering him unconscious once more.
Casting around for something to secure his prize Tobias' eyes alighted on some durable looking chains, a wicked smile lit up his features as an idea formed...

Turning his back on his now trussed up 'victim' safe in the knowledge that he wasn't going to be escaping before the Inquisitor returned to deal with him Jerico made his way towards the central staircase, the view over his shoulder showing the captive hogtied around an upright fuel drum which was itself firmly chained to a support beam.

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Not trusting himself around Raphael, and having no wish to listen to the noises the Rogue Trader considered music, Jerico continued past the 2nd level up the next set of stairs leading to the shuttle pad and its beautiful occupant.

Stepping out into the driving rain, though lessened by the construction of the shuttle pad's enclosed area, Jerico Tobias reflected once more on the Inquisitor's atmospheric/void craft. It was simply the most pugnaciously graceful creation he'd ever seen, it seemed almost like the bastard child of an Astartes Thunderhawk Gunship, Imperial Navy Aquila Lander, and Imperial Navy Starhawk Void-Bomber.
It had the elongated, solid form of the Starhawk- though not quite it's equal in length at just over 30m- but crossed with the Thunderhawk's proportionally larger armoured prow, assault ramp that led straight into the loading bay, and 3 engined design. It's wing structure was what really made this craft unique for it's size, and a pleasure to fly, though- akin to the Aquila it had numerous independent engine vents in it's tapered reverse swept wings, giving it a feathered like appearance, that made such a relatively large inter-atmospheric craft capable of the most unexpected maneuverability.


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

William was silent as they entered the Rhino and took their seats opposite of the Arbites Officers. He had to admit he was bit disappointed that a fight didn't happen to break out, they could have used the Arbites equipment to help infiltrate the department if they had needed to. 

He stared at the officer across from him, the one who had been proven to be an ex-guard member, *"My apologies for using your regiment as a lie. As you can see we did not know if we could trust you or not, and you us..."* he stopped and listened to what Gearth told Evander, not smart saying that in front of the Arbites, William still did not trust them as far as he could throw them....and that wasn't far indeed. 

He toyed with the idea of chiming in but decided to keep his mouth shut and simply look at Evander. As Gearth finished about the cult William's eyes caught Evander's and he patted his chest where he had placed the papers into a pocket on his vest. Hopefully his comrade would get the message that he still had the papers and to keep it silent until they figured who they could trust and who they could not.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

An slight nod, Daedalus had once been amazed that the clearly obvious gesture of shifting internal cogs to create a lowering effect went unnoticed by most, was all that the Magos did in confirmation of the bounty hunter's question. The buildings ahead were typically covered with filth in its halls and rooms, but flesh-being aside the dirt was also a problem, it masked heat signatures well, but not well enough that impressions could not be taken. A flash perceivable only to Daedalus lit up his vision as his thermal-vision activated and swept across both buildings, illuminating the residing defenders, though soon they would be nothing more than dismembered flesh and scorch marks on the already blackened walls.

The Magos' advanced vision showed nothing on the second floor, likely the crusts of filth were creating an absorbing affect that prevented the internal body temperatures of humans from being detected. A series of irritated clicks escaped from Daedalus's vox-transponder, fortunately nobody else would think anything of them and assume them to be simply the internal workings of the Magos and not an expression of annoyance. The first floor however showed outlines of organics, at least six units, all likely armed and ready to receive intruders.

"The primary section of the first complex contains six organic guard units, the secondary section is shielded by an external device, I cannot perceive past it," Daedalus lied, he would rather the hunter think that a powerful shield was blocking his sight than simple dirt absorbing heat. "The second complex contains the same total of guard units. I suggest we terminate all power feeds to the structures and commence a silent assault pattern. It is the most logical course of action," the tech-priest explained. If the hunter had any sense he would agree, Daedalus' suggestion was after all the logical choice, and logic was always right.


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

‘Well, I suppose we are finished here,’ Halvador said.

In response, Torek shook off his still-drenched rain slicker and began putting it on. Following suit, Halvador began walking towards the facility’s primary entrance.

‘It does beg the question,’ he continued, ‘why did they all leave? And so quickly, at that. I did not hear any announcements, anything to begin the evacuation of the mortuarium.’ He glanced at Torek, who merely shrugged in response. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll head back and rendezvous with the others and tell them what we’ve found.’

The entrance hissed open, and the eerie silence was shattered by the continuing monsoon. Looking left, he thought he saw something, _someone_, familiar. Quickly, he squinted, focusing his glasses to zoom in on the target. It was the mortician, sure enough, briskly retreating into the storm. The distant figure glanced behind his shoulder and saw Halvador staring at him. He took off into a dead sprint, disappearing around the corner.

Halvador could hardly believe his luck. While initially he had feared the entire staff had evacuated without a clue as to their destination or whereabouts, now he and Torek had been given an opportunity to detain the mortician and maybe get some answers after all.

‘Torek, I saw the mortician! He turned towards the marketplace! We can catch him!’ Halvador began to run, but was interrupted by the impact of a body on the streets. He turned back to see Torek lying in the gutter, convulsing violently. Fighting down the imminent panic that threatened to rise up in him, the medic forced his personal attachment to the man aside and swiftly knelt beside him.

_ During seizures, the greatest danger to a patient is swallowing his own tongue. _He deftly reached into his bag, knowing precisely where his pliers and seizure kit were. Swinging his legs over Torek, he secured the man’s head and neck between his thighs. He forced the wedge from his teeth-block kit into Torek’s mouth, knowing that a few broken teeth would be immaterial if the man choked to death. He gingerly reached into the man’s mouth, grasping onto his tongue with the pliers while Torek still shook with uncontrollable force.

Struggling to keep him stable, Halvador finally managed to fit a clamp onto his tongue, securing it outside of his mouth. The makeshift contraption that he had designed would both force the teeth to stay separated to prevent biting through the tongue and would keep the tongue protruding, thereby making it all but impossible to swallow.

He bent forward, trying to secure the body of the man as his spasms subsided as quickly as they began. _Ascertain the cause of the ailment._ Now that he had stabilized Torek for now, he began to search for what had caused his abrupt and violent decline in health. He scanned him quickly, starting at his head and searching for any sort of discolouration or other skin anomalies that would signify the source of any sort of contaminant.

_Cranium... clear_. He ran his fingers along the other man’s chest, feeling for any abnormalities in tone or inconsistencies in muscle tissue. _No injuries to the chest cavity_. Tracing his hands down Torek’s arm, he caught sight of a single drop of blood on the other man’s digitus minimus. _Something cut him there._

The finger had to be the source of Torek’s ailment. ‘What would have caused...’ he wondered out loud. Before the words had escaped his mouth, he felt the oppressive blanket of dread drape over him. _The xeno particulates_, he realized. _Frak._

If this wound was caused by the same projectiles which had doubtlessly ended Bendig’s life, there was little hope for Torek. His heart had been pumping the xeno-toxins through his blood stream for several minutes by now, there was little hope that his entire system had not been contaminated. Halvador frowned deeply, knowing that there was unfortunately little he could do for the man.

Checking Torek’s pulse, he felt that his heartbeat had grown broken, weak, and sporadic. The toxin had spread, all right, and most likely to a fatal degree. While he was not one to accept ‘most likely’ in terms of medical treatment, he had not forgotten the mortician fleeing in the rain, nor his duty and charge from the Inquisitor.

Weighing the options, he knew there was little he could do for the man, and that the Inquisitor would not be forgiving if Halvador failed to chase down what could be a lead in the investigation. _I have to leave him..._

He did not, however, have to give up. Quickly, he pulled a syringe from his pocket and jammed it into Torek’s femoral artery. While the drug would stop his heart, it would also stop the spread of the toxins. If the others were close, they may be able to evacuate the detective in time to an actual facility where proper care could be administered.

Stuffing his tools back into their various pockets, Halvador took off into the rain in pursuit of the mortician. Not breaking his brisk pace, he keyed his microbead, ‘Jackcrest One this is Jackcrest Two, one man down at the mortuary, Doc is in pursuit of a suspect, requesting immediate aid and evac for Glove!’


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## Masked Jackal (Dec 16, 2009)

The few seconds after Evander made his threat were tense, everyone seeming to watch the other party to see what they all would do. Finally, the officer raised his visor, and gave a wink, before loudly declaring they would be taking the agents hostage. *They're hiding our involvement. This must go deep. Their caution is well-appreciated however, especially if me and Antony weren't just imagining things._*

_Evander submitted to their rather rough escort of him and his agents out of the hab. On some level their actions irked him, but he knew how necessary it was. Finally, they came to a black Rhino, and climbed in, the officer sitting down across from Evander on one of the benches. Evander likewise sat down across from him as he began speaking. _“My apologies for all that; it was suspected that Opinek was less than pure and a detail had been assigned to watch over his home just in case whoever he might be in bed with went to his place for something. Add that to the trail of bones killer and most mysterious people start to look suspicious.”_

_"I understand. Much of what I've seen so far indicates this goes deep. Caution is only safe in these matters."  _Just how deep was the question. Evander was about to open his mouth to ask another question when Gearth decided to report his findings. _ "Evander, when we were searching through Opinek's rooms we found two important things before we were interrupted. William found a box of obscura that the corrupted had tried hiding. I searched through Opinek's drawers and found a file on an anti-imperial cult called the Serpentine Infernum situated here, Baybel, and Canterburgh. Opinek had gone to lengths to hide these in his residence. It might bear worth looking into."_

Evander kept his expression neutral as Gearth spilled the beans in front of all the Arbites. He restrained himself from reprimanding him, and reminded himself to establish to the man the importance of caution here. They couldn't trust anyone.

However, an obscura addiction and possible membership in a cult. Perhaps there was a connection, but they'd need to learn more about this cult first. A little flash of movement from William caught Evander's eye, and he saw the man patting his chest. William had the papers and had hid them in one of this pockets? If so, that was good, William was showing more skill than Gearth, as expected for 

_"Well, have you heard of this cult? Investigated it perhaps?"_ If it had gained a foothold with Opinek, any of the Arbites could be members. Evander carefully glanced at the other officers, looking for signs of agitation or distress. Couldn't be too careful.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Daedalus spoke up, as they hid behind a stack of crates. Darren really wanted to move in and check out what was going on in there that there was such heavy security. Surely the Inquisitor would do the same in his position. He turned to Daedalus who told him the numbers of the enemies and their locations. Apart from those on the second floor which he couldn't see. He said it was some kind of shielding but Darren wasn't so sure. He would have to believe in Daedalus as his back up and being able to see where Darren could not.

Darren turned to Daedalus _"I agree, we really need to have a closer look at whatever is inside. I bet that it is on the second floor, if there is anything of value. Since you have the better sight due to your... "upgrades" do you fancy taking a look at the second structure while I take down the exterior guards and turn off the power? I have had experiences in situations like this and know that we will need to hit both complexes at the same time to stop any rise in the alarm."_ He looked at Daedalus not sure how his fellow Inquisitorial member would react. The chances of them succeeding while they were split up must be lower, but if they took too long defeating the guards in the first complex and made too much noise then the guards in the second one would be on to them making their job a lot tougher.

Darren had fought in these circumstances before, being a bounty hunter he was used to evading and cutting the power before entering, and was sure that this would come into handy. He didn't trust the Magos with turning the power off as he would stick out more, and Darren wasn't sure if he could move all that quietly. That said if he could move like he could see then Darren would be proven wrong, he had no idea really.


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

Evander, Gearth, and William; Upon hearing the name Serpentine Infernum spoken aloud, the arbites troopers sitting opposite you look back and forth at each other. _“Opinek was looking into them, some sort of pro-xenos cult if his reports are to be believed. Best guess is they had something to do with his death, but we have no way of proving anything. ”_ The sergeant said to Evander. Looking at the other troopers, few of them looked happy after hearing of the information discovered by William and Gearth.

After twenty minutes of being confined in the rhino, the vehicle finally came to a halt and the rear gangway dropped down. The arbites troopers quickly filed out into the rain slick roadway, the sergeant turning for you to follow him and the others into the looming building that is the arbites precinct house. Once within, you are led through several checkpoints, the first of which nearly leads to violence until the sergeant whispers something to the head guard, undoubtedly revealing or hinting to your affiliation. Several winding stone stairs and barely lit corridors later, you are led into a large meeting room dominated by a triangular table with chairs. In it are several more formally dressed officers, who avert their attention to you. _“Captain Tabirin, Sergeants Obrien and Chu these are the inquisitorial operatives we discovered in Opinek’s home.”_

[What do you make of this revelation of the group Serpentine Infernum? While making way through the precinct house, the sergeant mentioned to Evander that after Opinek died, he and his squad were ordered to look into the case, which was why they responded to the intrusion so fast. Gearth, while making way through the precinct house, that one trooper remains all but attached to your neck, prodding and shoving you forward. Do you do anything about it? William, the ‘scene’ during one of the checkpoints is more or less your fault, when one of your weapons is discovered and you refuse to give it up. Upon entering the meeting chamber, what are your impressions, and do you say anything to the captain and sergeants or wait for them to speak first?]

Darren; You make your way to the pair of guards outside the one building, both take notice of you almost at once and one steps forward to halt you. He holds a metal club in both hands, and his partner seems to be trying to conceal shotgun on his person, though he is either doing a bad job of it or trying to do a bad job of it, odds are not the latter.

[The one guard stops you in the middle of the street, putting a large arm to your chest and trying to shove you backward, barking something akin to a warning for you to leave before you get hurt. When he does this though, the push doesn’t work and actually leaves him a bit open for you to counter him in some way. Choice is yours on how you want to handle this.]

Daedalus; When the bounty hunter moves off without a further word, you again scan the building but get the same result. If there is anyone else in the building then you simply cannot tell. You watch one of the guards walk to bar Darren’s path, trying to shove him back. The attention of both guards is on the bounty hunter, which means you could actually cut power to the building yourself, being one who would be much more qualified for such a thing. Imagine the damage the oaf bounty hunter might cause if he acted instead, who knows how much he would anger the machine spirit, might even call upon the wrath of the Omnissiah!

[It is not hard for you to locate a coupling for the building’s power; your advanced systems making it possible for you to deactivate power, though it would take a few minutes for you to do so. Alternatively, you could just help Darren take out the guards and the two of you enter the building and deal with anyone else you encountered, maybe even take someone for information extraction.]

Jerico; Emerging on the roof of the temporary base of operations, you are afforded a view of a portion of this town. Despite the rain, it has some sort of beauty to it, but Fabian’s vessel , _Pilgrimage_, looks better as far as your concerned. Activating a rune on your belt, the main hatch hisses open. The smell of recycled air permeates the area, and brings a smile to your features. Making your way up the metal grating, the internal sensors take notice of your movement and glow globes slowly wink into life, revealing the gunmetal interior leading to the different portions of the ship.

Climbing to the cockpit, you drop into the pilots throne, the dark cracked leather almost reshaping to your body. You check several readings, noting the location of Raphaels vessel in high anchor as well as the other locations for the rest of Fabian’s teams. After minutes running diagnostic and getting lost in thought, you become aware of someone in the co-pilots chair. Turning your head, you are startled to see Fabian sitting there with a bottle in hand. _“How’s the target?”_ The inquisitor asks before taking a draw from the bottle held in his gloved hand, reclining in his seat, legs actually resting on the console.

[I don’t think I have to give you much prompt here; obviously amongst other things answer the man. When you do he will pass you the bottle and press a few buttons, a notification for Raphael to return to the _Pilgrimage_.]

Raphael; Lost in your thoughts, you look back to the past and how things came to be with Fabian. The final details of your arrangement with the man remained between the two of you and no other. A chiming brings you back to reality, notification to return to the inquisitors ship perched on the roof of the building. You leave the music playing, selecting something new to wear and returning your affects to their proper place before making your way up. Whatever the pilot wanted was likely not to important, or he would have made a verbal contact.

The cold rain hits you like needles, forcing you to dash into the lowered ramp and further up into the ship. For a second you think of calling out to Jerico, but then think better of it, knowing full well he is probably in the ships cockpit anyway.

[Again, I don’t think I have to give you too much prompt here. When you do make it up to the cockpit, you are surprised to see Fabian with Jerico. Though more importantly, might be good to inquire what the inquisitor wants.]

Halvador; You spring away from *Torek’s* prone form, getting no response from *Crypt* or *Viktor*. It is possible that the weather is having some sort of detrimental effect on the vox’s range, or they just might not be able to respond, either way it does not look good for the detective. Turning a corner, you spot the mortician duck through several shanty-shops in an attempt to lose you. From the glimpse you got of him, you’d swear his was fleeing from you out of fear for some reason, but why?

As you continue to follow the man, there is the distinct feeling of being watched, and you could swear there was movement out of the corner of your eye. But when you turn to find it, there is nothing; just the empty rain filled night. A horrid scream brings your attention back to where the mortician had run to and you continue after him. Hopping a fence into an alley, something dark flashes down the opposite end with what appeared to be the moritician in tow, or at least most of him. At your feet lies one of his hands, the one end smoking from whatever had taken it from the man. Looking over the severed limb, the cut is clean, almost surgical in precision, and not caused by some sort of heat based object or one that makes use of a powerfield.

[That can’t be good; what do you do now though? Continue after a possible lead, or try to get the others or find help for *Torek*? If whatever that thing was could sever a limb with relative ease, not even a full minute had passed between the scream and you finding the limb.]

Antony and Crypt; Your still on the previous update


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## Baron Spikey (Mar 26, 2008)

Stepping away from the roof's doorway Jerico Tobias ambled towards _Pilgrimage,_ a contented smile lighting his features, each footfall driving the headache that had plagued him moments before further into the recent past. Slipping one gloved finger behind his toughened hide-canvas flight belt the, seemingly, entranced rogue firmly depressed a rune that on inspection looked as if it was merely part of the simple geometric design decorating the garment- in response the gunship's assault ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics and a throaty snarl of gears, as always the sound delighted the itinerant pilot as it reminded him of a large felinid's welcoming growl. 

Technically the craft wasn't a gunship but a void-capable shuttle, the word 'shuttle' always seemed too drab a term to describe such a graceful brute in Jerico's mind though, 'gunship' invoked a romanticised imagery of combat he'd received from the popular holo-dramas of his youth.
With a chuckle at his own self-delusion he jogged up the grated ramp, out of the rain, and into _Pilgrimage_'s interior loading bay, the internal sensors taking note of his movement with glow globes slowly winking into life, revealing the gunmetal interior leading to the different portions of the ship.

Clambering up the fore-ladder in the loading bay led him directly into the spacious cockpit, dashes and buttons lighting up as if greeting him- manoeuvring past the Navigator's chair he dropped into 'his' chair, chief-pilot that was him, best damn fly-boy in this retinue or any other, to the warp with what the damn Rogue Trader might think, a creak of old softened leather moulding to him was all Jerico needed to banish any residual aches- he was a knight of old and this was his charger, destined to rescue damsel's in distress and get the treasure from the wicked monster.
_*"And what ever else it is knights do"*_ he muttered as he leaned over the side of his 'throne' to check on the fuel pressure gauge, it was notoriously difficult and he wanted to be sure his warbeast was in fighting fit form before any take offs- he bloody didn't want to be hovering anywhere and have the fuel pressure take a dive with no warning, that was a mighty fine way to find out what it felt like to be inside a fireball.

Not seeing any external faults Jerico promised himself that he'd ask the cog boy to have a look-see at it when he had the opportunity and, without outwardly seeming to notice the shadow quick form that passed just outside of his peripheral vision, the wily rogue made a show of checking the sensor screens of his own simplistic navigator panel all the while inching his left hand closer to the over-charged las pistol he stored in his seat for just such occasions.
It took a few tortuous minutes but as soon as his palm found the butt of the pistol he whirled his seat round to face who ever had gotten round him into the co-pilot's seat, with a startled gasp Jerico let go of his las pistol feeling it slide back into it's discreet holster as he processed the sight of the seat's occupant.

Fabian was sitting there with a bottle in hand. *“How’s the target?”* The Inquisitor asked nonchantly before taking a draw from the bottle held in his gloved hand, reclined in his seat, legs actually resting on the console.
_*"Erm, he's secure...sir"*_ gulped Jerico, hoping to all the God-Emperor's Saints that Fabian hadn't noticed that the pilot had almost pulled a gun on him, _*"in the disused garage bay, no way he's getting free...you know unless he was a witch or something"*_ the ex-smuggler said trailing off with a weak chuckle, disheartened by the lack of even a faint smile from his master.
_*"So, eh I'll call the dic...Raphael then if your here"*_ muttered Jerico still pumped with terror adrenalin, a flick of a simple switch sent one of the dozen or so communication lights on his console from red to green before returning to red again.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Darren got some sort of what he thought was a nod from the Magos and took that as the plan. Of course all the best laid plans go awry, and they may be forced to improvise. Darren took a moment to look at the Magos. He was not so sure that Daedalus would be able to improvise if it was demanded of him. Darren could, he had done it countless times before trying to get his mark when he was inside a well defended building, though he normally had some local law enforcement agents working for him at the time. He took one last look at Daedalus before nodding to him, "Well then we better get moving, can't waste too much time here we need to get back to the main job at hand." Darren said before standing from his cover and weaving through the maze of crates and pallets as he moved closer to the targets.

He wrapped his coat around him as he walked, concealing his shock maul as he moved towards the target building. He was having some doubts now, his raids had been better prepared and had more time for the planning. He also normally had his trusty carbine with him so he could take out pesky targets from a distance. He cursed his luck of not having his rifle, and the fact that the Magos didn't have a long range weapon to cover him if things went haywire.

Darren steadied his nerves as he moved towards the front guards, he pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind, he knew that the Magos was a servant of the Emperor and the Inquisition. It may not be the most ideal in Darren's mind but he would have to make do, the Magos was dependable he was sure of it. He looked up as both the guards saw him coming towards them a smirk on one of their faces. One of the two guards stood and walked straight towards him, he was trying to halt Darren and Darren could see that he wasn't even trying to conceal the metal bar. He was obviously trying to force Darren away with force and Darren almost smiled at this. Countless times he had been met with this same response and each time he had met it with the same type of force.

His right hand slipped into his coat as he grabbed a hold of his shock mace, ready to activate it in one go and knock down his opponent. His eyes focussed however on a different threat, the other guard was trying to conceal a shotgun underneath his cloak, and would be a problem for Darren. 

The guard stopped him in the middle of the street, and Darren could smell the taste of **** on his breath. Darren released his grip on his mace, he didn't need it yet. This gurad was cocky thinking that he would be able to beat one unarmed man easily. He felt a large thick arm it him in the chest as the guard attempted to push Darren backwards, yelling at him to leave before he got hurt. Darren didn't move back a pace but instead stepped forward. The guard was left open by his pushing act and there was no way that Darren wasn't going to take this opportunity to take him down and put him in his place.

Darren smacked out with his fist, fast and clean to the man's temple, causing him to yelp in pain. Darren quickly moved forward grabbing a hold of the man's arms, and lashing out with his foot at the same time forcing the man to his knees. Darren roughly pulled him round so he was in front of the other guard meaning that he couldn't shoot without risking hurting his friend. But you never knew with these guys what was going to happen and Darren hoped Daedalus saw that he was in trouble and flanked the guard with the gun.


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

*Streets of Jackcrest - Halvador Sytari*

Each footfall splashed in the onrush of the rainwater flooding the footpath as Halvador rushed after the mortician. He had been unable to hail the other operatives in town, probably due to atmospheric disturbances and that, no matter what, comms gear would always mess up. That much he had learned years ago, the hard way.

Despite his small stature, the doctor’s lanky frame had always helped him as a runner. He had prided himself on running the three-kilometre race back at the Schola Medicum in just shy of ten standard minutes. The trail curved around to his right, meaning that he was following him... he furrowed his brow for a minute, straining to keep his mental map accurate, _ah, south._ The primary market should be coming in a few kilometres. He desperately needed to catch the man before they reached the crowded area, where it would be all-too-easy for his target to lose the doctor in the heavily populated and trafficked area.

Someone fell over ahead as they were violently pushed into a storefront. _The mortician_, Halvador thought. The man must be frantic in his flight, which meant he may have realized that Halvador was not, in fact, a representative from the local government. _Had someone talked?_ A leak within the Inquisitor’s organization seemed highly unlikely. However... one cannot be betrayed by one who is not trusted. The Inquisitor himself had told Halvador those words, hinting at the ever-present possibility of betrayal.

He forces the thoughts from his mind as he rushed upon the pedestrian. It was a middle aged woman, clearly shocked at the unexpected assault. Conducting a quick scan with his spectacles as he sprinted past, he caught no sign of any serious injuries. _Even if she were hurt, I would have to ignore her..._ He knew that the Inquisitor would not look favourably upon losing a lead simply to treat what he considered ‘collateral damage.’

He saw the distant outline abruptly turn a corner, heading towards the market. _Dammit._ Hopefully, the rain had deterred most of the residents from getting their shopping done, but the locals were so damned stubborn they were as likely to get groceries today as when there were no clouds to be seen.

By the time Halvador reached the corner, he had narrowed the distance to less than a hundred meters between them. He knew that the mortician was tiring, as any normal human would have been on the verge of hyperventilation after this much running.
Over the roar of the downpour, Halvador could hear the man crashing through the plethora of shanty-shops lining filling the open square. Hundreds of shops, owned by the destitute and desperate and filled with any knock-off or cheap ware that could be found, stood between Halvador and the mortician. While the doctor was an excellent runner, he was by no means a hurdler. _This could be problematic._ He began manoeuvring through the tables and huts, thankfully abandoned due to the storm.

Enough was enough, Halvador decided. The time for covertness was over, and the only way to maximize the probability of success of the man’s detention or questioning was... the truth.

‘Stop!’ he shouted, ‘Stop, in the name of the Emperor and His Holy Inquisition!’ At that, the mortician paused while Halvador made his way in the man’s direction as quick as he could force his legs to move.

Zooming in with his spectacles, Halvador made a sudden, disconcerting observation. The man’s eyes were enormous, open to the point of nearly protruding from his skull. The bloodshot orbs were completely replete with terror, an unholy fright that had no place in Jackcrest. The mortician seemed to focus to the right, before his terror seemed to escalate. He turned and ran into the night.

Halvador shivered from more than the cold when he followed where the man had looked. Something was there, skulking in the shadows. _I am not alone..._


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

As the bounty hunter moved off Daedalus took a few nano-seconds to enjoy his solitude and let the sound of his internal systems spread into his auditory capacitors, it was oddly soothing to hear his own body at operational capacity. The sound of mechanical perfection was like a symphony, each shifting gear an instrument and each successful turn a note in the piece, and when in concordance with each they produced a musical piece that to Magos Technicus Daedalus was more beautiful than anything flesh-humans could produce, it was more awe-inspiring than a Titan striding into battle, and more perfect than a well-maintained factorum operating at peak capacity.

Before even a second had passed the Tech-Priest had enjoyed his reverie and set off, his optical sensors active. He scanned the structures again, the end results were consistent with what he had scanned before. At least two organics, both armed and hostile, were present within the structure, and both were focused on the bounty hunter who had foolishly gone directly ahead. Daedalus would not allow him to use any tools on the blessed systems of the structure's generator, even a broken down trash-receptacle like this deserved dignity and the precious care of a Tech-Priest of Mars, not an arrogant organic that would simply tear out a few wires without regard to the capacitors or the internal couplings. The machine-spirits would be enraged by such treatment, and that would not be permitted.

Daedalus muted all exterior sound output and entered the structure, allowing the bounty hunter to receive the benefits of his own rash actions, if he suffered a damaged appendage in the process then that would be a learning experience. Death was extreme though, Daedalus would not allow that, not out of a sense of comradeship or protectiveness but simply that the Inquisitor would chastise him for such an act, and Daedalus did not feel like having a prolonged discussion with the Inquisitor over such a trivial thing. As the guards began to brawl with the hunter Daedalus quietly access the wall panel for the power systems, a temporary shutdown would serve them best. Muttering a brief prayer to the Omnissiah to forgive him for shutting down one of his hallowed machines for the greater good of all his servants and his holy vessels, he interfaced with the panel, allowing his tendrils to enter its access ports, and began the shutdown procedures.

As the lights died, plunging the building into darkness, Daedalus paused for a brief moment before quickly drawing his weapon, an electronic impulse switching it to a silence shot, and fired. Outside the guard about to blast the bounty hunter suddenly stopped and fell, his chest a smoking impact crater. Turning to regard the hunter, though himself invisible in the darkness, Daedalus activated his vox-transponder for a brief communication.

_'Your operational efficiency is proving insufficient bounty hunter, you should hurry and increase your output by 34% to reach an acceptable output standard.'_


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

_The Warp is tempestuous. It is dangerous, a constant area of fluxing anomalies, soul-depriving monstrosities and piratical raiders. The vessel plunges through the Warp, through immaterial waves, more cathedral than ship. Great battlements and buttresses flank the vessel, each embedded with immense weapons, ones that can shatter worlds in an instant. The pinnacle of Mankind sits atop of the ship, a great domed edifice, studded with weaponry systems and symbols of the Emperor.

Raphael Kontos sighs slowly, inwardly. He sits upon the bridge of his humungous mount, a breathing apparatus obscuring his regenerated features, a flurry of pipes sending slurring liquids into his body. A burnished light radiates from him, badly mimicking the colour of his flesh. Beneath him, hundreds of his loyal servants work at consoles, some weeping tears of crimson, others merely mechanical-men. Forbidden lore has allowed Kontos to build himself an empire, to flourish in the darkness that none other possibly could. 

‘Warp object.’ The ship speaks to his mind, a piercing shriek that draws a string of thick blood from his nostrils. 

‘Identify.’ He replies, his voice rendered monotone by his splicing with the ship herself. 

‘Inquisitorial Corvette, adrift. Damaged… Injured…’ 

An Inquisitorial Corvette will bring Raphael great riches, it will make him famous. Few Rogue Traders have had such bounties before, Raphael will be a legend amongst his descendants. 

‘Vision screens. Now.’ He demands, hands clenching on his ornamental throne.

The great screen that is poised against the wall of the bridge, before his crew, flickers. It shows a behemoth, afloat in the Immaterium. Great silvery bands extend from rents in her side, interweaved with conduits and frozen bodies. Across the hull, *‘Inconceivable.’ *is wrote in fine gold. There is no sign of the bridge, and in its stead remains a great, cadaverous rent. 

‘Imperial vessel, Imperial vessel. We are in need of immediate aid. I repeat, we are in need of immediate aid.’ Suddenly blurts onto the bridge, ignoring all of the firewalls emplace to halt such things.

‘Inquisitorial vessel *Inconceivable*, whom am I talking with?’ Sends Raphael, across the void to the ship.

‘Fabian. You are talking with Inquisitor Fabian.’_

++++++++

A sudden chiming awakened Raphael. His memories were dissipated, left to fester amongst the annals of his mind. Raphael’s eyes fluttered open, to the crackle of his music. The trio of pings, alerted him that he was needed at the good Inquisitor’s ship, atop the roof. He stood, and slowly undressed once again, looking for a new set of clothes to place on him. He needed his bodysuits to be immaculate, and bringing them back out into the weather, was not exactly going to do that.

The Rogue Trader took up a long, fur trimmed great coat. Beneath it, he slipped into a pair of ribbed breeches. He collected his boots, twisting his feet into them. He proceeded to do the laces up, and then slipped the ends of the breeches into them, folding the edges in the process. He left his coat unbuttoned, showing his musculature and his tattooed torso. He quickly fitted his cutlass to his hip, the scabbard tip dragging across the floor. 

‘Up I go.’ He snorted, making his way throughout the old warehouse.

He quickly took the flight of steps, two at a time, each wide step drawing an hiss of hair from between his clenched teeth. The door was held ajar by a fat pot, allowing the flash of thunder to illuminate the steps. Rain pattered inwards, wiping away an accumulation of dust and mud. He had no idea how mud had been collected here, probably from that buffoon, Jerico. He was an idiot sometimes, a sign of his lowborn origins, clearly.

Raphael delved into the rain, feeling it spear into his flesh. The hatchway of the ship was open, and Raphael quickly clambered aboard, from the needling weather. He ran one hand through his hair, throwing the individual dreadlocks back, water flinging away. The interior of the ship was surprisingly baroque, much like many of the items which belonged to Fabian.

‘Jer-’ He shut himself up, quickly. The pilot was probably up in the cockpit, fumbling with his consoles. 

He stalked forwards, sniffing. The cockpit was nearby, and the distinct tang of alcohol was strong. Either Jerico was drinking, or someone hadn’t cleared away their latest batch of spilled drink. He entered the cockpit, and caught a distinct flash of copper. Raphael turned slowly, and stared into the eyes of Inquisitor Fabian.

_‘You, again?’ _


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

A shiver ran up Halvador's spine, overwhelming the adrenaline pumping through his system. Something was not right, something was off.

A blood-curdling scream echoed in the night, snagging his attention back to the chase. He quickly looked back in the direction of his quarry. The man had vanished into the deluge, probably into the alley at the far end of the market. Taking a few wary glances but still seeing nothing, Halvador jogged towards the alley.

He jumped the fence, finding purchase in the chain links with his boots and swinging his legs over the top. He landed on a bulge, an awkward protrusion from the dirt below. The world spun as he tumbled backwards into the fence, thrown off balance from the object.

Covered in mud, he groped for the object and grabbed hold of it.

To his horror, in his hand was the severed arm of the mortician.


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