Dark Heresy: The White Chamber

As Alarius moved forwards, Caine's mechadendrites simply dropped to the ground, the tips digging in just in front of the Tech Preist, and three of the gangers moved to attack him, one armed with a stub revolver, the other two with wicked looking knives.

as the first raised his stubb pistol and fired, Caine's mechadendrites tensed and flung the Acolyte forwards, he grasper tipped devices whipping forward and slamming into the chests of the knife weilders as Caine himself slammed into the Ganger with the pistol.

the Ganger tried to strike the adept, but everywhere he struck with the but of his pistol clanged with metal, either augmentics or armor, and Caine's sheer weight kept the Tech-Artisan atop his prey

"I am the Omnissiah's mailed fist" Caine roared as the mechadendrites impaling the two standing gangers writhed and flung themselves about, tearing great chunks of flesh and organs from their victims, and the two slumped, their chest cavities bared for all to see.

heavy fists grippedm the Gangers wrists, cutting off the circulation to his hands, and two Mechadendrites slithered around his legs like constricting snakes, of the other two mechadendrites, one grasped the Gangers jaw and held it open, the other slithered inside and down his throat, the Ganger began to spasm and his writhing intensified, and he gagged, bile spilling from his mouth around the mechadendrite, through soon that bile was laced with red, and eventually, as the mechandendrite removed itself and wriggled along the torn scraps of clothjing the ganger wore ina n attempt to clean itself, there was more blood than bile.

Caine lifted himself to his feet and drew his hellpistol, moving to support his comrades with any remaining gangers.
 
Zayin had remained uncharacteristically silent for the past several weeks, following their ordeal on the space hulk. He was less petulant and more introspective (though he was still miffed at having been so man-handled by their arbites comrade). Having put serious thought into the way he acted and operated, he was determined to prove himself, at the very least, a valuable asset to the team. He was going to be their psyker, a valuable link to the heavy chain they would become in lifting and maintaining the Imperium and the Inquisition above the scum and the disease of the universe. He would be their font of warp-knowledge, and their warp-infused sword of wrath when called for. He was determined to be of invaluable worth to the Inquisiton.

He also was determined to fight the urges to murder them all in their sleeping creches during their next warp jump. He would not give in to that temptation. Not when the Emperor counted on his devotion and faith to help keep the sheep from being slaughtered. His faith and work was the key to keep his soul from being devoured by the foul psuedo-deities of the warp, the Dark Gods themselves. So long as he remained faithful and dutiful, the carnal temptations of Slaanesh and the dark promises of Tzeentch would be filtered out and away.

Or so he hoped. He could even now hear the faint whispers of something at the edge of his mind.

With a shiver, his head receded deeper into the heavy leather hood of his long flack coat, buttoned up tightly to both protect him from the elements of the filth of the hive and to help make him look more incognito among a group of Imperials that would normally stick out. It was a small protection, but a protection nonetheless; the deep hood of the coat had minor sigils of power to both protect his mental pathways and to help hide his psychic mark; it was a literal psychic hood, if nowhere near as effective. He had opted to leave his psy-staff (which had undergone a drastic upgrade) on the ship. Nothing screamed 'Psyker here!' like a 2 meter staff topped off with a heavy, burnished-metal Aquila.

He maintained a position in the group towards the rear, his hands tucked together in either sleeve of his coat like some sort of monk. He had nearly ran into the back of their mechanicus ally, Caine, when they had come to a sudden stop at the arrival of a group of hive gangers. Zayin couldn't help but crack a grin and run a hand along one of the many tattoos he had running over his body; a mark of his past life. He had been a ganger once. He had run with a pretty tough crew, before leading it for a short while. Then he saw action in the Guard, and things happened to change his life forever.

The members of the Inquisitorial team responded with swift, merciless action when the gang had refused to stand down. Zayin had no moral compunction about it (if he had any kind of moral system to begin with). Besides, they were given a fair warning.

Responding just a hair behind the others, Zayin threw back his hood and snarled as he filled himself with power. He had been hiding from his mental warp ways for some time, but now that he was acting in duty to Him, he knew he could unleash his fury with no worries. The Emperor does, after all, protect.

Stepping forward, he made a clawed hand gesture as he lifted the closest ganger into the air, crushing his windpipe as he made him the focus of his warp-filled fury. Turning the body parallel to the ground, he sent forth a burst of telekinetic power and shoved the now-dead ganger forward with the force of a truck. The first two hit by the organic missile had all of the kinetic energy transferred into them at point-blank range. Needless to say, limbs were lost and gore was showered.
 
A part of Garen would have preferred to settle the dispute verbally, without much undue bloodshed. Perhaps they could have reasoned with the gang. They could have made an example of one to cow the others. He pondered this possibility until he was spattered in the mask by blood from Caine's antics.

He hadn't seen the two hive scum closing in on him until he reached up to wipe the blood away. The first was carrying a flanged club of some generic make, bearing in to deliver it to Garen's face. The former stormtrooper stepped aside almost casually, allowing the deadly head of the weapon to pace mere inches in front of him as he grabbed the man's wrist and helped him along. The added momentum flipped the ganger forward to land clean on his back, but Garen had already locked the elbow and leaned an armoured knee into it with a sickening crunch.

The ganger's anguished scream filled the air, punctuated by the bark of a stub pistol. Garen recoiled slightly as the shots impacted his carapace armor, whipping his head around to lock his gaze on the other ganger who had approached him. But the man was slack jawed and terrified, watching in horror as Alarius pulled the head from one of his friends as casually as someone would when picking flowers, and as Zayin sent limbs flying in all directions with the fury of the warp. Caine's spectacle sealed the deal as mechandendrites writhed out of yet another corpse. The ganger broke half a second later, stim-fuelled muscles sending him sailing from the alleyway. Garen drew his laspistol from his kneeling position and shot the fleeing gang member in one clean motion, lasbolt passing through the back of the man's head as the oxidizing crack from the heat of the laser sent the contents of his skull ahead of him.

The ganger beneath Garen was still flailing and shrieking like a banshee, desperation causing him to batter his broken arm against Garen in an effort to shove the acolyte off of his chest. There wasn't going to be any mercy today, however. Garen simply wasn't in the mood. He shifted his knee again and pressed down into the man's jugular until he felt the resistance give way with a soft crumple. The ganger's eyes rolled into the back of his head and the limbs stopped moving.
 
Those who gangers were left charged forwards screaming various cries in whichever dialect their section of the hive used. A massive adhuman brute wielding a section of thick pipe with jagged metal grafted on to form a crude mace rushed past one of the mangled corpse in the grips of Cain's mechadendrites and made strait for the unarmoured Severus. With a dumb grunt of brutish satisfaction the orgyn swung its weapon to crush the man standing before it. Only instead of a sickening thud there was a loud clang as the weapon struck the floor shock from the impact traveling up its pitted metal length and jarring the arm of it's wielder as Severus rolled sideways easily avoiding the blow. There was a flash of metal and the ogryn bellowed in pain as Severus' knife found the vulnerable back of its knee. It fell sideways the limb useless as sinews and cartridge were cut. Confusion showed on its twisted features, and wide-eyed fear as it tried to get up. It didn't get the chance as Severus cut its spine with his sharp blade, where it stuck.
 
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The sudden offensive of Caine and Alarius had thrown the gangers onto the back foot. And when Zayin had tossed a man through their ranks at high velocity, any chance of them making an organised assault had evaporated. With Severus and Garen picking off the stragglers, the group around the leader were reduced to a mass of cries, panic-fire and doomed flesh.

Julius picked off the two gun-wielders, almost casual in his manner, aiming left then right. The two bodyguards were flung back as their necks and shoulders were torn, while a third man, a juve barely into puberty, swung a chain at the advancing form of Vates. The Arbitrator brought up his power maul, blocking the chain and allowing it to coil around it like a snake. Then he yanked hard, pulling the juve against his suppression shield. There was a discharge and the boy was flung against the alley wall, the skirmish falling silent with the crunch of his bones.

In the following silence the gang leader retreated, his feet taking short and uncertain steps as his hands fumbled with his own autopistol. It had jammed after the fourth shot and now was frozen like his followers. Sweat beaded on his shaven head and dark goggles hid the hopelessness in his eyes. There was only his breath now, racing towards its end.

Vates kept coming, an unbroken stride, closing the distance between himself and the leader. There was a sharp click as the jam was cleared, then the gunshot echoed. The top of the leader's head split open and he dropped, landing on the ground with the pistol still lodged in his own mouth.

He had taken the easy way out... his only real freedom in his universe... his last declaration.

And Vates had allowed it. He was not a punisher - he never had been. He was a corrector, and here the stage had been wiped clean and the Acolytes were back on target. All was as it should be on this street, if nowhere else. The Arbitrator switched off his power maul and stepped over the man's body, glancing at Caine and Alarius as he passed them. "News of this will spread through the streets. We must make haste."

It was the most words he had said in weeks.


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Within a drinking hole just a ways down their current path, a full amount of customers bustled in their buying of booze and other beverages. Strange decorations adorned the wall in a fashion which might seem like an intergalactic Ruby Tuesday as arcane, meaningless, or even capable of a nostalgia attack to those who were well-traveled. Although the authenicity of each object could be called into question by a skilled eye looking for imperfections. Even some of the seating was actually improvised objects either due to low funds or the eccentricity of the establishment's owner.

Due to the current conflict several people who were not native to this Hive world had been stranded when the trade routes closed down. For some that left limited options to entertain themselves without risking a run-in with the gangers who roamed the streets looking for an easy steal. One of those options was coming into this bar to get a solid drink that would help with forgetting just how much time was being lost. Even if they weren't looking just for a drink other pleasures were likely sold in a more hush-hush manner. But now the natural hierarchy of this area had been kicked in the back of the knee and was currently sending spasms of information outward.

Just thirty seconds before the men sent by Inquisitor Conway reached the bar's enterance word of the street incident reached the ears of those patrons inside. Some felt relieved that the gangers had been put in their place, while others feared what group was responsible for this surprise. Whispers of it being some sort of Space Marines resulted in even more mixed reactions since some inside the bar could have been heretics in hiding. Might these newcomers be from the war in progress? Or were they something else? Regardless, word reached the ears of Krieglanze as he stared at his own hand as if engrossed in every aspect of it. Many would probably attribute this behaviour to whtever rested in the non-transparent mug in front of him at the bar.

Some average young man sitting with his back to the enterance as some patrons scrambled toward a back enterance while others with nothing to fear or no perception of he possible consequences remained. To others he might appear as some sort of drug-user watching the trails of color left behind by his fingertips or something like that. But to others inside he merely seemed just like them. . . someone stranded there biding their time until given the chance to leave this bar and the Hive World itself.

All the might set him apart from the rest was that no one else had the unique device attached to his arm which resembled some sort of a strange gauntlet.
 
Severus entered the musty-smelling room, the poorly ventilated air heavy with smoke, carbon dioxide, and the fumes of some of the more potent drinks but the hive-worlder shrugged it off, it was far worse in the underhive and to Severus this was still cleaner than he was acclimatized to. His hidden eyes scanned the room from the stragglers of those who were leaving via the back way to those slumped over their tables his trained eye looking for the signs of their contact.

Many clandestine meetings in similar establishments allowed him to pick out details about those who remained. He discounted those who were passed out, no one who was unfamiliar with their contacts would fain unconsciousness. They were looking for the one that looked they they belonged all too well and there he was, near the center of the room and facing away from them seemingly in a daze.

With a glance at the others he moved forward, waving at the others that they should wait in case he was wrong Severus walked boldly the combination of the whispered rumours second before and heavily armed backup quieting any objections anyone might have against him keeping his longlas slung over his shoulder as he sat down next to the man with the strange device on his arm.

"Mind if I join, the other tables are full." he asked sitting down and studying the man further. His words served two purposes, firstly it was a blatant lie, there were many empty tables in the wake of the exodus testing to see if the man's half stupor was genuine, but also that he had other reasons to sit here he did, namely the man himself.
 
Alarius remembers all to well the nature of a hive, though they weren't in the lower levels like he'd been after his escape. The fumes of vehicular and factory exhaust, coupled with the heady mix of alcohol and lho in the air, left him feeling like a film had formed over his skin, and it burned slightly at his nostrils. he followed his fellow assassin inside, only rather than sit at the table beside him, he chose a seat with a good view of the entire bar. Experience had long since taught him that any place like the one they were in now, could erupt into a riot of gunfire as rival gangs, disgruntled hive workers, or any other manner of violence at a moments notice. The assassin sat peacefully, dressed in his habit, and allowed hhis senses to feed him information.

He saw the establishment was only at about half capacity, and the majority of the patrons had moved to the other side, away from the entrance, likely out of fear of what might come through. He knew that in a hive like any other, rumors spread faster than any other means of communication, and it was not unreasonable than news of their butchering of the gangers outside had already reached this place. The hushed whispers were the first things he noticed, though he couldn't make out the details of most, what he heard was still the basic hive gossip. The current topic confirmed his suspicions as to why most of the patrons were sitting opposite the door, and even occasional whispers about The Astatres. Mostly however was either relief that the gangers had been killed, and apprehension, towards whatever had done it.
 
Waiting at a bar wasn't his idea of work, and the lho-stick smell was giving him urges for one smoke. So he did, he went up to the bar, where he eyed Severus and nodded, before he asked the bartender for a lho-stick, and lit it with his own lighter.

He had his back to the bar, he had a good sight of both assassins and the rest of the squad, a few eyes set on him, but not for too long before most people went back to their usual business, and he took a drag of the lho-stick, it had been a while since he had one, and he enjoyed it very much, blowing the thick smoke into the air, and all kinds of glad that Vates wasn't scorning him for it.

"These are really good."

He would have to buy some of these, they were cheap enough on this planet, and he wouldn't be getting back any soon, if he did get out. The thought that he should have brought more shotgun shells was coming up in his mind, but then it was replaced with a relieving thought that ammunition was no substitute for luck, and the fact that he was still alive was proof enough of that.

Julius took another drag of the lho-stick, he looked at Severus from the corner of his eye, if anything happened, he'd be glad that his mechanical arms were faster than a human's arms, and that could make a big difference.
 
Caine followed Julius, though the patrons seemed to part befor the bulky Tech Artisan, and he detected several illegal narcotics in the air, and his senses noted that at least half the patrons were armed, the rest either bore concealed weaponry or were unarmed, more likely the former than the latter, and Caine felt the presense of several weapons in states of disrepair, though he resisted the urge to chastise the owners.

as Julius lit the lho stick, a mechadendrite whirled around to Caine's face, and unfastened several screws, which in turn released the Osmotic Gill and voxsponder that covered the Tech preists, skeletal mouth, and his thin lips formed a rictus grin of amusement as he ordered a cheroot, a glass of amasec, a match and some machine oil, the last item causing the desired look of distaste from the bartender.

Caine first sipped the amasec, then tipped the machine oil into the tumbler glass, the two liquids mixing in a disgusting fashion, Caine turned to Julius, the lips still stuck in their amused half grin
"a cheap vintage, locally made from imported grain, and 20% watered down no less, though still better than ncorpse starch rations" he whispered conspiritorially, before downing the machine oil-amasec combine in a single motion
"The Amasec helps the Machine oil go down, the Machine oil, which is of similar quality to the amasec, well, that just lubricates my internal augmentics and makes most people feel ill" the Techpreists smile widened as he struck the match againts his mechadendrite, a small flame bursting into life.

with a few puffs, the Cheroot smoke had soon drowned out the smell and taste of Julius's lho stick
"nothing like some sweet indulgence" he muttered, though Caine's fellow acolyte noticed that one of the tech priest's hands rested against his chest, so that he could simply slip it into his robes and draw his hellpistol.
 
"Heh, go ahead. That's interesting you know. Not everyone asks."

The young man's facial features were unchanging in how they looked so dazed while gazing at the hand before him. A soft smile came a few moments later, though it was unclear if it was directed toward Severus or his own hand. Just by the tone alone one could infer that this guy might just not get who was talking to him right now. Or wasn't worried about what he and the other six men who had just entered the bar represented to those on the Hive World. Footsteps in frequency and distance apart told him how many came into the place and that they were probably together. Out of the corner of his eye he judged what they might be just through looking at Severus. Smells of what the others were smoking wafted into his nostrils, fresher than what was already floating around in the air a minute or so ago.

Blending in required learning how to pay attention without looking like one was even aware of their own shadow. Except that with how the brown-haired youth acted. . . he might have been very well acquainted with looking at his own shadow.

Cobier turned his head to look over at his new chance for a conversation, holding a look of friendly contempt in his eyes while adjusting his posture somewhat to suit the situation. Everything looked rather natural as though he were not creating a couple scenarios in his head on how to deal with these new arrivals in case they turned out to not be the chosen ones. Ones he had been ordered to keep an eye or two along with some ears out for for the past few days. When they would arrive had only been made clear as far as the date. . . not the time. Just a certain singular movement could change the potential danger of being inside the bar with him. . . inside of his range. Right now he could be staring at the newest group of gangers this side of the Hive. But the word out on the street advised differently just a few moments before these guys had entered the bar.

What to do. . . what to do. . .

"Speaking of asking. . ."

The youth ordered a refill of his drink.

". . .Ah, now that's better."

Nothing more natural than wanting more of what this place gave, everything here was perfectly normal. A few sips followed his calm and satisfied words before gently placing the mug back down onto the bar. How hard would it be to fight the guys who had just cleared out the local gangers anyway? One wrong set of word exchanges would probably let the current inhabitants of the bar find out. But something would actually have to go wrong first. More wrong than the screenwriting of the newest Beowulf and Robin Hood movies combined.

"So, what brings you to a place like this? Just going to gulp down some drink and then move along?"
 
Severus had expected this, the verbal sparing as neither wanted to give away why they were here lest the other was wasn't who they were looking for.

"That s part of it, we only just got here." He didn't want to give away too much, a lifetime of training and experience forbade him, but he was also not in the mood for games, If this was not their guy then needed to find him. "Blockade gave us a scare but we had the right... connections. But as its nice to relax we're here for business.

His eyes were fixed on the youth's hand, and the device on his arm. "We had a less than welcome reception outside and were led to believe there'd be someone friendlier in here."

To the barman's annoyance Severus was yet to order anything but now he got his attention and pointed under the bar. The man hesitated but seeing the thrones Severus slid onto the counter got a mug and pored in some dark liquid from a bottle half-hidden behind a row of mugs under the counter. Severus pulled at the fabric of his bodyglove exposing the permanently dyed skin around his mouth and chin before taking a small sip from the mug. Every bar had its hidden bottle, either too illegal or too rare to display openly, this seemed to be the latter at the smooth taste contrasted with the rank air. He seemed to lose interest in the youth and he looked down into the mug trying to place its contents but it was something he'd never tasted before so he let it drop as he waited, half an eye on the man next to him waiting to see what he would do next.
 
Cobier caught the man staring at the device on his arm almost as much as he was staring at his own hand. Right about then he decided these were probably the ones he had been ordered to wait around for in the bar. Such demanding orders to wait for a group of men to show up in a bar. Part of him wondered just how much their commanding officer had told them about his choice of weaponry. The Laspistol on his hip was the only obvious type of weapon that could be seen on his person right now. Oh if only they knew the marvel that was attached to his arm right now for what it really was. . . though if they ran into trouble it would likely happen. What might each of these guys be sporting though? It would be nice to know what good they could turn out to be beyond beating up some gangers on the streets of a Hive World.

"Really? Got through the blockade. . . sounds like you have the right connections."

The youth turned his face enough to make sure Severus saw he had that smile on his face which said a couple very specific things to another man in their line of work. Either that he was the friendlier one they were looking for, or that he at least knew where the guy was located. It might not cause any of the men to let their guard down, but if anything their contact appeared even more relaxed as he pulled out a note from one of his pockets and passed it over to the bartender. His hand moved with such ease it almost appeared he was perfectly at home with everyone in the entire establishment.

Meanwhile the bartender read the note with an unchanging expression before looking at Severus, then the rest of the men who had come in with them. A nod of his head toward a door to the left of the bar. It meant they should obviously get their asses in there and out of the area where average customers stayed while drinking. The bartender likely agreed to a certain request since it meant all of the frightened customers might finally come back out of the woodwork and keep spending their money. Quite a fair trade just to get some privacy. Not to mention help keep what mission Cobier was on here a secret from those he had to be around on this Hive World all day long.

"If you'll follow me, I think you'll find the friend you're looking through behind that door."

Krieglanze stood up from the seat his rear had been parked in for sometime, walking casually over to the door indicated by the bartender before opening it and entering without even a touch of hesitation. The door was closed behind him right after he passed through. Apparently whatever lay within was not supposed to be witnessed by the general public. Or maybe it was just a room reserved for under the table drug deals or on the mattress deals like rentboys for politicians. Either way it was where they were going to meet this guy. . . or they could just get drunk off their asses.
 
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"Garen, keep watch on the streets. Zayin, gather what you can from the barman. I want to know about the gang that attacked us."

Leaving two of the Acolytes behind, Vates moved from the doorway and across the room to where Krieglanze was vanishing. The suppression shield strapped to his back was all the identification he needed. In this place there would be no challenge nor expectations of purchase, and the Abitrator made sure to draw attention to himself, his Courthouse boots pounding the floors, his gaze unbroken. It was better for the patrons to think this an Arbites Inspection than the inquiry of assassins and techpriests. A law-enforcer raised less suspicion here and would draw no second glances.

The hive-dwellers went back to their drinks as Vates passed, a ripple of activity as they hid contraband and switched conversations with the ease of the guilty. Severus gave a nod of confirmation and fell into line behind Vates, as did Alarius and Caine, their formation reinforcing the appearance that this was routine Arbites business. In a few moments they were through the smaller door and into a candlelit gambling room, sparse but for a single table and padded couches on three of the walls.

For once Vates was glad he did not share the heightened senses of his colleagues. No doubt there were compartments all around this room for concealing hidden substances, and the padded seats would never be clean from the stink of narcotics, vermin and bodily fluids. The seats were dark red, as were the walls and carpet, giving the impression of a single cancerous organ that had witnessed a cavalcade of backhand dealings and fornication. And it was small, the ceiling low and barely holding in the candlelight.

This room was the epitome of a hive world, cramped and suffocating - everything that was antithesis to the Cardinal World where he was raised. There would be prayer and incense when he was free from this world. He would clean his armour and he would sanctify his chambers, shedding the stink now encrusting upon him.

"A ship departed this system four months ago," Vates began as he removed his Arbitrator helm and placed it on the gambling table. "The Acherade, a Chartist vessel bound for the Mendicant Order on Cloister. It was scheduled for a return warp-jump to this planet three weeks ago."

He sat on the far couch, setting his shield aside and removing his gloves, the candlelight catching on the Inquisitorial Seal around his neck. "The Acherade was torn apart in the Warp, but some of it may survived the journey. We are seeking wreckage, orbital debris, unusual activity at the space-ports - anything you know about the Acherade's manifest or trade-connections."


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This was more lite it, the overpowering stuffiness and riot of unnamed smells and distinct lack of light would make weak men claustrophobic but to Severus it was just like home. The assassin took station next to the door and listened for any approaching footsteps, it was also insurance in case the stranger decided to bolt, not that it seemed likely he would have life was always full of surprises. He didn't add to the questions, it was best if this was not their man, that this was an Adaptus Arbites operation. Not that he wasn't listening, and watching thier "host's" body language.
 
Cobier was waiting inside for whoever would come inside to talk about the various amounts of information he could dispense about events going on across the Hive World. When it was not Severus who entered first, but Vates instead, part of him wanted to assume that this was the leader of the group which had come to seek intelligence on whatever their mission might require. The Inquisitorial seal around his neck finally affirmed to the informant that these were indeed the people Conway had sent here to meet him. Just how much knowledge he had of their mission before now still remained a mystery as he behaved without a care in the world until the door closed behind the last of the men. Unlike Vates however, he did not take off his Laspistol or remove the strange gauntlet from his arm. Not knowing these men personally made him not entirely confident in their ability to repel whatever life might offer to have come busting into this bar.

"Hmmm. . . the Acherade. . ."

Suddenly his expression grew much more stern since mission business was about to be discussed. The informant took his job very seriously when actually discussing details since one wrong interpretation of facts could lead to someone's untimely demise. And he certainly didn't want that kind of reputation following him around among those who actually knew who he was and could reassign him however they saw fit. Plenty of planets existed which were worse to live on than this one.

"To start with the solid facts, that ship was scheduled to arrive back from the warp a week ago. From the records kept on Cloister, the date 57812911 shows an on time delivery to the Mendicant Order. But it is the first time anything out of place shows up. There was an unscheduled passenger allowed on board, and after he got on board everything went off schedule. For the Emporer's Sake if the crew died I hope they went peacefully. The ship's manifest show it having trading planned to get a hold of some old Iron Hands equipment that an old rich hermit on this planet has. Why is beyond me at this point."

For a moments he stopped talking, holding his chin between his pointer finger and thumb while in thought.

"Just before the war started, there were reports coming in from various trade ships that a sphere of some sort was approaching the planet. I'm not sure if anyone was able to be sent up for an investigation because right after that the current little skirmish going on started. Orks specifically. They actually crashed in the Northern wastes on the exact day that the Acherade was supposed to come out of the warp."

Should the men pay attention, Cobier never allowed any of his actual skin to ever touch any of the material in this room. Considering he knew more about this bar than they did, he had a slightly less foggy idea than Vates about what went on here. Once in a while he had joked with the Bartender about having the room redone more often than once a decade with all the foul activity that went on within it. Krieglanze would also likely be washing his clothing and praying when he got the chance. . . since his extended stay allowed the stench of this place to try becoming more entrenched with him.

"And now what I've got left falls under rumour. The rumour among those who knew about the sphere, say that it collided with the space hulk carrying those Orks. If it did, whatever wreckage of the Acherade that is left. . . is probably in the middle of that Warzone. Now normally I wouldn't recommend going out there by yourselves. . . but from what I understand at the space-ports you may get some help beyond me when they arrive. Emperor be praised since I would hate for that war to spread all the way to here. My skills in battle can only get me so far against those numbers."

He gave them time to let his information sink in before asking a question of his own.

"Now then, is there anything you would like to tell me? If you know anything you haven't mentioned yet, I might be able to fill in some blanks."
 
"They did not."

Severus said moving from the doorway. "Dark Eldar beat us there and you can guess what happened to her crew." Severus' voice held a viciousness bordering on mad, some might call it righteous fury but it was out of place in a sniper and what was visibly of his eyes displayed fear that was quickly hidden. "They seemed to be after the same thing we were I don't suppose you'd know why xenos would bother with the target? We should move quickly so that xenos don't ruin our plans again."
 
Severus mention of the Dark Eldar brought terrible memories flooding back into Alarius' Mind. though the wound on his leg had since healed, the memory of that cursed symbol haunted his mind. The Dark Prince, the same ruinous power that his former house had served ruled these xenos, he shook away the dark memories and whispered a prayer to the emperor thanking him for allowing Alarius to slay so many of his enemies. for some time he'd stood at the side of the room, between the Arbitrator and their newcomer. observing the interaction between the two and ready to bury his wrackblade in the spine of this Krieglanze.

He strode over to vates and whispered in their code to him "If it's possible, we might try and acquire some of the equipment that hermit he mention has, if it's still in his possession."
 
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Vates scowled as Alarius's comment disrupted the meeting. At times he doubted the assassin's grasp on reality, his thoughts a currency of blood and calculated murder. He even had to wonder if Alarius had registered what was said about the Acherade.

The Arbitrator leaned away from Alarius and across the table, about to question the informant further, but then a thought was triggered. He sat back and looked up at Caine, who had remained silent by the doorway with Severus. "Caine, do you still have the archives from the Acherade?"

"Aye," rasped the mechanical voice of the tech-priest as he finished his glass of amasec and machine oil.

"Was anything missing from the manifest? Anything out the ordinary?"

There was a momentary pause as Caine's eyes rolled backwards then focussed again. "Apart from food stores, a single cargo item... classified miscellaneous... first class holdage... recipient designated... Renald Borlaise."

Vates' eyes tracked to Cobier's, and the informant nodded. "That's the hermit."

The Arbitrator rose, scowling as his thoughts came together. Of all the Acolytes, the art of supposition and investigation came most fluidly to Vates. He was not a processor like Caine or a killer like the others. His role was to bridge the gap from one fight to the next, to follow the paths of deception and intrigue laid by the enemy. And that was the liberty of the Inquisition, to be spared from the mindless slaughter that drove the other Adeptus, to forgo the kill and indulge the thought. For the greatest threats to the Imperium could not be stabbed or shot away.

Intelligence was needed. And this was the creed of the Emperor's Left Hand.

"The Chapel of St Drusuus, on Cloister, was built by the Black Templars," Vates muttered, thinking aloud to himself as he paced the room, "The Acherade must have gone there for a reason."

"They were donating aid to the Mendicant Order," Caine replied. "The Captain's log confirmed that."

"Such benevolence is rare in Rogue Traders. And the Imperium is too imperfect for such brotherhood." Vates paused by the wall, staring at the mould-ridden darkness. "Something from the chapel... a Space Marine artefact."

Severus picked up on the line of reasoning. "You think this Renald Borlaise paid the Acherade to retrieve something for him?"

"And that something was then stolen by the Evertore."

"Why?" asked Alarius.

Vates scratched the stubble on his jaw, peering deeper into the shadows. "Whatever this White Chamber is, the Evertore needed the Acherade's warp engines to power it. If he wants to open it again, he'll need a power source. Perhaps that is what he took from the manifest."

"So it is no coincidence that the Acherade came to Cloister," intoned Caine. "The Evertore lured it there, knowing they were after the Astartes tech. He thus had his escape route and his next power source."

Vates looked again at Cobier. "This Borlaise - where is he?"

"He has a noble villa on Gorlake Mountain, north of Horthus Hive."

"North?" Severus's dyed lips grimaced.

The informant smiled. "Where the Orks are getting comfortable."

There was silence. Vates reclaimed his helmet and shield, strapping them slowly to his armour, his every motion punctuated by burning thoughts. The air in the room had seemed to grow a little heavier, as if with the weight of what was upon them.

"It seems our every path leads northwards," Vates said to his Acolytes. "We shall cross the warzone, run the gauntlet of the greenskins, find the wreck of the Acherade, and if the Evertore eludes us we shall proceed to the mountain and seek confession from the hermit."

"I wish you luck," Cobier said, sitting back on the couch.

Vates fixed his gaze on the informant. "You are coming with us. You will find us the best route across the ash wastes."

Cobier's eyebrow raised. "I have other duties here in this hive."

The Arbitrator placed both hands on the table and leaned in. "The Evertore has destroyed an imperial ship, desecrated a shrine world, and brought a war upon the Emperor's subjects. Your other duties can wait."

A few moments of tension passed, like a single note held on an instrument, and then Cobier nodded fractionally and whispered, "As the Inquisition wills."


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END OF CHAPTER THREE​
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Episode Four:
THE KRAEGARD OFFENSIVE

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They had hitched a ride on the next supply convoy. Perched atop the Chimera, bound through smoke and ash-clouds, the Acolytes had front-row seats to armageddon. There was thunder in the north and the lightning flash of Titan guns. It was as if the world was being shaken apart by the infernal choirs.

After clearing the Horthus foothills, the convoy circled west on a slow incline to the Negruska Plain, now the southern corner of the hot zone. Orbital bombardment by the 9th Fleet had carved the land with trenches and between the dust roads and foxholes were the bleak shapes of makeshift bunkers. Rolling tank columns belched exhaust fumes that mingled with the fog of war - a fog of shouts and artillery smoke, orders barked by veterans and sermons yelled by commissars.

As the convoy started dividing, the tank commander gave a tap on the hull - all the signal the Acolytes would get that the hospitality was at an end. Vates led the way as they leapt down from the vehicle, landing ankle-deep in mud and jostled by the traffic of soldiers and ammo-trolleys moving between the trenches. A few miles to the north, the frontline was like the curtain of some grand opera, laced with tracer fire and the mushroom plumes of artillery strikes.

The Orks were coming in hard. And though the bullets weren't yet flying in these parts, Vates would not be tempting fate this evening. He kept his helmet on and his shield high, moving as swiftly as he could to the main supply trench.

There was a mix of soldiers here, from the green-faced PDF conscripts who rushed back and forth like stricken deer, to the grizzled veterans of the Imperial Guard who slouched in the trenches sharing cigars and amasec. No one gave the Acolytes a second look, for this close to the frontlines each man was lost in his own thoughts, the internal skirmish preceding the charge.

Everyone could feel it in the air. The Acolytes had learned that General Kraegard had arrived on the frontlines and the offensive was now inevitable.

There would be slaughter this night.
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