Edge of the Empire, Session 1

This ship, it is ZX-373. Vesp is told a ship should have a name, but that time has not come yet. It will, as will many other things. The mists have revealed it.

 Image courtesy of Wookiepeedia

Its crew, they are solid. Macu is captain and owner. Macu Vesp is the Gand you see before you. Arri, or Arrikatykam should one wish formality, is engineer. Arri is a very talented Wookie.

Banner is of Gank, a mercenary hired on by Vesp along with his cohort, Fourthguy. (fourthguy is of course a placeholder name, as this character wasn't ready yet.)

This crew has found itself at Formos spaceport, at the end of the Kessel Run. This is not a place for the weak of will, nor the faint of heart. In less than an hour, an urchin had attempted robbery, though we did not know it until after. Arri pressed the little punk into service as our guide, though I did pay for the child's time.

It is the nature of Finding not only to be where, but to be when. So it was when from an alley we heard the voice of a droid calling for help. A protocol droid was found, in very bad shape indeed. It begged us to rescue its friend, an astromech designated R4-W9.

As Arri attempted repairs, we spoke with it, discovering a gang had assaulted them, and that the R4 unit had maps of runs which supposedly were hidden ways. Perhaps a way to shave some time off the Run? It is learned that the gang has Rodians and Weequay working together, possibly rare enough to notice.

Our reluctant guide led us to Rii Jenk's Cantina. Gand asked around but received no answers, until a Devaronian approached us and divulged that this port works on a trust system. One must be known to get jobs. He was an information broker, so perhaps to be believed.

A confluence of information was created, showing the when and why to match our where. A 10k bounty on Dobah, an Aqualish. Knowledge that the gang with the R4 is very likely Dobah's gang. Members, Weequay and human, of Dobah's gang making a Rodian girl, sister to a bounty hunter who disappeared seeking the bounty on Dobah, very uncomfortable.

Arri dissuaded them in their pursuit of the Rodian, Zucata. Wookies can be quite persuasive.

As we discussed the nature of Zucata's quest to find her brother, a Toydarian at the bar was obviously eavesdropping. He even grinned at us as he left, though he did not know that Banner had already gone outside, to watch and to wait and to see.

So it was that Banner saw him inform, saw him paid off, and saw the 3 members of the gang arm up and come storming after us in the bar. It became time to answer the question “If one brings an E-web heavy blaster to an ambush, does it make a ranat fart worth of difference?” Macu's money is on “No.”

Zarkov, Chapter 10

We spent a month in a holding transit aboard the Leaping Angel, a free trader that our masters in the Inquisition had paid to retain.  We stayed busy for the most part, each in our own way.  For myself, I’d spent the downtime salvaging Barick’s gear, and creating an arms locker for the team: a portable plastcard bin with extra weapons and gear for the times in which we’d need more firepower, or for that matter for those interesting times when we might come back without the gear we’d taken. 

I also purchased a few needed upgrades in the swelter decks, spending a few nights among the crew in areas often avoided by senior crew on a ship. But the most fun had by far was the time spent with the shuttle pilots, discovering that I had a natural aptitude for flight.

In our merc company, you stuck to your job description and didn’t wander.  In this new job as an acolyte for the Throne, I’m encouraged to widen my skill set.  So it was that I spent a good half of each day logging stick hours in various landers, shuttles, and simulators to achieve my flight rating.  It didn’t hurt that I also ended up hanging out late nights in the pilots’ lounge, downing ales and amasec with the “taxi drivers”. 

The rest of the team remained busy as well.  Pretty Sila continued to research our quarry, poring through the ship’s library constantly.  Pious Venus spent a good deal of time in the shipboard Templum, meditating upon Him on Earth.  Ignace, ever diligent, filled his hours in the Enginarium with the other tech-priests and enginseers; he’s happiest with his hands in a machine.

On day 34 of what I decided to call our exile, we were summoned to the bridge.  I have to admit to standing like a slack-jawed yokel for a moment upon arrival.  The bridge was immaculate, decorated in brass and gold and more than a few precious gems.  The crew all wore formal uniforms.

A young naval rating escorted us to the Captain’s command cathedra to answer his summons.  My first thought, upon seeing the Captain, was less than charitable.  For that matter, so were my second and third.  The best word to describe him would be corpulent; he likely massed every bit as much as an empty Chimera APC.  He was not only unnaturally huge, but was also wired at every limb and all about his cranium directly into the ship.  I doubt he’d moved under his own power in a century or so, and two servitors tended him, one even now cleaning and applying some unguent or another to his elephantine left leg.  If he’d had a blowhole, Ahab would have hunted him.

He spoke in a wheezing voice, as if the air had to labor to pass through him.  “It has been our pleasure to serve the mighty Inquisition.  Do tell your masters so when you see them.”

It was a timely statement; Ignace pointed out the viewport to call our attention to a massive Black Ship hanging in space above the jewel that was Scintilla.  We all stared for a moment before the Lord Captain spoke again.

“A shuttle has been prepared to take you across to His Righteous Mercy.  Commend me to your master; it has been long since I have looked upon him.”  He waved one hand then, negligently, to dismiss us. 

We gathered our gear and hustled to the shuttle bay, where I went ahead and strapped into the pilot’s seat to ferry us across.  We arrived with very little fanfare, a steward meeting us at the shuttle bay and escorting us to the Inquisitor’s private chambers.

***

The Inquisitor’s office was impressive, but not overstated.  Bits of antiquities were displayed, and a sidebar offered a selection of high-end boozes.  Wood and leather were present in abundance, lovingly crafted.  The bookshelf itself, never mind the tomes it held, was worth well more than a year’s pay from my merc days.   

There was only one thing out of place in the office:  a man standing in a black armorskin, a laspistol belted to his hip.  He looked like he had about 10 years on me, and I’m no spring chicken.  But his eyes…I knew at one glance that this was a man who could pull the trigger and sleep even more soundly for it.  We exchanged nods, one warrior to another.

I poured myself an amasec from the sideboard, and was rewarded with the very smooth, smoky flavor of a fine vintage indeed.  I poured a decent amount into the empty flask on my hip, saving some for later.  Sometimes a little sip is all you need to make a bad day better. 

A massive oak door stood at the other end of the room, and we heard a strong baritone voice from the other side of it.  “Enter!” it said.

We entered the private sanctum of our master, Inquisitor Jonas.  Tapestries were hung around the room, depicting battles and purges, some featuring the long white hair and beard of the man who sat before us.  Though aged, he looked as tough as the bulkheads, and as formidable as the whole ship in which we stood.

“Welcome, my acolytes.  I am pleased to have you here.”  Despite his tough-as-nails look, his voice and tone reminded me of a kindly grandfather.  “You’ve done quite well thus far, and I have another investigation for you to run.”

Without waiting for comment, he launched into his briefing.  Evidently an attempt had been made on the Governor of Hive Sibellus’s life, and the only bit of evidence, a witness statement, sounded damned familiar.  And damned disturbing…”a thing with red eyes, that wouldn’t stop when you shot it”. 

I felt the beginnings of a headache coming on.  It wasn’t a pure link to the altered hive dregs we’d just dealt with, but it was enough to leave my throat a little raw thinking about it.  I looked around at the team, and saw answering expressions of horror in all but the man in black.  Well, he hadn’t seen the damn things yet, and didn’t know better.  Jonas continued.

“This man will be joining your team.  Atellus Sigismund. You will find him somewhat expert with long arms.”  A sniper, then, I thought.  I looked at him again, now understanding the flint in his eyes. 

“You will use the next two days to make ready, and then you will visit the Magistratum in Tarsus hive to meet with the witness.  I am given to understand this young man was in an unlikely position due to his…talents.  I want you to evaluate him and annex him to the team if you deem it appropriate,” he said.

“I have found in my career that some who run afoul of the law may still serve.  So it may be with this one.”  Sila’s face seemed to darken at that, which didn’t surprise me.  The Administratum likes everything and everyone in their little columns, in tidy order. 

“Go with the Emperor’s Grace, my acolytes.  Dismissed,” he finished.  We filed out of his office and made ready with our preparations.  We had access to a decent pile of throne gelt, some good cover IDs, and run of most of the ship, and we put that access to good use.

When the time finally came for wheels-up, we met in the forward hangar of the ship.  Once there, we saw one very beautiful craft sitting away from the Aquila landers and other various small shuttles.  A gun-cutter squatted under the loading lights, brand new by the look of her, with a chin-mounted autocannon, some serious armor, and engines that looked like they were ready to scream.

Imagine my surprise when another young naval rating handed me they key-codes and transmitter to control her.  I grinned like a juve ready for his first formal dance.  We loaded in, and I started pre-flight. 

The cutter flew like a dream, transiting from space to atmospheric with a smoothness that belied the difficulty of reentry.  There was no doubt about it, I was in love.  I handled my new lover adroitly through to touchdown. 

Scintilla isn’t a dirty world like most hive worlds.  There are only five hives distributed on its face, as it’s relatively young compared to many settled planets in the Imperium.  Landing at Sibellus, though, is every bit as gritty as any other hive in the whole realm of mankind. 

Our first stop upon arrival was the Magistratum Precinct House, a massive slab of durasteel and ‘crete as unforgiving as a commissar.  After a long wait in the outer lobbies, we were brought before a desk sergeant who immediately greeted us with the thousand-yard stare common to law enforcement everywhere.  For just a moment, I truly missed Barrick. 

“We’ve an appointment to see one of your prisoners”, Sila said.  The sergeant eyeballed her like a hungry man looks at a grox steak before answering.  She gets that a lot.

“Yeah, they’re bringing him around to an interrogation room now.  You want me to accompany you?”

“We’ve got this,” Atellus said, his face a stone mask.  Atellus is kind of frightening to most people.  They just naturally know not to frak with him.

“Oh…okay then,” the sergeant stammered, and directed us to the room down the hall.  A guard let us into the room, where a tattooed young man, about 19, sat.  His hair was long, dirty and wild with inattention.  He wore leathers and furs, and had that particular look of a feral-worlder, eyes darting around the room like a caged beast. 

“Tell us your story,” I said, without preamble.  As he started, I pulled up a chair.

“I saw what happened.  These scutwhuppers think I lie, and you will too.  But I say the truth.”  He raised his chin, then, defiant.  He seemed to calm as he spoke, his eyes steady on me.

“The man and his escorts were attacked, bold.  Barehanded, bold.  The foe were wrapped in rags, and took many shots.  They would not stop, even when shot.  I shot the hell out of one, thinking to help. They had red eyes.  They killed the men, but I escaped.  Now they are holding me, say I’m scum.”  He stopped abruptly, and stared at me. 

“What’s your name, son?” I asked.

“Roth Khan.”  He spoke with pride, as if the name were a badge.  I’ve known a couple of tribesmen in my time; maybe it was. 

We asked several questions of him then, each of us coming at it from different angles.  Through the whole conversation, Atellus remained nearly silent, whistling softly through his teeth.

He told us that his encounter with the red-eyed dregs took place in Manufactory District 7-J, in the night cycle.  We learned little else, save that the young man had been a gun for hire and was fairly decent at getting into places he didn’t belong.  He made no secret of the fact: like everything else he’d said, it was just a part of his tale.

Once there were no more questions, we stepped into the hall to confer.  Sila’s expression was distasteful, but still she broached the topic.

“So, do we bring him along?”

“I think we do,” I replied.  “He seems straightforward, I think any holes we’d sprout would be in our fronts.”

“I concur,” Atellus added.  We all looked at him, but those were the only words he had to contribute.  Venus agreed, as did Ignace, so I poked my head back into the room.

“Roth Khan,” I began, “how would you like to spend your life in service to the Emperor?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he glanced around the room once.  “Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices.  Some are better than others.  You come with us, you’re going to face those red eyes again.”

“Good,” he said.  “I must face them to master the fear they made in me.”

“Alright, don’t wander off.”  I couldn’t resist the joke.  Back in the hallway, I told the team he was for it, and we went back to the desk sergeant’s office. 

“Well, he’s a smelly bugger, isn’t he?” the sergeant asked, as we entered.  Sila answered him.

“We’re going to need you to remand him to our custody,” she said.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he replied “Well, we can get that accomplished.  I’ll just need you to fill out some forms, and within ten days your request should be approved.”

I shook my head once.  He noticed, but stuck with it.

“You’re just going to have to wait.” He began to rummage in his desk files.  “Now here is the first requisite form, number 67743-T, which will grant you an audience with the custody clerks…” 

As he droned on, I looked at Sila, raising one eyebrow.  She nodded yes, and so I pulled out the Rosette, the symbol of our Inquisitor that allowed us to act with his authority when needed.  I coughed once.

“…then, of course, number 7338 beta, which…” and his eyes locked on the symbol.  He blanched a few shades lighter.  “Ah, I see.  Well, in certain special cases I can file the expedited forms.”

I cut him off.  “No forms.  No records.  We are not here openly, and you never saw us.”

He stared at us blankly, and Atellus winked at him.  “Yes.  Yes of course.” 

What followed was likely a record time for fastest prisoner release without the assistance of a high window.  We walked out the door with Roth Khan in tow, and went midhive to seek out our lodgings. 

The hostel we ended up booking was called the Eagle’s Wing, and we purchased a suite of rooms.  I liked the name, and it made me feel good about the coming mission.  Life's funny like that. 

Lum, Chap 5

And so we return to the story of the big barbarian, Lum. I've had some fun with this guy, trying to write the way he would think...slow, plodding, but not necessarily stupid. I hope you have fun reading about him. This is fictionalization of play from the free module "Base of Operations" by Ed Stark, with some modifications to fit our campaign.

Marrakest is a medium sized village, Ivy tells me. Seeing it, it is larger than any tribeholding, but much smaller than the city in which I met her. We have traveled a week to be here, near to a keep that we have heard of. It is called Brightstone, and is said to be unoccupied. I have no belief that it is, a deserted place always has some owner ready to claim it. Though it may only be rats, still they claim it. But the stories of gems as large as a fist intrigue us.

Drakha, Relowen, Ivy and I are here, as is Zem, the shaman. The others have gone with Revikh for some other matter, to be tested, he said.

Drakha has spoken with some of the people in the village as I have gathered provisions. She tells me that the Keep had been occupied by an army, but that the army moved on. This army kept goblinoids away from the mines, and the people worry that they might come back.

“If they promise not to become bats when we kill them,” I say, “then we can take it back.” She chuckles, and nods agreement.

We eat and drink, and get directions to the council hall. We are met by an assistant, a young girl who bids us wait as she informs the council of our interest. It is not long before she returns to us, and bids us enter the council chamber.

The council chamber is decorated with parchment and cloth and ink; it is the place of those who war with words, not with weapons. Five people sit, sure in their importance. Their leader, or so I take her to be, speaks to us.

“I hear that you are interested in Brightstone Keep. Tell me, what are your intentions?”

Drakha steps forward, one single step. Her scales are visible, and she runs a hand through her blond hair to keep it from her eyes. She waits just long enough before speaking. “Things have gone badly here, and we are…curious. We may be more force than you can muster in a month.”

The councilor can see that we do not boast, and looks us over. “The army redeployed,” she says, “and everyone in this town is worried about greenksins. Someone or something could take that Keep and use it as a base for raiding.”

“It is our plan to at least check it out,” Drakha says.

The council woman leans back in her chair. “This is good.” She signals another of the council, and this man gives Drakha a rolled parchment.

“A sergeant of the army gave this map to us. You may have it for your scouting. Good luck.”

I grin, and Ivy thanks her with a smirk. We make our own fortune. Zem likes that we will help these people, and tells us he will come along.

Ivy asks of the others, and I say “We will save the others some shiny baubles.” Drakha gives me a glare, and I amend my speech quickly.

“I will save them shiny baubles, then.” She smiles and winks at me, and we set off for the Keep.

***

We ride, heading to the crudely drawn Keep on the map. I hear a snarl from just behind me and am truly surprised. I dive to the side, freeing my morning star from my belt.

As I stand, I see that a dog has just missed biting me. I am confused; I heard no dog, smelled no dog…and yet this one has just snapped at me. And it has two companions with it, attacking Rel and Drakha.

The thing disappears with a pop and I see it reappear just in front of me, damnably quick. Drakha’s flame breath just catches one, as I swat the one before me across the nose. It rolls with my strike, then blinks away again.

I see Ivy float up into the air, levitating to get out of reach. She sends her purple lines of magick into the dogs, hitting them from time to time. She kills the burned one before I can get to it, and it twitches on the ground.

I feel a pain in my calf, and know that one has appeared behind me. Grunting through the pain, I backhand blindly with my morning star, batting it away. Drakha breathes flame again before it lands, burning it in the air. It lands as a blackened lump. Ivy finishes the last, and we are free to move on. We have fought well, turning what these blink-dogs thought would be a meal into their death. We are now starting to fight as a pack ourselves, knowing when one another will act, trusting our backs to each other.

We ride on, and soon see the Keep before us, three towers rising high. There is a high wall, fifteen feet perhaps. It is difficult to be sure from so far away. We stop at great distance, shielded by trees from any who might watch.

Relowen and I look about, and we see tracks of boots, only days old. I tell Drakha, and she discusses this with Relowen. I do not hear their talk, as I am thinking long on this. I have an idea, and tell them.

“We approach the Keep. If challenged, we say we are travelers, and we go along our way. Then we know who is there.” My three companions look at each other strangely, and then Relowen tells me I have had a good idea. We walk along the road then, walking straight to the Keep.

As we near, I hear strange music floating in the air suddenly. I look about, but can not tell its source. It is perhaps magical, as it nearly calls my rage. In the next breath, arrows crash down into us. We must flee.

“Not my best idea!” I shout. “Perhaps fleeing and returning under the cover of darkness would be wise.” We are wounded as we flee, even Ivy, who attempts to run in my shadow. I am a large target, and such is unwise.

As we reach a safe distance, Ivy whines to Zem “Will you heal me?” I pluck out an arrow from my left arm, and see that it is crude. I grunt and ignore the pain. “Their fears have come to pass,” I say. “This is orcish work, or that of a child.”

“I doubt the keep was taken by children,” Relowen says.

“Just so.” I agree.

Zem approaches me, the words of healing magicks on his lips. “Stop,” I say, and see the question in his eyes. “Pain is a teacher. Heal me before we try again tomorrow night, but leave me with my lesson for now.”

“That is either wise or insane,” he says.

“Both.” I answer, through a smile. He leaves me to my thoughts, and I think long on when to be bold, and when to be cunning. The wise warrior can be both, but often I rely on boldness.

We spend the night resting, and the next day preparing. We will not abide these orcs, and though they are many, we are mighty. And cunning. Better that we deal with them than the villagers so close by. Many would die, I think.

***

As night falls, we set our plan in motion. We approach cautiously, keeping to shadows in the moonlight. At the edge of an archer’s range, Relowen readies a spell known to rangers, a wall of wind. This will blow arrows away from us as we run. We watch him, and he nods, casting the magick. We charge in, running for the Keep’s entryway.

Ivy blasts the great door with a line of power, and I follow it by only two breaths with my battering ram. I feel the impact throughout my arms, shoulders, and into the small of my back as the wood resists. I strike it a second time, and the great oaken door is sundered, flying wide like a tavern door. We have caught the orcs by surprise, no archers are on the wall.

We immediately turn to our left coming through the gate, running for the first tower. This Keep has three of them. We will take high ground first, to cut down on the orcs’ advantage of archers. On our way through, we notice a great wolf, nearly as large as a horse, chained at the center of the courtyard. I pay it no mind, setting my thoughts to the task at hand.

The tower door is hearty, resisting the ram once, twice. Ivy blasts the latch area, and it gives way. As we charge in, three orcs are running down the stairs to greet us. They are met first by Drakha’s fiery breath, and again by Zem’s lightning. One is cooked like bacon.

I run up the stairs, meeting one with a morning star against the side of its knee. It continues to fight from its back, and it takes me some time to pound it into the stone of the stairs. As I look up from the bloody mess, the third is killed by my companions.

I take the lead up the stairs, and find a small dining room, sloppy with the remnants of three unfinished meals. These orcs would have been well armored, had they bothered. I take a breastplate from a rack, strapping it on. Ivy tells me it is magical, and I believe her. The armor seems lighter than it should, and is comfortable. I ignore the smell, and resolve to clean it later.

Relowen asks if I will give him permission to cast a spell on me, and I accede. He tells us, after laying his magick, that we have become hidden from animals, and can pass by the wolf outside unnoticed. We descend the tower and cross the yard to the smaller of two squat buildings at the Keep’s rear, and indeed the wolf lies still, unaware of our passing.

Having been bold, we now rely on cunning. Zem opens the door, cautiously. We are greeted by snores, and count 8 snoring and drooling orcs. Relowen sneaks among them, slitting throats. As each cut is made, a snore becomes a wheeze, and becomes silence. In minutes, there is no sound from this bunkhouse.

We move to the larger of the two structures, and are met with similar sounds. These orcs have slept through our invasion as well, and will pay for it with their lives. Eleven more opened throats join their companions in the eternal sleep. There are now two towers left to clear, and Relowen points at the nearest. I nod agreement, and we set off.

I work to keep my mind focused. This has been easy, and it would be tempting to relax. Still, we do not know how many orcs may yet live, and we must be ready. I breathe deeply, letting the air swell my chest, and hold it there for a count of five. I exhale. I am ready.

We climb the stair of this tower, and do not need stealth. The orcs above are loud, but their laughter is muffled. It seems the door is closed. Rising to the level of the door, we see that this is true. I count three guttural voices from behind the door. Drakha raises her hand, and makes a chopping motion, and I shoulder into the door with a great heave. It opens with a crash, and we see three orcs, armed and armored.

I bash the first with a mighty swing before it can even look at us. The fight happens in a rush. Relowen is swift, dancing about the room. Drakha’s flame casts shadows, as does Zem’s lightning. Ivy’s magick seems to suck the light from the room. As it finishes, I look to see the elf’s blades dripping blood. I nod to him, and he nods back. We crashed upon them like a storm wave upon the beach.

The last tower goes much the same, though one of the orcs is able to draw a line of blood upon my forearm before I can kill it. We can find no more living orcs, and we breathe a bit easier.

“What shall we do about the wolf?” Drakha asks.

“Kill it,” Ivy says with a shrug.

“Release it,” Relowen says, with feeling.

I care not either way. Zem tells us that it is a winter wolf, intelligent, and capable of speech. Relowen goes to speak with it, and returns quickly. We busy ourselves while he is gone with the gathering of the orcs’ fine swords and armor, knowing that they shall be valuable.

“It is here against its will. It has given a vow to leave this place and keep to the wilds, in exchange for its freedom.”

“You believe it?” I ask.

“Yes.”

We walk to the courtyard, and I grasp the iron collar binding the wolf to its chain. I heave, pulling it apart steadily until I feel it suddenly give way, the pins flying somewhere in the darkeness. The wolf is free, and I am shocked to hear it say “Thanks” before loping off into the night. This world has more surprises within it than ever I knew.

We take our rest upon the parapets, exchanging watches in case there is an orc patrol. The night passes without event, and in the morning we gather the orc valuables, and retrieve our horses from our campsite. We have only to check the mines before we can declare our task complete.

It is a short walk to the minehead, and it is gated. There is a chain and a lock, the chains as thick as my wrist. Drakha, shaman of dragons, breathes flame upon the lock and the metal softens somewhat. I strike it soundly with my ram, breaking it apart.

Walking into the shaft, we can hear sounds from within the mine. The entrance is a hub, there are five shafts. It is from the center that we hear the sounds, and so it is into that dank stone tunnel we walk. In but a minute, Rel whispers “Trolls,” and holds up three fingers. His elven eyes can see much farther down the tunnel than ours.

“Quietly”, I ask, “or my way?”

“Right behind the magicks”, Drakha says. I smile.

Ivy and Zem immediately launch their magicks into the trolls, and I charge behind those bolts of power. I call the beast to me, and the rage. I smash into the center troll, releasing all my fury into it. Drakha and Zem envelop another in fire, and I smash my foe’s head repeatedly, without finesse. I crush its skull into a bloody lump, finishing it for good with the magical fire of my morning star. Relowen’s arrows thump into the last, and it is anyone’s guess which of my companions finish it off between magical fire and dark power.

A voice, deep and rough like hewn stone, calls from deeper within the mine. “What is happening you fools?” Silence reins for perhaps a minute, and Relowen sneaks down the tunnel to have a look at what awaits us. We hear the voice again. “You oafs! Answer! I hear you creeping around, you filthy elf-lovers!”

Relowen reappears. His look is grim. “One very large orc. It wears plate armor under a robe.”

We rush down the tunnel, and I am led by Relowen’s arrows as I charge, again calling the raging beast within me. We cannot interrupt its spell, though, and I realize it is a necromancer as skeletons arise from piles of bones on the floor. One rises directly in front of me, and I try to shoulder it aside to reach the orc.

The skeleton stands firm, as hard as stone. I strike at it, trying to take it down quickly. It does not fall, and I am amazed to note that I am not shattering bones with my strikes. I have never fought a skeleton so tough.

Drakha manages to reach the big orc, and breathes flame upon him. The others are surrounded by skeletons, and I see Ivy rise to the ceiling and cast her magicks upon the orc, dark lines of power slamming into its armored chest.

Finally, I am able to strike a mighty enough blow against the skeleton I face, sending its skull flying like a shot from a catapult across the stone floor. Two more close on me, the ones that Ivy had been pressed by. I hear Drakha scream in pain, a sound born of great anguish. I cannot get to her, though.

Relowen calls to me, and I see he is hard pressed, his swords near useless against the rock hard bone of the undead warriors. He faces four of them. I fight hard to get clear and join him, and I tear the spine out of one of my foes. I cannot get to him in time, and I see him fall under the weight of their numbers. I scream out my rage.

I hear Ivy cheer, and I look to see that she has felled the orc. But its minions still press us. Relowen is down, the skeletons he had faced now spreading out to attack the rest of us. Drakha is barely standing, and Zem holds her up as he heals her. Only Ivy is free to move, floating safely like a tiny human stalactite.

I call upon the magic of my gauntlets, and feel my strength grow. I crush the skeleton before me, and rush to stand over the elf. I call to my ancestors, and continue smashing foes, every swing hitting hardened bone. I am dimly aware of Zem beside me, and Relowen rises groggily to his feet. Zem has healed him, as well. The tide of the battle is turning, rising in our favor.

We fight in concert now, Ivy driving spikes of power into skulls from above, Zem shattering bones with his magick, Relowen distracting the skeletons for Drakha and I to crush them with our weapons. It does not take long for us to finish them.

I release the rage, and am surprised to find that I am unwounded. I have fought well, have done my ancestors proud. I am relieved that we all stand, it was a near thing.

I tease Relowen in my relief. “It is not so easy to win a battle from your back, elf.”

He responds with a gesture, a crude one he learned from me. My laughter fills the room.

It has been a month since we liberated the Keep. The town council was less than enthused with our success, worrying that they could not man the Keep. Revikh suggested that we make it our own, and we have agreed.

I look around at the armsmen we have hired, watch their work on this, our stronghold. We have hired a mage and a priest, as well. And we have hired a fine cook, to keep the men happy. No coin buys as much loyalty as good food. We have also given work to many of the villagers, paying them a fine wage to work the mine we have liberated from the orcs.

The stones are strong, and a small plinth has been added to the center of the courtyard. It is a focus, I am told, and the new bracelets we wear can return us to it by powerful magic, though only once in a sevenday.

We have changed our fortunes from a small band on the run. It remains to be seen how long the wheel will turn in good fortune. None of us have forgotten the power of the foe we face. I have not forgotten the riddle of crystal, nor will I rest until it is solved.

Zarkov, Chapter 9

We moved cautiously but quickly back down the hall. I walked point with Ignace just to my left, Barrick bringing up the rear. We approached the grand stair, weapons ready. As we neared it, we could hear the lift whirring, and I hustled to the banister. They say the Emperor has a sense of humor, and I think “they” are right on the money.

Just as I hit the rail, I heard the soft “ding” of the door chime on the lift, just below me. I could hear the doors as they slid open, and footsteps just beneath me. Then they came into view, a man in green robes wearing the trappings of a director surrounded by four of the rag-wrapped creations. Without hesitation, I ripped a grenade from my harness and dropped it straight down, rolling back from the rail. “Five contacts, four red-eyes and head honcho,” I spoke into the vox.

Ignace took a fire position to my left, Barrick at the head of the stairs. Sila took cover at the wall, and Venus moved just next to her. I peeked over the banister to see my handiwork, and it appeared the dreg-mummies had taken the brunt of the damage. The director ran for cover at the welcome desk, while 3 of the altered hive-dregs headed for the stairs in a rush. The fourth was slowed by a torn leg, thanks to my grenade. It left a bloody trail across the tile as it hobbled after its companions.

The techpriest worked methodically, taking careful aim, firing the single-shot from his lascarbine, reloading a new hotshot. He put some very large holes in the dreg-mummies. Sila even managed some good shots. Barrick and I just kept a steady rate of fire, though the lawboy did have to dive for cover as the director rattled off some fairly accurate autopistol fire.

I heard Venus say “Pain” under her breath, and then one of the rag-wrapped sods started twitching, unable to move further. Our shots converged on it quickly, and I voxed “Again.” We had a working strategy, and we thinned them out in short order. The director proved a harder nut to crack, staying behind the desk as he did. We exchanged ineffective fire for maybe three minutes before Barrick said “Frak this,” and stood.

Before I could stop him, he was running down the stairs at full speed. We attempted to give him cover, but the director was cagey, and slid out at floor level to unleash a long burst of shots into the Arbite’s charge. He went down like a dropped sack of tubers. He looked bad off, dropping in that way I’d come to associate with death on a few too many battlefields.

Sila yelled out “Barrick!” and rattled off all the shots in her revolver in rapid succession, chewing up one end of the welcome desk. I moved to my right, eager to get down the stairs to check on him, but not so eager that I’d share his plight. I waited for my shot. The director rose from the behind the desk, autopistol up, pointed directly at me.

Before I could take the shot, I heard the distinctive crack-whine of the cogboy’s hotshot, and saw the bloom of red mist from behind the director’s head. He crumpled to the ground, a goodly portion of his head no longer in his possession. I ran down the stairs, Sila close on my heels. I reached down and felt Barrick’s neck, and heaved a sigh of relief as I felt a pulse. I couldn’t see any blood, and Sila had already pulled out her medikit and was unbuckling his chest armor. I moved on down the stairs to make certain the opposition was truly down. A feel of the director’s neck revealed a different story than Barrick’s, and I collected the autopistol and a couple of spare mags off the corpse, as well as a key on a chain around his neck.

When I got back to Barrick, Sila and Venus were both working on him. He’d come around, but was still quite groggy. The adept looked up from her work with the medikit.

“It looks like he’s got several broken ribs, and likely some internal bruising. But he should be OK,” she said. For his part, Barrick mostly groaned, until she used the injector to load him up on a stimm and painkiller cocktail. Seconds later, his eyes were wide open.

“Alright, let me get up dammit,” he said.

“You ever hear of cover?” I asked him facetiously.

“Laugh it up asshole,” he replied. I offered him a hand and helped him to his feet as we grinned like fools. He reached for his chest armor, but it was in terrible shape. He tossed it on the stairs and made the sign of the Aquila over his chest. “The Emperor protects. And Sila fixes what he can’t, I guess.”

She smiled her thanks at his compliment, and loaded her emptied revolver. I handed the autopistol and its ammo to Barrick. “Here’s a souvenir to go with those ribs,” I said.

With that, we headed for the lift, waiting to take us to the top level of the building. Ignace used the director’s key to select the third level, and the doors closed with a gentle groan.

We exited the lift to a silent reception area. A sign warned us that only those with an appointment could continue past the door from this tiny room. We decided we’d make our own appointment, and Ignace made short work of the lock with his multi-tool.

The 3^rd level of the building appeared to have been a medicae facility, but one that had been run by a butcher’s guild. Bloodstains decorated the walls and floors in random patterns, though a few of the blotches made my eyes hurt to look at. Venus made the sign of the Aquila, and began praying to Him on Earth, and we all mirrored the Holy symbol with our hands for a moment before we continued.

Looking about, we saw that some of the medicae tables held corpses, all face down and flayed open. Each had one of the white organs wrapped within their tissues, though it was obvious that these were all failed implantations.

Passing one of the tables, Venus gasped suddenly, a sound of horror escaping her. We rushed over, to find that one of the poor bastards was still clinging to life, though just barely. He kept trying to scream, but in eerie silence. Only the hiss of rushing air into the respirator device made any sound, his vocal chords long ruined by the strain of his cries. He had suffered horribly, and made no response to us as we tried to communicate with him. Barrick looked to me, and I nodded my head once, and closed my eyes. One shot rang out in the room, and then the silent screaming came to an end, the Emperor’s Mercy given with finality.

We walked on in silence, passing perhaps 20 tortured, dead souls. At the end of the room, a very solid wall stood, more at home in an Imperial bunker than an Alms house. One massive amourplas door punctuated the wall, and the hair stood on the back of my neck. I motioned to Ignace, and he made ready to open the portal, as Barrick and I took fire positions just to each side of the massive door.

Ignace gave the door a mighty tug, and as it opened, an entirely new hell greeted us. Barrick and I stepped through quickly, and I took the room in at a glance. It was obviously an operating theatre, and in fact one of the occupants of the room was performing a surgery.

She was tall, and I could see more metal than flesh on her as she was bristling with augmetics. Her entire face was a metallic mask, and several mechadendrites moved over her shoulders functioning as extra arms wielding numerous surgical implements. The screams of her subject assailed our ears. There were several massive glass tanks in the room, and one held a massive version of the white organs we’d seen, easily 3 meters in length.

What kept my attention, however, was the vat grown monstrosity that was the twin of the one we’d dealt with downstairs. Especially given that it was charging us with its chain-ripper whirring.

It hadn’t made four steps before falling mid stride onto its face, writhing in agony. I knew that Venus had done something to what there was of its mind, and I moved the front sight of my lasgun over to the augmetics-laden churgeon, firing rapidly. Those few shots revealed to me that her augmetics covered her center of mass, and was pretty damned tough. She didn’t so much as flinch, even when Barrick added his shotgun to the volley.

With a clicking hiss, the mechadendrites on her back detached, revealing themselves to be a sort of metallic spider of many limbs which began to scuttle toward us. I’d seen more than enough, and chucked a grenade in her direction. I was a bit too enthusiastic in my toss, and it rolled between the twitching monstrosity and the big vat of goo, detonating moments later. The glass vat shattered, the organ perforated in dozens of places, and the monster with the chain-ripper ceased its twitching. I kept shooting just as if I’d meant for it to happen that way. It was probably the luckiest miss I’ve ever had, or the worst. Jury’s still out.

Ignace took a shot at the spider-thing, but his lasbolt seemed to bounce off the polished metal. I immediately dropped my lasgun and pulled my revolver, as it slashed a scalpel the size of my forearm at Barrick, which the lawboy barely avoided. One shot from the big caliber handgun slagged the thing, tearing into its casing in a shower of sparks.

In all this time, the metal-clad churgeon had been weathering a storm of fire from the rest of the team. She ran to the far corner of the room, ducking behind the ruined specimen tank, and dove into a large shaft in the floor. I cursed, and moved to advance. Barrick sprinted after her, stopping at the lip of what turned out to be a shaft straight down to the kitchen…where her failed experiments were turned into menu items.

He jumped down into the shaft, intent on climbing after her. From my vantage across the room, I could see some of the ichor from the specimen tank had pooled there, and a flash of panic clenched my gut in an icy fist. There was no scream. There was no shout of denial. There was only a screech of metal as he lost his grip and a sickening thump from the shaft across the room.

I don’t recall making my way to the edge of that shaft, don’t remember holstering the pistol or recovering my lasgun. I only remember making the Aquila as I looked on the broken body of a man of the Adeptus Arbites who would not give up, who died in the line of duty. A man who I trusted would stand at the Golden Throne moments hence and be judged worthy, if hasty.

There would be no catching the Churgeon, and we all knew it. We’d succeeded in uncovering the truth, but we still felt failure wrapping around us like a shadow. We stood there, gazing down, listening as Venus prayed.

“The Emperor is our guiding light, a beacon of hope for humanity in a galaxy of darkness. As we serve Him, He is our greatest servant. As we pray to Him, His thoughts are only for us. And in the dark when the shadows threaten, the Emperor is with us, in spirit and in fact.”

One week later, the reports were finally finished, the evidence all collected. Our investigation had come to a close in the Coscarla, and our masters of the Holy Inquisition would pick up the pieces and discover the truth, the heresy which we’d exposed to the light.

We stood around one single lit candle, placed atop a ruined chestplate of Arbites armor. We each had a drink in our hands.

Sila stood in her robes of the Adminstratum, her blonde hair reflecting the candlelight. Venus clutched her pendant, the psy-focus of her trade. Ignace seemed immobile, a statue in the red robes of the Mechanicus. Me, I just clutched my amasec in one hand, thoughts of justice echoing in my mind. In the other I had our orders, an astropathic dispatch to embark on a system freighter to “maintain readiness”.

We drank one final toast to Barrick Zadin, Adeptus Arbite. The amasec was smooth, if a bit harsh on tongue. Venus, most pious of us all, reached out one hand and extinguished the candle.

Zarkov, Chapter 8

The next day greeted us with soreness and discomfort, and most of us returned to the hostel to get something approaching rest. Ignace decided to stay with the corpse for a while longer; he was still taking samples and doing analysis. The rest of us had no desire to impede or even witness his work.

All paths lead to Terra, they say, and we were convinced by all the clues we’d unearthed that the Alms House was something more than a place to receive a meal. Something was very wrong there, and we would have to find out just what it was. Such was our mandate, and our duty.

Ignace re-joined us at lunchtime, and a short strategy session ensued. We decided to visit the Alms House that night and take a good long look around. We spent the remainder of the day preparing ourselves, as Sila and Ignace searched Imperial Records for all entries relating to Coscarla’s Alms House. Finally, the night cycle approached, and after a nearly lethargic day, we moved out with a quickness.

Sila and Ignace had used their skills to good measure, and we had a printout of the building’s floor plan. We decided to enter through the refectory rather than the front or rear…if challenged we could just ask for a handout, like so many before us. We intended to go as quietly as possible. Funny how things turn out.

I was loaded for bear, wearing my full turnout. My harness was strapped over my flak armour, sword at one hip and laspistol at the other. The lasgun and shotgun rested in their customary spots on the magclamps on my back, and I still had the revolver at the small of my back. I’d even brought along a couple of frag grenades, just in case…I’ve found in my lifetime that it’s never a good thing to wish you’d brought your grenades along to the party. All that gear makes for a heavy load, but I’d grown accustomed to it on too many battlefields to count.

The rest of the team were as loaded as they ever got; Barrick with his combat shotgun, Ignace with his hotshot-loaded lascarbine. Sila clutched her revolver, and Venus appeared to be unarmed…but was likely the most potent of us all with her mindcraft. We seemed a motley crew indeed, three in robes and two in combat armor. We walked with purpose, ready to do the Emperor’s work.

Entry was simple, as Venus defeated the simple lock with a mere thought. We spread out, not really knowing what we sought beyond “proof of heresy.” That is a fairly wide swathe of possibilities, but if it was easy they wouldn’t need us.

Only minutes into our search, Ignace raised one hand, fingers splayed. We rushed to him, and he pointed to an odd device in the food service line.

“What the frak is it?” Barrick asked in hushed tones.

Ignace answered him quietly. “It appears to be a rudimentary bio-auspex. See here where it couples to this cogitator?”

Barrick gave him a blank stare. Ignace punched a few buttons on the cogitator array, and the Arbite nodded in sudden understanding.

“It further appears that it is programmed to track identification and biostatus of anyone receiving food from this establishment. To what end I cannot say.”

I held up a closed fist and all conversation ceased. I had heard something from the kitchen door, and I held my hand out, palm down, to let the team know to stay put and stay quiet. The door had a circular window in it, and I crept slowly over to peer through it.

It was a typical kitchen, all stainless steel and ceramics. A man in the green robes of the Alms House was working, bent over a large vat, and I nearly turned away. Then I noticed a glint of metal through a sleeve, and my head whipped back around. He had an autopistol in a shoulder rig, and I’d caught a glimpse of it through the gap of his robe. I pointed at Barrick and motioned him over, and he joined me quickly and silently.

He took a look through the window, then nodded to me. I mouthed a silent countdown from three, and we burst through the door together, leveling our weapons at the poor bastard.

Startled, his eyes flew wide open, and his hands went up over his head. He was a scruffy man, his filth and demeanor at odds with his pristine robes.

“Good evening.” I said it conversationally. “Let’s keep those hands up, and we’re going to answer a few questions.”

His answer came in a rush, as he grabbed the barrel of my lasgun with one hand, the other going for the pistol. He wasn’t quick enough by half, and Barrick spoon-fed him a blast from his shotgun. It was loud as hell, and I winced, sure that our stealth was blown.

I reached down and plucked a microbead out of the corpse’s ear, hearing a voice asking for a status report through it. I graveled my voice and rubbed a finger over the mic to simulate static as I replied.

“Sorry boss, that was an accident,” I said into the mic.

“I thought I heard gunfire?”

“Just the one shot, sir. It was a damn big rat. I missed.”

“Don’t let it happen again, Furnik.”

“Yes sir.” I heaved a sigh of relief, the stress of having to lie my ass off draining away from me. Then I smacked Barrick in the back of the head. Hard. An old sergeant of mine used to call that slap a “training aid.”

Barrick whispered to me “Did you want me to let him shoot you?”

“You’ve never heard of a buttstroke with your weapon?” I replied.

“Good point,” he conceded.

The others had filtered in, weapons drawn, and we continued our search in the kitchen. Moments later, Venus said simply “Here.” We gathered in one of the cold storage lockers, and she showed us some large barrels with numbers on the side. The numbers matched some of those we’d just seen in the cogitator, and my stomach flipped once. Sila covered her mouth with her hand.

The tech priest opened one of the containers, and quickly confirmed that it was filled with meat. “Human remains,” he said. Some of the team looked a little green, but nobody lost their dinner.

“Close it.” I said. “That’s enough…somebody goes down tonight.” I handed Ignace the microbead I’d collected. “Here, monitor this. It’s their comm freq.”

“Excellent,” the tech priest replied. He performed a quick ritual of attunement, and adjusted his own vox to monitor both our channel and theirs. I trusted him not to broadcast on the wrong one.

We made quick work of sweeping the rest of the first floor, finding nothing of interest. Our sweep took us past the main entrance with its lift and grand stair, through more storage areas and a conference room, and to the back staircase. We wasted no time heading up to the second floor, Barrick and I taking point.

We opened the door to a long hallway, with several doors along its length. We filed out of the stairway and into the gloomy passage, its sickly yellow sodium lights fighting to dispel the darkness. A general sense of creepiness hung in the air, and I looked to Venus to see if there was any warpcraft about. She shook her head gently, her blue eyes darting from door to door.

As a team, we moved from door to door, slowly and quietly clearing each room in turn. Minutes crept by, closing in on an hour. I felt an anxiety building; we’d been a long time with no contact. There’s a feeling in the air when a fight is about to happen, intangible but intense. That feeling was stirring now, and I reminded the team to stay alert.

The very next room we entered was the director’s office, and we gave it a bit more attention in our search for clues. Ignace noticed that one of the desk drawers was locked, and pried it open with his multitool. I heard him say “Interesting,” drawing the word out to leave it hanging among us in the room. We all looked at him, and he held up a small book from the drawer. On its face was the symbol of the Logicians, the heretical cult that had been crushed once before. Sila spoke first.

“That about cinches it then. Definitely heretics.” She spat the word, her righteous hatred dripping from it.

Suddenly, Ignace held his hand up, fist clenched. We all fell silent instantly. He tapped his ear, letting us know he was listening to vox. Then he said the words that changed our method for the night.

“We are discovered. There is a man just outside the door, reporting our presence.”

“We are go for active,” I replied, letting the team know we were now in a shoot-first-ask-later mode.

Barrick and I rushed the door; I took care of the opening part while he handled the pointing a shotgun through it part. Our target was in full flight, running hellbent for leather down the hallway. Ignace rolled through the doorway just before I stepped out into the gloomy passage, and we all sent rounds downrange. The green-robed runner staggered once, but made it to the end of the hallway, opening a steel door. Our next volley caught him just as the door slid open, and he crumpled to the floor.

From within that room, we heard a mighty crash and breaking glass, and a green fog issued from the door. I kept a sight picture on the doorway, assuming that all that commotion was a bad sign. Some days, I hate it when I’m right.

My eyes flew wide open as a huge humanoid thing charged through the doorway. It was a mass of vat-grown muscle, its right hand replaced by a meter-long chainripper. A low growl issued out of a mouth full of pointed teeth, and it showed no signs of slowing down as the chainripper revved up.

I fired as fast as my trigger finger would allow, trying to maintain fire discipline. I heard the booming of Barrick’s shotgun next to me, saw blood spatter and paint rip from the hallway walls. I heard the sharp crack-whine of Ignace’s lascarbine, watched a hole open in the thing’s chest. It seemed not to notice, closing the distance to us with preternatural speed. I felt the pressure of fear in my chest, but forced myself to stand firm and keep shooting. It still seemed not to notice, and it raised the chainripper high over its head.

Finally, Barrick caught the charging thing in the eye, and it crumpled a mere 3 meters from us, the chainripper digging a hole in the wall before sputtering out. Its torso heaved one final breath, and it fell silent. I released the breath I’d been holding, and felt the euphoria of certain death avoided flood through me.

I looked at Ignace, still on one knee beside me. “Rolling?” I asked.

“It seemed the most appropriate strategic procedure,” he replied. All I could do was laugh.

We cleared the rest of the hallway without incident, including the room that had recently held our rather enthusiastic attacker. Its containment vat had been shattered, and nutrient slime coated the floor, thick and green.

“Nothing else here,” Barrick said.

Sila, being careful to stay out of the slime-coated room, added “There’s a third floor.”

“Then we go up,” I said.

Ignace tilted his head to the side for a moment, and I knew he was visualizing the floor plan in his augmented mind. “The only entry point for that level is the lift. It is our only option.”

“No other options?” I asked. I was met with a chorus of silence. “That’s about what I thought. Let’s get this done.” We had no idea our night was about to get much, much more interesting.