Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Cheesecake]

OOC Thread
Flagellum Imperator
Flagship of Inquisitor Barbarossa Benedict

The air-cyclers of the voidship whir and hum at an incredibly loud volume. supplemented by the rumbling of the engines and all the ship's systems, but amazingly it is still drowned out by the cacophony of bureaucrats, servants, Administratum adepts and angry acolytes shouting and cursing. All of you are planning to mobilize on Hive Desoleum soon, and under pressure from the Planetary Governor and his inept lackeys, everything is in a frenzy.

The six of you are in your warband's quarters, a shared room with three double-deck beds. The room itself is spartan, with only the beds, a pillow and blanket each, and six lockers. The door is kept open when it can be spared, since closing it would leave the room musty and the air stale in a matter of hours.

This is the first time you've met each other. You were all picked up earlier and given directions to your habroom. The courier hasn't arrived to give you instructions, so it seems you all have time to hunker down and get comfortable (or as close as you can get).

[Sirus]

Elodie fidgeted, casting suspicious glances at the other five while repeatedly taking apart and reassembling her autopistol. She was not, by nature, a trusting sort.

[Caellath]

Tarkhal felt at home in a ship. The Flagellum might not have been the Unspoken Oath, but at the very least the noises that came with a ship's functioning were still there, even if they were different from back home. He'd miss the Drunnels and all of the nifty little spots he had picked out for future caches, but the only thing that had saved him from death - as far as he knew - was the Inquisition's timely intervention. He'd feel a bit homesick but he hoped it'd go away eventually, and he knew that eventually he'd have to learn how to walk around "firm ground" like the footsloggers did. The concept was strange, to say the least, and at least he hoped hives would be similar enough to a ship's innards.

His fairly large backpack by his side, Tarkhal seemed unimpressive with the hood of his cloak pulled down and without his headgear on. He was a scrawny-looking young man of slightly above-average height and his face was thin, with blue eyes providing a stark contrast to his very light brown, curly shoulder-length hair and rather pale skin tone. Saying it vulgarly, he appeared to be a wimp. He looked bulkier from the neck down than he actually was, but that was only because of the armor that peeked out from beneath the cloak - an imposing set of stormtrooper carapace armor that seemed to have gone a good amount of time without maintenance and which was a terribly fit for him. Underneath the armor, he wore long light gray, steel blue-trimmed scribe robes. All in all, he looked either like a nerd playing Throne Agent or like a nerd who probably had contacts or a good sense for scrounging - and was still playing Throne Agent.

Sitting on a bed with one arm hooked around his backpack and another holding his helmet by his side, he tried a shot at an introduction. The Inquisitor - or at least the intermedaries that'd handle his warbands - probably expected a good working relationship out of the group and it was beyond him to disappoint the organization that had saved and drafted him. "Hello, I am Tarkhal. What about you?" he asked, trying to keep things simple. He wasn't too good at socializing outside of making contacts and messing with haggling.

[UXLZ]

The Psyker was leaning against the wall popping his finger knuckles in a strange manner, using the thumb on the same hand to do so. Of course, the others on the team didn't know who he was, and he intended to keep it that way, at until their mission started. His powers were subtle enough that it wouldn't be obvious, and others tended to be very... Distrustful, of his kind. Not completely unfounded of course, a single slip and he could end up exploding into demons, even dooming an entire planet to destruction. He was sanctioned, of course, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

He was a fairly normal looking person, no outstanding characteristics. Straight medium length black, average appearance, green eyes. He wore an Imperial Guardsman's uniform, with his only other worldly possessions a whip that had been made obsolete, a chainsword that had seen genuine combat only once, a laspistol he had never used, a cloak to keep him warm in the cold, and his psionic focus, a rune carved in the symbol of his world's saint. Others might mistake him as a Guardsman, and they were not entirely incorrect, as that's where he was supposed to have been headed before the events that ended in his arrival here.

He heard the nerd ask for names, and decided to answer with simplicity.

"Eizen."

If he wanted to know more, he should ask.

[Twinwolf]

Tesera looked up at the other six people in the room. She didn't seem like the talkative type, having a chainsword, warhammer, and snub pistol, and flamer strapped to her hip and guard flak over her rather fancy, if torn, outfit, but she spoke more than the "guardsman".
"Tesera Cassis. Where you from, Tarkal?" she said to the scrawny man who'd asked for names.

((It's not in the OP of the OOC thread, but Cheesecake PMd me that I'm in))

[Caellath]

Tarkhal seemed slightly satisfied at least two people had given an answer so far when a question was shot at him. He seemed to think it over for a moment, trying to decide whether it was the kind of thing that was readily shared in such an environment. Finding to reason not to, he chose to answer truthfully to Tesera. "I am from the Unspoken Oath, the flagship of the Anzaforr Dynasty." he replied, hesitating before adding: "How about you?"

[Twinwolf]

Tesera bit her lip. "Trides. It was not an important world, you'll not have heard of it.". Others would notice the emphasis on "was".

[Aseaheru]

With a short grunt Gar, who had been lying on a bed, stood. Tall and thin, and wearing the red robes of the Mechanichus, Gar has few immediately obvious implants, with the most obvious being the electro-graft port in the wrist, extended in greeting to the group. "Gar, from Ek’skavator Astgheri. It is pleasurable to meet you all. And no, I have not heard or read of Trides, which in not uncommon, I have not heard of many world outside of those within my system. This said, he turned back to Tarkhal. "Forgive me for prying, but I have not come across an account of the Unspoken Oath before, and am curious. Do you think you can describe it to me?

[Caellath]

Tesera bit her lip. "Trides. It was not an important world, you'll not have heard of it.". Others would notice the emphasis on "was".

"Ah." Bad with people as he was, Tarkhal still noticed when it'd probably be for the best not pressing a topic further. She didn't seem in the mood to talk about it. "Ok."

He then turned his attention to Gar, satisfied with being asked about something he was more comfortable with. "To be honest, I rarely saw her external appearance, but she's about six and a half kilometers long and has some similarities to a Dauntless-class light cruiser. She has large eagle wings over her prow and arches and crenellated towers on her hull, with statues of heroes and saints on her ramparts. She has thick armor and is well-armed too."

"I know the interior better than the exterior, but you can be sure she's one of the finest vessels in this sector." he finished, once again hit by premature nostalgia.

[UXLZ]

That was more like it. Eizen decided to speak up, it was good to get to know the team. If they started talking about skills, however, he would have to either come clean or make something up.

"She sounds like an excellent ship. My own place of origin is called Gitaxias, a world dedicated to a saint. It's a relatively obscure one, however, and I highly doubt any of you will have heard of it..."

[Caellath]

 "I have to admit I most likely never heard of such a world. Was the saint also named Gitaxias?" After replying honestly, Tarkhal followed up with a question, intrigued. As far as he knew shrine worlds usually didn't have large hives, meaning Eizen probably had lived in an environment alien to someone who had been born and spent most of his years in the void. The world was most likely also from a neighboring sector since he didn't recall such a world around Askellon.

[Sirus]

Elodie shook her head at the others' stories.

"I have not heard of any of these places. I come from a world that does not have such technology. I do not even know if it has a name."

[Caellath]

The voidborn rose an eyebrow at Elodie's comment upon her mention of a world without the Imperium's technology. "Without what kind of technology? Without ships?" His inquiry sounded genuinely curious. If the woman playing with her autopistol was from one of those "savage" worlds without hives and manufactoria, it was a wonder how she had managed to learn how to assemble and disassemble a weapon. "If you come from a fringe world, I can at least tell that your Low Gothic doesn't sound badly accented."

[GiglameshDespair]

Alicia had stored her own, old, armour and chainsword in the locker, remaining only in her bodysuit. Her hand flamer was on her hip, her chainblade carefully concealed. It was often best to appear weaker than you were, so the enemy was lulled to lose it's caution. She was sat on one of the bunks, carefully avoiding the rust-and-oil streaked wall to avoid dirtying her robes.

She'd been ignoring the others, focusing on the tiny prayerbook in her hand. Her narrow eyes flickered away from the tiny High Gothic script, remaining on each of the five for a second. She lingered for a moment longer on the psyker. Him popping his joints was irritating.

"I am the chirurgeon. Try not to get injured."

Her tone was vaguely dismissive - the accent lilting, reflecting someone more used to speaking in High Gothic than low.

She returned to her prayer book.

[Caellath]

Tarkhal's ears perked up a bit as he heard that accent, being a speaker of High Gothic himself. The message that came with those words was slightly disheartening, however. He felt like getting injured never had been an option, but now he had the impression he didn't want even a skin-deep cut around a Medicae professional that sounded that passionless. Even the infirmary workers back in the ship and their dark humor sounded better. "Sure. I will do my best not to."