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Post by Sister Galatea(M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 17:28:18 GMT -5
"Is....Is this possible?" Savant Cabalos asks breathlessly from beneath the veil of his deep, crimson hood. The wise savant, more augmetic than man after his two centuries of life, brushes his finger tips through the pale green light of the holo-image displayed before him. "After more than nine centuries...lost-lost-lost in the heart of the Warp. Could it be, He...has returned?" Moments pass as the servos in the savants eyes click and whir, downloading the precise details of the holo-image before him and uploading the date to his brain.
Footsteps, heavy and even, intrude. Cabalos turns...almost guilty.
"Master..I..wait, you are not my-"
There is a booming roar. The bell like chime of a single bolter shell, empty and hollowed, hits the floor. Cabalos, his face a bloody ruin, falls back and through the holo-image- the image of a massive space hulk- distorting the green display for a moment as he collapses to the floor in death.
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Post by Sister Galatea(M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 17:43:39 GMT -5
Elsewhere,
Velladonna Sao. She is like an emerald, surely. An emerald set in ivory. Her eyes shine like them, the shimmering material of her form fitting robes, even her dark auburn hair- running like silk to her pale shoulders- seems to somehow take on that subtle glow. She is beautiful....and terrible...
She is a psyker. Powerful, they say, and oh how off putting. Perhaps it is those green, green eyes. Jade. Watching you. Or..or the psy frost that blossoms along the walls like ivy whenever she is distressed.
Captain Halstern seems to think she is worth the trouble. After all it is his ship, The Blue Sun, and any man or woman in Lucky Space knows not to question a Rogue Trader on his own vessel. Still...a Psyker...it's just bad luck.
As a member of Halstern's crew you are aware of the buzz that is moving through the halls and rooms of The Blue Sun. And rightfully so, Firetide only happens once every 35 months and the festival is one of the biggest events amongst Rogue Traders and their crews. All are welcome. Not to mention some time off this ship might do you good....as well as being away from Velladonna Sao and her beryl gaze..
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Post by Helmian (M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 17:57:25 GMT -5
''Hey! Arvol! How 'ya doin'?'' Sternwalt shouted to one of the many people he past on his way to his cabin.
Sternwalt closed the door behind him as he entered his cabin, It wasn't much but it was his. . . Sort off. He started rummaging through his foot locker looking for a bottle of Merkiaz he'd been saving for 26 months for this occasion.
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Post by Sister Galatea(M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 18:01:40 GMT -5
Arvol lifts his free hand for a moment to return the greeting and hastily returns it to the crate of engine parts and cogs he is lugging to his quarters. He grins, sideways, and kicks his own cabin door open with his foot. "Top of the star, Sternwalt! I can hardly wait to drop anchor and land for Firetide! I'm going to make a killing on these scrap parts! I hear there are going to be a few Orks about the station this year...awful beasts, but they'll pay insane amounts of their swag for old junk like this!"
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 10, 2009 18:05:56 GMT -5
Ensign Castus Drake woke from his bunk with a start.
He still wasn't entirely used to this ship, having only recently come aboard this Rogue Trader vessel. The captain seemed to like him well enough, but that damn psyker always seemed to haunt him. There were times when he could feel her gaze boring into his mind, even when she was nowhere near.
This was one of those times.
He sat up and held his head in his hands for a moment, shaking terribly from fear. Finally managing to pull himself together, he stood up, and went over to his sink, and splashed some water on his face.
"I hate that blasted woman," he muttered to himself.
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 18:07:21 GMT -5
Asmodeus Krull was a lean looking scarecrow of a man with a tight face, large eyes, and a wide mouth. From all outward appearances he was just another mercenary gun for hire dressed in a brown leather duster with tall boots and loose fitting clothing. His hair was wild and had a slight curl around the edges and he had a shabby unkempt look about his features. He wore a pair of laspistols on his hips and while on board ship he seemed to do more sleeping then anything else, always quick to find some quiet spot to lean back and tuck his chin down. There was really no better way to pass the time between ports as far as he was concerned.
Sleeping was exactly what Krull had been doing until just a moment ago as when he awoke beside a water boiler. Opening his gray eyes slowly as he begins to sit up to look around. "Emperor, what is all the commotion about...?" he says as he raises a shaggy brow inquisitively and begins to stand, his tired joints popping and cracking as he spreads out and shakes his lanky limbs.
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Post by Helmian (M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 18:22:43 GMT -5
There you are! Come to daddy!
He'd found it. He opend it and took a swig.
Ahh lovely
He filled his hip flask and then stoved it away for another occation.
He started looking for the jewelry, weaponry and other various things he could sell down on the planet.
''Huh? What the hell is this?''
He picked up a object from his locker. He couldn't remember when he'd picked it up. It was short blade with lots of runes and stuff on it, weird inscriptions. Well, it looked valuabl. ''Bet I'll get a nice slump of money for this one.'' He wrapped it in some clothing and then shoved it into his bag along with the other stuff he intended to sell.
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 10, 2009 18:24:45 GMT -5
Quickly dressing, Castus only haphazardly threw on his pistol belt, the heavy leather holster slapping against his thigh somewhat painfully. Taking a moment to let the sting die down, he finished strapping the holster to his leg and left his quarters with a sigh.
Walking through the corridors of the ship, Drake realized how out of place he seemed to be among some of the crew. He wasn't exactly extremely tall, only 177.7cm, but he was still above the average. He guessed it was because he still looked young and fresh to the rest of the crowd. He was clean shaven, his raven black hair short, but not too short, a clean, angular, and average looking face.
Maybe his feelings were all due to his relative youth, yeah...that was it.
As he walked through the corridors, he hand gently brushed the walls. Behind the metal he could feel the dull throb of her heart, a feeling that always seemed to calm his nerves. He still wasn't used to this ship by any means, and he was still learning something new about her everyday.
He was glad for the upcoming festival, as it would give him a chance to stretch his legs, and would give him time alone with The Blue Sun to get to know her one on one. Something he had really wanted to do from his first trip aboard.
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Post by Kaikelx on Aug 10, 2009 18:32:15 GMT -5
Emery Rayet moved quickly down the corridors. She had lost her helmet months before, serving under another....Rouge Trader, and she had never managed to join up with her regiment.
So she served this Rouge Trader.
She had a Las Carbine slung on her back, that had a scope, and a laser targeter on it. Next to it was a voxcaster, that appeared to patched and dented in many ways.
She was rather slim, and of average height, wearing some sort of light Guard-issue armor, the kind they gave to Recon Troopers.
Her hair had grown long, and it was a midnight black, that almost seemed to absorb the light around her. However, her most starking feature was her eyes. Her face was fine, perfectly normal looking, but her eyes weren't. They either had no pupils at all, or they had extremely white ones. Whatever the case, her eyes looked like the eyes of the dead.
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 18:36:22 GMT -5
Covers his cavernous mouth as he begins to yawn then tosses some of his dark hair back out of his face and scratches the stubble growing on his cheek as he pulls up his pants slightly and pulls on his collar to air out his shirt a bit.
"Oh right...firetide...heh, how could I forget?" he mumbles out loud as he begins to make his way down the narrow corridor and leers at Ensign Drake as he goes past, simply for the sake of giving the new fish a hard time, it was nothing personal.
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 10, 2009 18:45:20 GMT -5
Drake would have given the mercenary no mind at any other point. His mind was occupied on other things, but there was something about the man that made his instincts jump.
The fingers of his left hand gently brushed the handle of his Bolt Pistol, feeling the carved wood grip. The weapon he carried was different from most, instead of the ugly box shaped Pistols used by Astartes and Guard Commanders, and those of the Commissariate, this pistol was custom made for him by his father. It's streamlined appearance worked gently with gold leaf over the barrel and chamber. Indeed, this Bolt Pistol was different from most due to the fact it did not use a magazine, but worked using the principles of the simple revolver design. There were only two pistols like this that he knew of, the other belonged to a Lord General, who commissioned the work from his father because he thought it would be interesting.
His hands moving away from the weapon when he realized what was happening, he turned to the mercenary, "What's that for Asmodai? he asked, and realizing he addressed the man incorrectly, "...No, that's not right, Asmodeus, sorry."
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 18:58:31 GMT -5
"Most folks just call me Krull..." He kept his eyes fixed and watched the younger man touch the grip of his pistol from out of his peripheral vison. Asmodeus stayed relaxed and fluid, when the time came for fighting he was usually all instinct.
"Just throwing glances at you...seeing how you'd react, gotta keep on your toes, especially once we're off ship...who knows that trouble will be waiting for us down there." He flashed a wolfish grin, he had far too many teeth in his head and as a result the expression wasn't exactly pleasant. "Stay sharp...but then again it should be fine...its just a festival right?"
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 10, 2009 19:05:00 GMT -5
"Alright, Krull, I'll remember that," replied Drake, nodding.
Looking over the merc, Castus smiled a little on the inside. This one likes to play tough, good, I like him already, he thought to himself.
"Mhmmm," he said, replying to the man's reasoning for leering at him, "though I don't know how much shore leave I'll actually be taking, but, I should be alright," he gave Krull a wolfish grin, and if the merc looked closely enough, he would be able to see the other man's offsetting feature, his slit pupils and golden eyes.
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Post by Kaikelx on Aug 10, 2009 19:07:05 GMT -5
Rayet moved on past, giving a curt nod to the other mercenary, kept going, stopped, and turned back.
"Um....Excuse me, but do you know what this festival is for?"
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 10, 2009 19:18:48 GMT -5
"What is any festival for? a good excuse to get drunk!"
He snickered quietly and gave Drake a poke in the ribs with his elbow as he rolled his eyes to look at him side long and smirked, noting the peculiarities in his gaze before giving him a wink.
"Don't let the Captain work you too hard lad...we all need our R&R sometimes."
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 10, 2009 19:22:08 GMT -5
Drake smiled.
"Oh, it's not really the captain doing this, more personal choice. Gotta get to know this girl somehow," he said, patting the walls of the corridor, "and this festival provides the opportunity for me to get to know her one on one."
Looking over at Rayet, he addresses her casually, "I honestly have no idea, if you want those types of details I'd ask the Cap'n or one of the older crewmembers."
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Post by RedsandRoyals on Aug 10, 2009 19:31:20 GMT -5
Talvern Reese shuffled up to the group, yawning. "Morning all. I miss anything?"
Reese was short and stocky with black hair. His left eye was grey, stained by a chemical attack during is service with the Imperial Guard, and his right eye was light brown. He was a field medic, transfered to the ship only recently. It was quite clear he had just awoken, dressed as he was in a rumpled uniform and untied boots.
Reds
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Post by Kaikelx on Aug 10, 2009 21:03:02 GMT -5
Rayet shrugged, her blank eyes somehow focusing on Reese.
"I'm just wondering if the Captain's going to bring some of the Mercs along. Which will answer if I should carry this vox and carbine all day..."
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 10, 2009 22:50:55 GMT -5
"Morning Doc," said Castus to the field medic.
Ensign Drake frowned a moment at the female merc's question.
"I don't think he's not gonna let you go," he replied, "Besides, why in the Emperor's name do you carry that around all the time. It's not exactly a necessary thing to do."
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Post by Kaikelx on Aug 10, 2009 22:54:00 GMT -5
"Hey," Rayet started defensivly, "I just don't feel right without it. Besides, it's a good habit to carry this stuff around. That way, I can last longer in combat."
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Post by Aeon on Aug 10, 2009 23:55:47 GMT -5
From the corner of the room, at a small, cold steel booth, shrouded in darkness, sat Arett, no surname - just...Arett.
He was quite possibly the most hated crew member of them all, not because he was rude or arrogant, but because he made people feel...uncomfortable. Especially that psyker woman.
Arett was a null.
He couldn't feel the warp. He could barely feel anything, and while small, he barely felt any of the pain that was a partner of combat. And by the Emperor, was he good at combat.
For fifty years, Arett had been a warrior for a society of warriors dedicated to one sole purpose - money making through murder. The Sons of Dispater were indeed lethal killers, and Arett had been one of them.
He listened to these people, these rogue traders, talk about some sort of festivel, but earlier, he had heard orks mentioned. Did orks have festivels? He didn't know, as he'd never faced any before.
Well, he would keep on his toes, and rely on his power blade in case the dirt hit the fan. He wasn't exactly friends with the crew, but they were his family.
Arett's face was covered in a heavy metal mask pounded to the likeness of a skull. It suited his dark personality, and only his hateful violet eyes were visible. In a deep, haunting voice, he spoke.
"Ensign...when are we landing?"
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Post by Sister Galatea(M.I.A) on Aug 11, 2009 0:36:16 GMT -5
A hiss....click....crackle. Throughout the rooms and corridors of the ship echoes the voice of Captain Halstern. "Crew and companions make ready! We have just received word from Bonner's Reach that their void docks are ready for us to make anchor. Gather your effects and finest clothing ladies and gentlemen- it is time for the Firetide!"
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Post by RedsandRoyals on Aug 11, 2009 10:04:53 GMT -5
Reese looked down at his disheveled uniform. "Best clothes, huh? I better change, then." He shuffled back to his room, pondering the weirdos that made up the rest of the crew. Ah, well he thought at least I have my little stress reliever he patted the pain killers in his pocket. In theory, he carried them with him at all times, so that just in case he got caught without his medicae equipment, he could at least take the pain out of the last few moment's of the wounded person's life. In practice, he secretly used them to take the edge off of daily life, and to keep the memories at bay. It was his little secret.
He changed into a clean uniform, slung his Creed-9 over his shoulder, holstered his Armsman 10, grabbed his kit bag, and headed out of his room.
Reds
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 11, 2009 10:36:20 GMT -5
Krull gives himself a quick glance and smooths some of the wrinkles out of his shirt then checks to make sure his pistols are still holstered before shrugging slightly to himself. "these are my finest clothes..."
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Post by The Envoy (AWOL) on Aug 11, 2009 10:43:32 GMT -5
"I think we all might need a change Doc," said the Ensign, giving the null a nervous glance, "well, off I go then, see you all at the landing."
With a slight wave, the young officer departed company with the others and headed back towards his quarters. Heading inside, he picked up his dress uniform from the storage closet. Laying the clothing out on the bed, he looked it over before actually putting it on. The entirely black uniform was not as fancy as some he had seen, but was still fairly pleasant compared to what he wore in his youth. The pants were plain, except for a single red strip on the outside seam that ran up the length of both legs. The jacket was recently pressed, and the brass buttons polished to perfection, the small aquila shining out on each. There was silver trim on the end of the sleeves and up at the top of the high collar, as well as a pair of silver leaves winding around the base of the neck. Throwing on the uniform, he quickly pinned the Ensign symbols to the shoulder boards, and placed the black gloves on his hands. To finish off the look, he strapped his saber frogs to his pistol belt, and silently slid the sheathed sword and knife into place at his right hip.
Picking up his pace, he decided to leave the hat, no one wore it anyway, and headed down to the embarkation deck.
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