"Lord," the woman said bowing, "my masters are considering inviting you into our fraternal order. They did not know that you possessed a daemon weapon. It will only raise your status in their eyes. There are many rewards to joining our order and even greater ones for members of your obvious power."
"But," said Jolan Gix.
"Second hand tales of success are suspect and they bring nothing of benefit to my masters."
"Sit," said Jolan. She eyed the blade nervously. With a smile he sheathed the deadly weapon. She took the chair opposite him. "I'll need to call you something."
"Katreen will do."
"And your master?"
She hesitated. "I directly serve one of the Illuminated Masters, The Queen of Nightmares."
"This assignment you have for me is to prove my mettle, correct? To see if I'm as good as she thinks I might be?"
"I cannot speak for what occurs in the mistress's mind, but that is often how things are done."
"Very well, what is required of me and mine?"
"That will be explained to you in time, Sevran Dask. What I require from you now is your commitment."
"Unacceptable," said Jolan. He half drew the daemon blade from its sheath. "I take only the True Gods on faith."
"Dread lord, -"
"Silence," he commanded. "Consider your next words carefully. One way or the other I will have my answers."
"My lord, I am to take you on board a ship and deliver you to a safe house on Sycorax Minor. There we receive instructions regarding our roles in assisting in the insurrection."
Jolan nodded. He felt no danger or deceit from her. "Much better." He slammed the blade back into its sheath. "We'll be ready to leave in two days." One to let his men finish partying, chaos scum being what they were even when discipline was applied, and another to do certain preparations.
She stood quickly. "I would say its a pleasure but it wasn't. I'll see you in two days." Jolan nodded in acknowledgement and watched her leave. When she was gone he pulled out a small case of black leather from one of his trouser pockets and placed it on the table.
He opened the case and took his Tarot cards out. He opened his consciousness to the warp and began to lay down a pattern with his eyes closed, guided by warp currents that extended back from the future to the present.
He opened his eyes. The Grand Vizier stood at the top, attended by the Commander, the Lord Solar, and the Magus. The High Priest, inverted, was parallel to the Grand Vizier. Above them, threatening them all, was Heretic inverted, attended by the Assassin, the Soldier, and the Saint. The Heretic wore the face of Sevran Dask, the Soldier Hethor D'eckor, the Assassin was Danell Keys, and the Saint bore the visage of Nathan Talstram.
Above them both was the Seneshal, in the form of an armoured woman carrying a great mace, threatening the Heretic and his associates. An Inquisitor perhaps? Or some other threat. Perhaps an agent or guardian of the Illuminated Masters?
Jolan studied the array and then swept the deck and put it away. The display was fairly clear, bu the inverted High Priest troubled him. An ally or fellow traveller of the Rising Phoenix, but not one of them. A factor to be considered, but one unknown to him.
A new danger and only a slim clue to what. He was truly heading into dangerous waters, but he was getting closer to his goal. The leadership of the Rising Phoenix was nearing his grasp. Now he only had to deal with the little matter of not dying in the process.
In Memoria (40K)
Moderator: LadyTevar
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Sevran Dask pulled his cloak tighter around him as the wind whipped up even more dust from the landing field. Sycorax Minor's sole starport consisted of a several kilometers of mostly hard packed earth, a control tower, several air defence emplacements, and a large custom house and warehouse.
All travellers to and from the world were required to pass through the custom house and have their identities recorded. Transportation was lacking so Dask and his war band had to leg it across half a kilometer of landing field and through the biting wind. It wasn't pleasant.
Beyond the starport was the bustling city Tarindolas, which was hungrily consuming the surrounding countryside, paving it over, and erected new hab and factory buildings over it. Enviro-control measures limited the amount of pollution being pumped into the air, but there was only so much that could be done with the available technology and the shear number of industrial complexes. Traindolas was acquiring a layer of smog over its gleaming glass towers which not even a governor's decree could easily remove.
And it was surely the governor's, or more proper Sabar-Governor Nolesh Hesh, by Grace of the God-Emperor, Imperial Commander of Sycorax Minor's, will that his capital be clean. The man could be hard, but was also farsighted and keenly aware of his responsibilities. Sevran Dask did not know this, but Jolan Gix did. Jolan Gix had helped make Nolesh Hesh Sabar-Governor of Sycorax Minor.
Sycorax Minor had been one of his projects for his reformation theories. The previous feeble and conservative dynasty had been removed from power and an energetic and effective executive had been put into place. An ambitious modernization plan had been implemented on the mostly agrarian planet, one that doubled the planets industrial capacity and was generating tremendous wealth, some of which actually fell into the pockets of ordinary citizens as well as building new factories and basilicas. The project was still young, but Sycorax Minor had been looking like a success.
Jolan entered the air conditioned building and handed his papers to a board looking clerk. Four armoured enforcers with shotguns and power mauls stood watch in blue and white carapace armour. The clerk scanned the documents while another waved a sensor wand over him and his bag. They noted his weapons but did nothing. Sycorax Minor had formidable fauna that was still a danger to man and a tradition of bearing weapons based on that. And, as was the case on countless worlds, the sword was a mark of a gentlemen.
Not that Sevran Dask was carrying anything bigger than a slugger. The heavy hardware would be easy enough to smuggle off and their was no point in attracting attention by letting the customsmen see anything truly exotic. The clerk indicated he could go. Dask headed for a currency exchange and then the tram terminal.
A machine dispensed tickets for local coin. He slipped several large denominations ones into the dispenser and came away with a paper tickets which he distributed among his followers. The tram cars were new, no more than a couple of years old, and in good condition. Only one was marked by graffiti.
The mag lev cars hummed and moaned as they accelerated before reaching a steady speed of one hundred and twenty kilometers. Lush greenery swayed gently in the breeze outside. The tram cars began to decelerate and foundations and half begun building began to dominate the land around them. The tram stopped beside a huge, five story rectangular complex. A few more people moved into the cars and then the doors closed and the tram resumed moving.
They got off two stops later and transferred to another line. This took them into a district of brutal looking industrial style buildings. The block housing for workers and the poor looked like prisons. Smoke poured from dozens of factory stacks and there was a definite chemical stink to the air. He saw graffiti and men passed out in alleys along with the usual predatory operations. Pawnshops with barred windows, stores dispensing alcohol and other intoxicants, dealers in illegals and their clients, rundown addict-prostitutes, the working poor, and the jobless. The dregs of their city, the worst of the worst, the festering breeding pit of heresy and discontent. This was the place to start, but was this world really vulnerable?
Jolan had seen slums more desperate and violent than this. Some of them were, in fact, far worse. The slum was large, but small compared to the rest of the city. As a servant of the Imperium, he would want this place swept for heretics and the worst of the scum eliminated, but he could not consider this place a serious risk to the planet. As a heretic agent, he could only consider the raw material and resource base insufficient to the task.
Was this a way of eliminating him or some kind of test? To assign him the impossible and see if he died or realized it? To test whether or not he would obey orders. Or was there something hidden here, something powerful enough to tip the balance in favor of chaos? He didn't know, but there was only one way to find out.
He signalled his men with hand signals. He stepped out of the tram station, passed the three snickering youths wearing tattered black leathers bound with brightly polished chrome washed chains. The squat and powerful form of Mikal Camron followed him. The rest of his men would get off at different stops and rendevous later.
The bully boys didn't start a fight. Neither Dask nor Camron looked like easy meat. The heretic leader descended the stairs, noting that the tram station was cleaner than he had expected. Camron followed and somewhere, out there, Danell Keys was doing as he felt best. They crossed the street, ignoring the hawkers of "blank out" and "flash fire" and turned left. The went down the block. A five story concrete tenement was at the end with the right address.
Camron pulled even and nodded. This was the place. They moved passed the loitering youths and opened the battered plas door of the building. The door was tough and still functional, but the marks of slug throwers and chain weapon that had sliced it diagonally said volumes about safety of this neighborhood. Sevran Dask stepped inside and Mikal Camron followed.
All travellers to and from the world were required to pass through the custom house and have their identities recorded. Transportation was lacking so Dask and his war band had to leg it across half a kilometer of landing field and through the biting wind. It wasn't pleasant.
Beyond the starport was the bustling city Tarindolas, which was hungrily consuming the surrounding countryside, paving it over, and erected new hab and factory buildings over it. Enviro-control measures limited the amount of pollution being pumped into the air, but there was only so much that could be done with the available technology and the shear number of industrial complexes. Traindolas was acquiring a layer of smog over its gleaming glass towers which not even a governor's decree could easily remove.
And it was surely the governor's, or more proper Sabar-Governor Nolesh Hesh, by Grace of the God-Emperor, Imperial Commander of Sycorax Minor's, will that his capital be clean. The man could be hard, but was also farsighted and keenly aware of his responsibilities. Sevran Dask did not know this, but Jolan Gix did. Jolan Gix had helped make Nolesh Hesh Sabar-Governor of Sycorax Minor.
Sycorax Minor had been one of his projects for his reformation theories. The previous feeble and conservative dynasty had been removed from power and an energetic and effective executive had been put into place. An ambitious modernization plan had been implemented on the mostly agrarian planet, one that doubled the planets industrial capacity and was generating tremendous wealth, some of which actually fell into the pockets of ordinary citizens as well as building new factories and basilicas. The project was still young, but Sycorax Minor had been looking like a success.
Jolan entered the air conditioned building and handed his papers to a board looking clerk. Four armoured enforcers with shotguns and power mauls stood watch in blue and white carapace armour. The clerk scanned the documents while another waved a sensor wand over him and his bag. They noted his weapons but did nothing. Sycorax Minor had formidable fauna that was still a danger to man and a tradition of bearing weapons based on that. And, as was the case on countless worlds, the sword was a mark of a gentlemen.
Not that Sevran Dask was carrying anything bigger than a slugger. The heavy hardware would be easy enough to smuggle off and their was no point in attracting attention by letting the customsmen see anything truly exotic. The clerk indicated he could go. Dask headed for a currency exchange and then the tram terminal.
A machine dispensed tickets for local coin. He slipped several large denominations ones into the dispenser and came away with a paper tickets which he distributed among his followers. The tram cars were new, no more than a couple of years old, and in good condition. Only one was marked by graffiti.
The mag lev cars hummed and moaned as they accelerated before reaching a steady speed of one hundred and twenty kilometers. Lush greenery swayed gently in the breeze outside. The tram cars began to decelerate and foundations and half begun building began to dominate the land around them. The tram stopped beside a huge, five story rectangular complex. A few more people moved into the cars and then the doors closed and the tram resumed moving.
They got off two stops later and transferred to another line. This took them into a district of brutal looking industrial style buildings. The block housing for workers and the poor looked like prisons. Smoke poured from dozens of factory stacks and there was a definite chemical stink to the air. He saw graffiti and men passed out in alleys along with the usual predatory operations. Pawnshops with barred windows, stores dispensing alcohol and other intoxicants, dealers in illegals and their clients, rundown addict-prostitutes, the working poor, and the jobless. The dregs of their city, the worst of the worst, the festering breeding pit of heresy and discontent. This was the place to start, but was this world really vulnerable?
Jolan had seen slums more desperate and violent than this. Some of them were, in fact, far worse. The slum was large, but small compared to the rest of the city. As a servant of the Imperium, he would want this place swept for heretics and the worst of the scum eliminated, but he could not consider this place a serious risk to the planet. As a heretic agent, he could only consider the raw material and resource base insufficient to the task.
Was this a way of eliminating him or some kind of test? To assign him the impossible and see if he died or realized it? To test whether or not he would obey orders. Or was there something hidden here, something powerful enough to tip the balance in favor of chaos? He didn't know, but there was only one way to find out.
He signalled his men with hand signals. He stepped out of the tram station, passed the three snickering youths wearing tattered black leathers bound with brightly polished chrome washed chains. The squat and powerful form of Mikal Camron followed him. The rest of his men would get off at different stops and rendevous later.
The bully boys didn't start a fight. Neither Dask nor Camron looked like easy meat. The heretic leader descended the stairs, noting that the tram station was cleaner than he had expected. Camron followed and somewhere, out there, Danell Keys was doing as he felt best. They crossed the street, ignoring the hawkers of "blank out" and "flash fire" and turned left. The went down the block. A five story concrete tenement was at the end with the right address.
Camron pulled even and nodded. This was the place. They moved passed the loitering youths and opened the battered plas door of the building. The door was tough and still functional, but the marks of slug throwers and chain weapon that had sliced it diagonally said volumes about safety of this neighborhood. Sevran Dask stepped inside and Mikal Camron followed.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Location: The Tower at Charm
Inside was an anteroom that had seen better days. Paint was peeling on the walls and a sofa leaking stuffing was the only furniture of note. A pair of heavyset thugs, scarred by enemy blades and the surgeon's knife. They were impossibly muscular and their torso had the chitinous look of implanted armour. The thugs wore baggy pants and tight shirts under bulky synthleather jacket. Both of them had pump action shotguns and they were pointed at Camron and Dask.
"We're expected," said Jolan Gix. The cybernetically augmented muscle grunted, his eyes hidden behind mirror shades.
"Go on up," the one on the right said, pointing at the stairs. "Just Dask."
Camron looked at Gix. The inquisitor nodded his assent and climbed the stairs. It opened into a narrow, room lined corridor. The door at the end was open. He walked over and entered the room.
It was small, neat, and barren. Several chairs, a portable cogitator and coms system set up on a desk, and a single bed. Inside, waiting for him, was Katreen, another woman, and two men.
The woman was petite, dark haired, and olive skinned. Her eyes were gold and she wore a battered leather jacket over shiny synthleather tunic and pants. A bulge under the armpit indicated that she was not unarmed.
One of the men was a big, dark skinned man, with blazing eyes. There was something mesmerizing about him. He wore a battered synthleather duster over a finer suit. The other man was leaner and very muscular, with dead white skin. He was crouched on the bed and wore a synthleather bodysuit and arsenal of blades. His eyes were pink and his skin was marked by numerous scars. A dark duster was next to him.
"Everyone is here so we can begin," said Katreen. "This is Sevran Dask." She pointed at the others in turn, starting with the woman and ending with the albino. "Calia Grace, Preacher Vale, and Dominar Trace. We are all here for the same reason."
"Which is?" said Trace languidly.
"The overthrow of this planet," said Katreen. "You will be working together to a certain extent so it is best that you should meet. The bulk of your operations will be separate, so you don't need to share any other information, but your actions will combine synergistically. You will create a moment of maximum opportunity for the Queen of Nightmares and she shall overthrow the Imperium and institute a new order in which we will all benefit."
"Let me guess," said Trace sardonically, "you'll be doing the coordinating."
"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?" The albino put on an insincere smile and shook his head in the negative. "Good."
Katreen tossed a small plastic rectangle to each person. "You'll receive your instructions from me, when necessary. You know how to compartmentalize information and set up a cell structure, so I don't have to tell you how to do it. I'll be seeing you soon. That's all."
She folded up the cogitator into its built in carrying case and walked out the door. Gix waited until she was gone and then left. The muscle broke down their shotguns into smaller, more concealable configurations, and followed her. Camron's eyes caught Jolan's. He signalled in the negative.
They left the building and travelled on foot for several blocks before they found a greasy spoon. Jolan triggered a message signal and then they entered. A middle aged woman at the counter nodded when they came in. The two men took a booth by a window. A few moments latter the woman came over.
"What will it be?" she asked.
Jolan put down the menu. "The spicy grox sandwich with orange juice."
"Same," said Mikal. She took their menus and departed. Gard Vikal and two of Jolan's muscle entered the restaurant and ambled over to them. Gard waved and instrument wand over them.
"Clear," he said.
Jolan looked at the other two. "Go," he said.
"Boss-"
"Go," said Camron. They got up and left.
"Well?" asked Gard.
"So far so good. Except for one little detail."
"That is?" Gard asked.
"There plan doesn't have a chance of working."
"Are you sure?" said Mikal.
"Absolutely. This is one of my projects they're screwing with. It's too strong, too stable, too well administered. So why in the Emperor's Name are they wasting their time trying?"
"We're expected," said Jolan Gix. The cybernetically augmented muscle grunted, his eyes hidden behind mirror shades.
"Go on up," the one on the right said, pointing at the stairs. "Just Dask."
Camron looked at Gix. The inquisitor nodded his assent and climbed the stairs. It opened into a narrow, room lined corridor. The door at the end was open. He walked over and entered the room.
It was small, neat, and barren. Several chairs, a portable cogitator and coms system set up on a desk, and a single bed. Inside, waiting for him, was Katreen, another woman, and two men.
The woman was petite, dark haired, and olive skinned. Her eyes were gold and she wore a battered leather jacket over shiny synthleather tunic and pants. A bulge under the armpit indicated that she was not unarmed.
One of the men was a big, dark skinned man, with blazing eyes. There was something mesmerizing about him. He wore a battered synthleather duster over a finer suit. The other man was leaner and very muscular, with dead white skin. He was crouched on the bed and wore a synthleather bodysuit and arsenal of blades. His eyes were pink and his skin was marked by numerous scars. A dark duster was next to him.
"Everyone is here so we can begin," said Katreen. "This is Sevran Dask." She pointed at the others in turn, starting with the woman and ending with the albino. "Calia Grace, Preacher Vale, and Dominar Trace. We are all here for the same reason."
"Which is?" said Trace languidly.
"The overthrow of this planet," said Katreen. "You will be working together to a certain extent so it is best that you should meet. The bulk of your operations will be separate, so you don't need to share any other information, but your actions will combine synergistically. You will create a moment of maximum opportunity for the Queen of Nightmares and she shall overthrow the Imperium and institute a new order in which we will all benefit."
"Let me guess," said Trace sardonically, "you'll be doing the coordinating."
"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?" The albino put on an insincere smile and shook his head in the negative. "Good."
Katreen tossed a small plastic rectangle to each person. "You'll receive your instructions from me, when necessary. You know how to compartmentalize information and set up a cell structure, so I don't have to tell you how to do it. I'll be seeing you soon. That's all."
She folded up the cogitator into its built in carrying case and walked out the door. Gix waited until she was gone and then left. The muscle broke down their shotguns into smaller, more concealable configurations, and followed her. Camron's eyes caught Jolan's. He signalled in the negative.
They left the building and travelled on foot for several blocks before they found a greasy spoon. Jolan triggered a message signal and then they entered. A middle aged woman at the counter nodded when they came in. The two men took a booth by a window. A few moments latter the woman came over.
"What will it be?" she asked.
Jolan put down the menu. "The spicy grox sandwich with orange juice."
"Same," said Mikal. She took their menus and departed. Gard Vikal and two of Jolan's muscle entered the restaurant and ambled over to them. Gard waved and instrument wand over them.
"Clear," he said.
Jolan looked at the other two. "Go," he said.
"Boss-"
"Go," said Camron. They got up and left.
"Well?" asked Gard.
"So far so good. Except for one little detail."
"That is?" Gard asked.
"There plan doesn't have a chance of working."
"Are you sure?" said Mikal.
"Absolutely. This is one of my projects they're screwing with. It's too strong, too stable, too well administered. So why in the Emperor's Name are they wasting their time trying?"
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-01-24 08:06pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Wheels within wheels perhaps? Or more likely, they are testing him to know when an operation is hopeless? Either way, I love this fic and appreciate updatesImperial Overlord wrote: "Absolutely. This is one of my projects they're screwing with. It's too strong, too stable, too well administered. So why in the Emperor's Name are they wasting their time trying?"
Last edited by Raj Ahten on 2007-01-24 10:09am, edited 1 time in total.
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)-
Imperial Overlord
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Camron secured lodgings in a newly constructed housing complex. Over the next few weeks more of Dask's people would be moved in, at a rate slow enough not to arouse suspicion. It was part of a huge block of newly constructed housing structures in a district full of new construction. The blocky buildings used warm colours and managed to avoid institutionalized grimness despite their uniformity. The new factories and industries and construction all required new workers and the workers required housing as did the foremen, middle managers, skilled tradesmen, and so forth. By decree of High Governor Iliam Krane Tarindolas's bright new future would be built with skill and devotion, not on exploitation and misery.
Jolan met with his retainers in the darkened living room of his modestly furnished corner suite. He sat on a chair, facing Mikal and Gard who were seated on the sofa. Keys leaned against a wall. "I take it, my Lord Inquisitor, you have a plan of action," said Gard Vikal.
"This world is poor candidate for a successful uprising, even with considerable outside assistance. No investment of resources short of outright invasion is likely to succeed. So why are they here? The simple answer is I don't know. These are followers of Tzeentch, the Architect of Fate. Wheels within wheels, schemes within schemes, whole plots launched and executed solely to accomplish a seemingly incidental objective that is part of a larger scheme. I can't say if this is a test or a diversion or an elaborate set up to hide another goal or if they are serious in their goal. Not yet. We have to get closer to their heart to learn that.
"Until we do we have to succeed and to continue to appear to be heretic scum. That doesn't mean their efforts on this world need to succeed, we just have to. We'll accomplish whatever missions we have to and sabotage our fellow heretics so with a little luck the worst of the possible damage will be averted."
"That may still mean the Rising Phoenix will succeed in their aims," said Gard.
"Yes," said Jolan. "That's a danger as long as they exist."
"Their compartmentalization policy will make finding and sabotaging our pseudo-allies difficult," said Danell Keys.
"I know," said Jolan, "but although the local authorities have far more resources, we actually know who we are looking for, among other pertinet facts. "They're off worlders, relatively recently arrived, and we share the same local contact points. Take whatever help you need and narrow it down."
"As you wish," said Keys. "This is a big city with a lot of people flooding in from outlying regions and a large number of imported off world experts. It is not the ideal hunting ground."
"Understood," said Jolan.
"And what of the Queen of Nightmares," said Camron. "I can't help but notice the similarities in titles. The Queen of Nightmares, the PsyKing, the Prince of Ruin. The Gamesman. She's high up."
"Yes," said Jolan, "she's one of the Illuminated Masters, the ruling cabal of the Rising Phoenix. We get to her, we can get to the Gamesman. We get the Gamesman, we get the spider in his web and if we extract what he knows. . . ."
"We get them all," finished Camron. "The most dangerous, elusive, and pernicious Chaos cult in the Segmentum."
"Yes," said Jolan. "The light at the end of the tunnel. The reason we have degraded ourselves for years and soiled ourself with this filth. A goal worthy of the terrible sacrifice." He froze for a moment and then reached into a pocket, pulling out a plastic wafer.
We stood up and walked over to the small portable cogitator lying on the table. He plugged the wafer in. A short message appeared on the screen in phosphorescent letters.
"What is it?" Mikal asked.
"They want me to murder a priest. Messily and in some place that the body will quickly be found."
"Any priest or a specific one?" asked Keys.
"Faithspeaker Ryenn Maflour," replied Gix. "Mikal, find out what you can about him. I want to know why they want him to get the axe."
"And then?" asked Keys.
"None of your concern," said Jolan. "You won't be handling it. Find the others. A simple assassination is well within the collective competency of the rest of us."
"Understood," said Keys.
"What will we do?" said Camron.
"If we don't have a good reason to bungle it?" Jolan asked rhetorically. "A good servant of the Emperor should be willing to die in his service," he said grimly. "We'll be charitable and assume the Faithspeaker is a faithful servant."
Jolan met with his retainers in the darkened living room of his modestly furnished corner suite. He sat on a chair, facing Mikal and Gard who were seated on the sofa. Keys leaned against a wall. "I take it, my Lord Inquisitor, you have a plan of action," said Gard Vikal.
"This world is poor candidate for a successful uprising, even with considerable outside assistance. No investment of resources short of outright invasion is likely to succeed. So why are they here? The simple answer is I don't know. These are followers of Tzeentch, the Architect of Fate. Wheels within wheels, schemes within schemes, whole plots launched and executed solely to accomplish a seemingly incidental objective that is part of a larger scheme. I can't say if this is a test or a diversion or an elaborate set up to hide another goal or if they are serious in their goal. Not yet. We have to get closer to their heart to learn that.
"Until we do we have to succeed and to continue to appear to be heretic scum. That doesn't mean their efforts on this world need to succeed, we just have to. We'll accomplish whatever missions we have to and sabotage our fellow heretics so with a little luck the worst of the possible damage will be averted."
"That may still mean the Rising Phoenix will succeed in their aims," said Gard.
"Yes," said Jolan. "That's a danger as long as they exist."
"Their compartmentalization policy will make finding and sabotaging our pseudo-allies difficult," said Danell Keys.
"I know," said Jolan, "but although the local authorities have far more resources, we actually know who we are looking for, among other pertinet facts. "They're off worlders, relatively recently arrived, and we share the same local contact points. Take whatever help you need and narrow it down."
"As you wish," said Keys. "This is a big city with a lot of people flooding in from outlying regions and a large number of imported off world experts. It is not the ideal hunting ground."
"Understood," said Jolan.
"And what of the Queen of Nightmares," said Camron. "I can't help but notice the similarities in titles. The Queen of Nightmares, the PsyKing, the Prince of Ruin. The Gamesman. She's high up."
"Yes," said Jolan, "she's one of the Illuminated Masters, the ruling cabal of the Rising Phoenix. We get to her, we can get to the Gamesman. We get the Gamesman, we get the spider in his web and if we extract what he knows. . . ."
"We get them all," finished Camron. "The most dangerous, elusive, and pernicious Chaos cult in the Segmentum."
"Yes," said Jolan. "The light at the end of the tunnel. The reason we have degraded ourselves for years and soiled ourself with this filth. A goal worthy of the terrible sacrifice." He froze for a moment and then reached into a pocket, pulling out a plastic wafer.
We stood up and walked over to the small portable cogitator lying on the table. He plugged the wafer in. A short message appeared on the screen in phosphorescent letters.
"What is it?" Mikal asked.
"They want me to murder a priest. Messily and in some place that the body will quickly be found."
"Any priest or a specific one?" asked Keys.
"Faithspeaker Ryenn Maflour," replied Gix. "Mikal, find out what you can about him. I want to know why they want him to get the axe."
"And then?" asked Keys.
"None of your concern," said Jolan. "You won't be handling it. Find the others. A simple assassination is well within the collective competency of the rest of us."
"Understood," said Keys.
"What will we do?" said Camron.
"If we don't have a good reason to bungle it?" Jolan asked rhetorically. "A good servant of the Emperor should be willing to die in his service," he said grimly. "We'll be charitable and assume the Faithspeaker is a faithful servant."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-03-04 04:35am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Once again, you drag us into that deep murky place where we have to ask if the Ends truly Justify the Means.
Bravo.
Bravo.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Imperial Overlord
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It was late when the Faithspeaker left the Cathedral. He was a big man, wearing a slick rain coat instead of his tent-like robes of crimson silk shot through with gold. A burly minder in plain penitential black followed him, an Imperial Guard veteran now serving as Ecclesiarchy muscle. Mikal Camron tapped a code to Jolan Gix as he watched them pass by.
Ryenn Maflour had no secrets from them. In the past week they had exhumed the skeletons in the priest's closets and there were enough of them for three corrupt politicians. Two mistresses, payouts from businessmen and gang bosses, nepotism, and good old fashion embezzlement. Anyone who cared to dig would have a pretty good idea what kind of man he was and that included a fair number of the faithful.
Mikal shadowed them down the street. They entered the big black luxury land cruiser and departed. The bug that had been put on the car would tell them the location. He walked over to where his motorcycle was parked. He had time.
He rode off after the priest. The streets were mostly empty, having been designed to accommodate far more traffic than existed at present. The good faithspeaker was visiting one of his mistresses in the nice district where he had maintained her in an apartment. Mikal parked a block away and went for a walk. The veteran waited in the car. Mikal felt a twinge of guilt about him, but it was far too late to start worrying about the innocent blood on his hands.
Two hours later Ryenn Maflour was exiting his mistresses's apartment. He walked over to the lift doors and pressed the button. Nothing happened. He grumbled and pushed again. Nothing. He headed for the stairs. Jolan Gix was waiting.
Gix's talents with machine interface telekinesis were limited, but pulling out the wires behind a button was well within his competences. He smashed his will into the startled priest before he could react, paralyzing him. The requirements were public and messy. He could do that. A blade drifted out of his coat.
The telekinetically driven blade plunged into the faithspeaker's guts and then slashed side ways, spilling out his entrails. The blade then ripped up his torso all the way to his chin. Malflour fell dead on the steps, blood and fluids trickling away. Gix telekinetically pulled the blade out of the dead priest and pull the blood off of it before returning it to his coat. He walked down the stairs and out of the apartment, his face hidden by the brim of his hat and the collars of his rain coat. He signaled Camron to cover his exit.
Their were no problems. Neither man made eye contact and they both disappeared in separate directions. The body would be found soon enough. Mission accomplished.
---------------------------------------------------
The Carridan licked his lips. It wasn't that selling one man to another was unknown on this world, it was that getting caught trying would get you killed. That's why he was meeting the client in a public, friendly place. Crashdown wasn't a spacer bar, but rather a bar that served the starport employees. A man stopped at his table. "Jelan Hasselon?"
"Yeah," he said. "That's me."
"Good," said the other as he slid down. He wasn't anything special to look at. Black tunic, pants, and coat, medium brown skin and dark hair. Not bad looking, but not that good either. No noticeable scars. Average. "You have what I'm looking for?"
"Yeah, the ship that carried Sevran Dask. And the name it uses in Imperial space. You got the cash?"
"Polished gemstones. As agreed."
"Show me the goods," said Jelan.
The other slid three beautiful gold and blue stones onto the table, giving Jelan a look before covering them with his hands. "There."
"I need to authenticate." The man lifted his hand. Jelan took out his optic and gave them a look. The real thing alright. "Now show me the rest."
"Do you have the names?"
"Yes. Now show me the stones." A spike of pain pierced the back of his head. He shook it. Blood was dribbling from his nose. "What?" Something was wrong here. There was a soft hissing sound and then pain in his neck and numbness.
"My partner took the secret from your mind," the other said calmly. "Then he signaled me. The paralysis you feel is from the dart I shot you with. In a few minutes you will be dead." The man got up, taking his stones with him. Jelan Hasselon tried to breath and failed. The assassin was long gone before anyone in the bar noticed Hasselon was dead.
Ryenn Maflour had no secrets from them. In the past week they had exhumed the skeletons in the priest's closets and there were enough of them for three corrupt politicians. Two mistresses, payouts from businessmen and gang bosses, nepotism, and good old fashion embezzlement. Anyone who cared to dig would have a pretty good idea what kind of man he was and that included a fair number of the faithful.
Mikal shadowed them down the street. They entered the big black luxury land cruiser and departed. The bug that had been put on the car would tell them the location. He walked over to where his motorcycle was parked. He had time.
He rode off after the priest. The streets were mostly empty, having been designed to accommodate far more traffic than existed at present. The good faithspeaker was visiting one of his mistresses in the nice district where he had maintained her in an apartment. Mikal parked a block away and went for a walk. The veteran waited in the car. Mikal felt a twinge of guilt about him, but it was far too late to start worrying about the innocent blood on his hands.
Two hours later Ryenn Maflour was exiting his mistresses's apartment. He walked over to the lift doors and pressed the button. Nothing happened. He grumbled and pushed again. Nothing. He headed for the stairs. Jolan Gix was waiting.
Gix's talents with machine interface telekinesis were limited, but pulling out the wires behind a button was well within his competences. He smashed his will into the startled priest before he could react, paralyzing him. The requirements were public and messy. He could do that. A blade drifted out of his coat.
The telekinetically driven blade plunged into the faithspeaker's guts and then slashed side ways, spilling out his entrails. The blade then ripped up his torso all the way to his chin. Malflour fell dead on the steps, blood and fluids trickling away. Gix telekinetically pulled the blade out of the dead priest and pull the blood off of it before returning it to his coat. He walked down the stairs and out of the apartment, his face hidden by the brim of his hat and the collars of his rain coat. He signaled Camron to cover his exit.
Their were no problems. Neither man made eye contact and they both disappeared in separate directions. The body would be found soon enough. Mission accomplished.
---------------------------------------------------
The Carridan licked his lips. It wasn't that selling one man to another was unknown on this world, it was that getting caught trying would get you killed. That's why he was meeting the client in a public, friendly place. Crashdown wasn't a spacer bar, but rather a bar that served the starport employees. A man stopped at his table. "Jelan Hasselon?"
"Yeah," he said. "That's me."
"Good," said the other as he slid down. He wasn't anything special to look at. Black tunic, pants, and coat, medium brown skin and dark hair. Not bad looking, but not that good either. No noticeable scars. Average. "You have what I'm looking for?"
"Yeah, the ship that carried Sevran Dask. And the name it uses in Imperial space. You got the cash?"
"Polished gemstones. As agreed."
"Show me the goods," said Jelan.
The other slid three beautiful gold and blue stones onto the table, giving Jelan a look before covering them with his hands. "There."
"I need to authenticate." The man lifted his hand. Jelan took out his optic and gave them a look. The real thing alright. "Now show me the rest."
"Do you have the names?"
"Yes. Now show me the stones." A spike of pain pierced the back of his head. He shook it. Blood was dribbling from his nose. "What?" Something was wrong here. There was a soft hissing sound and then pain in his neck and numbness.
"My partner took the secret from your mind," the other said calmly. "Then he signaled me. The paralysis you feel is from the dart I shot you with. In a few minutes you will be dead." The man got up, taking his stones with him. Jelan Hasselon tried to breath and failed. The assassin was long gone before anyone in the bar noticed Hasselon was dead.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Either the inquisition is on Gix's ass, or the other competitors have the same idea he did. Also, a good thing the preist was corrupt. That made things less morally questionable.
Also, did anything happen to the guard vet in the car? Or is he just screwed because the guy he is supossed to protect got whacked?
Also, did anything happen to the guard vet in the car? Or is he just screwed because the guy he is supossed to protect got whacked?
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Imperial Overlord
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Nothing, they managed to avoid having to whack him. Camron was worried about having to kill him, but since he remained in the car Gix was able to do the hit without having to kill him.Raj Ahten wrote: Also, did anything happen to the guard vet in the car? Or is he just screwed because the guy he is supossed to protect got whacked?
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Very nice work, IO. I think we can all appreciate the fact that the priest was corrupt, and thankfully Jolan wasn't doing the Imperium any real harm by disposing of him. In the grand scheme of things, the life of one corrupt priest is worth the cost of bringing down a heavily entrenched Chaos cult for the good of the Imperium. (By the way, where does this part of the story take place? The Ultima Segmentum?)
So, when do we get to see more proscribed Chaos sorcery?
So, when do we get to see more proscribed Chaos sorcery?
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
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Yes.Dominus wrote: (By the way, where does this part of the story take place? The Ultima Segmentum?)
Never. Absolutely not. I'm disgusted you would suggest such a thing.So, when do we get to see more proscribed Chaos sorcery?
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
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Keys looked out the window at the chaos in the streets below. "Nice work," the assassin said. "They chose their target well."
"A member of a prominent family of industrialists with a brother who was a police subprefect," Jolan replied. The inquisitor was sipping juice from a glass and sitting on his couch. "An excellent target and a good execution. Did you get anything off it?"
"No," said Keys. "They didn't leave any usable evidence behind."
"And your other inquiries?"
"No positive results. I'm narrowing the field though."
"This will all be over in a couple of nights. The damage will have been done, but it won't be bad enough. Any ideas on their next move?"
"They had you take out a notoriously corrupt priest, showing both the corruption and impotence in the local power structure. This assassination shows corruption and brutality. Their next moves will be to continue to erode public support and remove capable individuals from the power structure."
"There's always rot, but this world doesn't have enough of it. At best they can muster a few days long battle against the police, palace guard, and Arbites. They can't take the capital, let alone the planet." Jolan finished his juice and put it down on the table. He got up and began to pace. "Keep at your work."
"Will do."
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They were passed by the gate guards and given an escort through the palace. The Commander's Palace had been built by a previous dynasty with a taste for the grandiose and an appetite for gold leaf. High vaulted ceilings, stained glass, holo candles, and tasteless gilded cherubim were everywhere. It probably took a small army to clean properly and there were signs that the current army wasn't large enough for the task. Wealth and decay all in one package.
They reached an audience hall with a lush red carpet presided over by a senior functionary at a gold lectern with a build in cogitator and a platoon's worth of servants. The senior functionary wore a gorgeous robe of crimson silk embroidered with images of golden cranes over a black bodyglove. The cranes at the bottom of the robe were walking and they progressed through the various motions of flight as the ascended towards the collar. The functionary had black hair shot through with strands of white and a neat goatee. "I am Levis Praxon, Major Domo to his Glorious Excellency Sabar-Governor Nolesh Hesh, by Grace of the God-Emperor of Mankind, Imperial Commander of Sycorax Minor. I have command of his Glorious Excellency's schedule. Who are you?" His intonation was perfect. He conveyed not a single drop of disdain but conveying his master's, and by extension his, importance.
A powerfully built woman wearing the uniform and armour, but not the insignia, of the Adeptus Arbites lead the motley party. "By Grace of the God-Emperor of Mankind I am Sindar Extos, agent of the blessed Inquisition and retainer to Inquisitor Dana Yardilon. The Inquisitor needs to speak with your master immediately."
"Your bonifides?" the majordomo asked. She produced the Inquisition seal. A scanning beam from one of his rings played over it. He straightened up. "Of course Inquisitor." He gestured towards one of his servants. "Inform his Glorious Excellency that there is an urgent matter requiring his attention."
He pointed at another. "Make the appropriate apologies to those who have been removed from the schedule. If they inquire on the matter, say urgent matters of state and nothing more. Go."
He turned back to the inquisitor and her retinue. "Please follow me, Excellency." He lead them through the palace halls to a modest sitting room. He dismissed the rather ordinary looking man waiting inside who took up a position by the door. "This room is secured. You may speak freely here."
"Thank you," said Yardilon. "How much longer until the governor arrives?"
"Momentarily I expect. Ahh. He comes now."
"You will excuse us," she said.
"Of course," he replied, bowing and retreating. Sabar-Governor Nolesh Hesh and two men in black clothes entered the suite. He wore a dark blue and gold military uniform set with the medals of his ancestory and office. A thick crimson sash went over his shoulder and around his waist. He was a surprisingly trim man, a hair over average height. He was dark skinned with short black hair and perfect white teeth. Hesh had a neat black mustache and goatee. "Inquisitor, I was surprised that you arrived so swiftly. My good fortune."
"I'm sorry Commander, you have me at a loss. I am not here in response to any message."
"Oh? Hmmmm. How may I be of assistance?"
"Perhaps you might explain why you sent for the Inquisition."
"Several incidents have occurred which have disturbed the public order. Well executed, seemingly unconnected, but with synergistic effects. Someone is trying to destabilize the planet and there has been no indication of native elements this skilled or determined. We suspect an offworld element, perhaps to try and soften us up for a coming full scale invasion."
Dana smiled. "Commander, you are correct. I am here in pursuit of a particularly dangerous agent of the Ruinous Powers who sometimes goes by the name Sevran Dask. My agents have tracked the path of his transport and we believe this world to be his destination."
"This Dask sounds like he could be one behind this."
"He isn't," she said. "Dask was recruited by someone else and brought to this world. He's just a sword in the true master's hand."
"I see. Well then I am doubly glad to see you inquisitor."
"Commander, in my experience local authorities are not usually up to the job of dealing with such men, but if your actions make me think this world is an exception to the rule. I need to meet with your best people about this and see what they have."
"Of course Inquisitor."
"A member of a prominent family of industrialists with a brother who was a police subprefect," Jolan replied. The inquisitor was sipping juice from a glass and sitting on his couch. "An excellent target and a good execution. Did you get anything off it?"
"No," said Keys. "They didn't leave any usable evidence behind."
"And your other inquiries?"
"No positive results. I'm narrowing the field though."
"This will all be over in a couple of nights. The damage will have been done, but it won't be bad enough. Any ideas on their next move?"
"They had you take out a notoriously corrupt priest, showing both the corruption and impotence in the local power structure. This assassination shows corruption and brutality. Their next moves will be to continue to erode public support and remove capable individuals from the power structure."
"There's always rot, but this world doesn't have enough of it. At best they can muster a few days long battle against the police, palace guard, and Arbites. They can't take the capital, let alone the planet." Jolan finished his juice and put it down on the table. He got up and began to pace. "Keep at your work."
"Will do."
----------------------------------------------------------------
They were passed by the gate guards and given an escort through the palace. The Commander's Palace had been built by a previous dynasty with a taste for the grandiose and an appetite for gold leaf. High vaulted ceilings, stained glass, holo candles, and tasteless gilded cherubim were everywhere. It probably took a small army to clean properly and there were signs that the current army wasn't large enough for the task. Wealth and decay all in one package.
They reached an audience hall with a lush red carpet presided over by a senior functionary at a gold lectern with a build in cogitator and a platoon's worth of servants. The senior functionary wore a gorgeous robe of crimson silk embroidered with images of golden cranes over a black bodyglove. The cranes at the bottom of the robe were walking and they progressed through the various motions of flight as the ascended towards the collar. The functionary had black hair shot through with strands of white and a neat goatee. "I am Levis Praxon, Major Domo to his Glorious Excellency Sabar-Governor Nolesh Hesh, by Grace of the God-Emperor of Mankind, Imperial Commander of Sycorax Minor. I have command of his Glorious Excellency's schedule. Who are you?" His intonation was perfect. He conveyed not a single drop of disdain but conveying his master's, and by extension his, importance.
A powerfully built woman wearing the uniform and armour, but not the insignia, of the Adeptus Arbites lead the motley party. "By Grace of the God-Emperor of Mankind I am Sindar Extos, agent of the blessed Inquisition and retainer to Inquisitor Dana Yardilon. The Inquisitor needs to speak with your master immediately."
"Your bonifides?" the majordomo asked. She produced the Inquisition seal. A scanning beam from one of his rings played over it. He straightened up. "Of course Inquisitor." He gestured towards one of his servants. "Inform his Glorious Excellency that there is an urgent matter requiring his attention."
He pointed at another. "Make the appropriate apologies to those who have been removed from the schedule. If they inquire on the matter, say urgent matters of state and nothing more. Go."
He turned back to the inquisitor and her retinue. "Please follow me, Excellency." He lead them through the palace halls to a modest sitting room. He dismissed the rather ordinary looking man waiting inside who took up a position by the door. "This room is secured. You may speak freely here."
"Thank you," said Yardilon. "How much longer until the governor arrives?"
"Momentarily I expect. Ahh. He comes now."
"You will excuse us," she said.
"Of course," he replied, bowing and retreating. Sabar-Governor Nolesh Hesh and two men in black clothes entered the suite. He wore a dark blue and gold military uniform set with the medals of his ancestory and office. A thick crimson sash went over his shoulder and around his waist. He was a surprisingly trim man, a hair over average height. He was dark skinned with short black hair and perfect white teeth. Hesh had a neat black mustache and goatee. "Inquisitor, I was surprised that you arrived so swiftly. My good fortune."
"I'm sorry Commander, you have me at a loss. I am not here in response to any message."
"Oh? Hmmmm. How may I be of assistance?"
"Perhaps you might explain why you sent for the Inquisition."
"Several incidents have occurred which have disturbed the public order. Well executed, seemingly unconnected, but with synergistic effects. Someone is trying to destabilize the planet and there has been no indication of native elements this skilled or determined. We suspect an offworld element, perhaps to try and soften us up for a coming full scale invasion."
Dana smiled. "Commander, you are correct. I am here in pursuit of a particularly dangerous agent of the Ruinous Powers who sometimes goes by the name Sevran Dask. My agents have tracked the path of his transport and we believe this world to be his destination."
"This Dask sounds like he could be one behind this."
"He isn't," she said. "Dask was recruited by someone else and brought to this world. He's just a sword in the true master's hand."
"I see. Well then I am doubly glad to see you inquisitor."
"Commander, in my experience local authorities are not usually up to the job of dealing with such men, but if your actions make me think this world is an exception to the rule. I need to meet with your best people about this and see what they have."
"Of course Inquisitor."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Ooooooooo.. I WANT!The senior functionary wore a gorgeous robe of crimson silk embroidered with images of golden cranes over a black bodyglove. The cranes at the bottom of the robe were walking and they progressed through the various motions of flight as the ascended towards the collar
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
I agree with our Lady. Where do we sign up to receive the lavishly appointed frippery of the mon-keigh aristocracy?
Another solid chapter, IO. Please don't let this world fall to the Ruinous Powers; it is a rare thing indeed to find a competent planetary governor in charge of things, so much so that Hesh's mere existence makes the entire planet worth saving by proxy. Of course, now that I've said that, I have the most disturbing feeling that you're going to end up killing him off...
Another solid chapter, IO. Please don't let this world fall to the Ruinous Powers; it is a rare thing indeed to find a competent planetary governor in charge of things, so much so that Hesh's mere existence makes the entire planet worth saving by proxy. Of course, now that I've said that, I have the most disturbing feeling that you're going to end up killing him off...
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
It does nicely raise the stakes doesn't it? As for Hesh, yes he is very good. That's why Jolan chose him. As for the outcome. . . . you'll see.Dominus wrote: Another solid chapter, IO. Please don't let this world fall to the Ruinous Powers; it is a rare thing indeed to find a competent planetary governor in charge of things, so much so that Hesh's mere existence makes the entire planet worth saving by proxy. Of course, now that I've said that, I have the most disturbing feeling that you're going to end up killing him off...
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
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"My brothers and sisters," Daven Nessen began. The roar of the crowd on the factory floor drowned out his words. Daven nodded to a man who looked like even more kilometers of bad road. He sent a loud squeal through the sound system they had set up and attached to the portable voxcaster scepter.
The crowd of angry union men quieted momentarily. Blood was running on the streets and the factories had all shut down. Representatives of several unions and fraternal workers organizations had fought in the streets in a half hazard manner. After tonight their actions wouldn't be half hazard. "Brothers and sisters," the union leader began again, "we are at a moment of decision. Donel Moran was a bad man, a man who would squeeze all he could from the working man and throw him away when he was done. I don't know who killed him, but I do know who Subprefect Moran blames." A rumble of approval answered his words.
"They have unleashed violence on our streets: assaulting, imprisoning, and killing our brothers and sisters. This is not just." The rumble became a roar.
He waited for it to die down. "We cannot answer in kind, brothers and sisters. It pains me to say this, but we must endure. That will only bring the Arbites down upon us."
Jolan Gix slid forward slightly. His cameoline coat gave him perfect cover in the shadows near the roof of the steel mill, by the rails which moved the cauldrons of molten steel. He had ordered the death of a world, condemning countless good men and women to death. He could deal with having more innocent blood on his hands. Those that couldn't didn't last long as interrogators, let alone become inquisitors.
Gix raised his gun. It was a bullpup configuration matte rifle fitted with a scope and targeting sensors. The inquisitor raised it to his eye. The rifle was loaded with explosive, subsonic ammunition and fitted with a silencer. the targeter had been loaded with the relevant data. The scope display showed exactly where the bullet would strike, giving the range and the existing conditions. Jolan's finger tightened on the trigger.
"We must," Nessen continued, "put our faith in the gov-." His head exploded in a spray of blood, brain, and bone fragments. The headless corpse toppled. A cry of dismay erupted and then changed to a roar of anger.
Jolan was already gone. The inquisitor was already moving to a roof access ladder. In seconds he was up and out, sprinting across the roof. The next closest building was fifty meters away. A telekinetically assisted leap allowed Gix to bridge the distance.
He landed on the building and rolled, coming to his feet. He kept on running and dropped over the side. His psychic powers cushioned the fall. He hit the ground with the gun tucked inside his coat. He walked across the street, through an alley, and into his land cruiser. He was waved through a random police checkpoint on his way back.
Keys was waiting for him outside his door as he returned. Jolan opened the door and the assassin followed him inside. "Results?" Jolan asked.
Keys walked over to the cooler and took out a carafe of juice and poured Jolan a glass. "Yes," said the assassin. "How did it go?"
"It went," said Gix. "I hate killing good men. Yours?"
"The next move required more muscle and firepower than they brought on world. Probably some kind of attack on the police or Arbites. Probably the Arbites. Tracked them back from there. I have Mikal sitting them on the moment."
"Good," said Gix. "We need to do this right."
"I have a plan," said Keys. "It will spoil the ambush and lead them back Preacher Vale while keeping our hands clean."
"By all means, set it out," said Jolan Gix. "Arranging the deaths of heretics will be nice for a change."
--------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm not sure I understand Sabar-Governor," said Dana Yardilon. "How is this assassination important? He's not the senior man in any union."
The inquisitor and her retinue were meeting with the governor in a darkened room. The Throne agents were wearing full harness and ready for action. The Imperial Commander wore his formal, medal bestrewed uniform. "He's a senior member of the Steelworkers and he's a troubleshooter. He's the guy people go to when they have problems with their foreman or getting their benefits. He's trusted and he's not a hot head. Someone who would ice the fires and still look after his people."
"A Sabar-Governor knows the name of charismatic union officials?" said Sindar Extos with more than a hint of disbelief in her voice.
"No, but my aides do. This is planet is in my charge, by grace of the God-Emperor. He was one of the thousand pillars that hold the structure of Imperial society up. None are beneath my notice, even if I can only remember so many names and faces. I want his murderer's head on a spike."
Yardilon looked him in the eye. "We are in accord," she said simply. "Beyond that I can only say that the wheels are already turning."
The crowd of angry union men quieted momentarily. Blood was running on the streets and the factories had all shut down. Representatives of several unions and fraternal workers organizations had fought in the streets in a half hazard manner. After tonight their actions wouldn't be half hazard. "Brothers and sisters," the union leader began again, "we are at a moment of decision. Donel Moran was a bad man, a man who would squeeze all he could from the working man and throw him away when he was done. I don't know who killed him, but I do know who Subprefect Moran blames." A rumble of approval answered his words.
"They have unleashed violence on our streets: assaulting, imprisoning, and killing our brothers and sisters. This is not just." The rumble became a roar.
He waited for it to die down. "We cannot answer in kind, brothers and sisters. It pains me to say this, but we must endure. That will only bring the Arbites down upon us."
Jolan Gix slid forward slightly. His cameoline coat gave him perfect cover in the shadows near the roof of the steel mill, by the rails which moved the cauldrons of molten steel. He had ordered the death of a world, condemning countless good men and women to death. He could deal with having more innocent blood on his hands. Those that couldn't didn't last long as interrogators, let alone become inquisitors.
Gix raised his gun. It was a bullpup configuration matte rifle fitted with a scope and targeting sensors. The inquisitor raised it to his eye. The rifle was loaded with explosive, subsonic ammunition and fitted with a silencer. the targeter had been loaded with the relevant data. The scope display showed exactly where the bullet would strike, giving the range and the existing conditions. Jolan's finger tightened on the trigger.
"We must," Nessen continued, "put our faith in the gov-." His head exploded in a spray of blood, brain, and bone fragments. The headless corpse toppled. A cry of dismay erupted and then changed to a roar of anger.
Jolan was already gone. The inquisitor was already moving to a roof access ladder. In seconds he was up and out, sprinting across the roof. The next closest building was fifty meters away. A telekinetically assisted leap allowed Gix to bridge the distance.
He landed on the building and rolled, coming to his feet. He kept on running and dropped over the side. His psychic powers cushioned the fall. He hit the ground with the gun tucked inside his coat. He walked across the street, through an alley, and into his land cruiser. He was waved through a random police checkpoint on his way back.
Keys was waiting for him outside his door as he returned. Jolan opened the door and the assassin followed him inside. "Results?" Jolan asked.
Keys walked over to the cooler and took out a carafe of juice and poured Jolan a glass. "Yes," said the assassin. "How did it go?"
"It went," said Gix. "I hate killing good men. Yours?"
"The next move required more muscle and firepower than they brought on world. Probably some kind of attack on the police or Arbites. Probably the Arbites. Tracked them back from there. I have Mikal sitting them on the moment."
"Good," said Gix. "We need to do this right."
"I have a plan," said Keys. "It will spoil the ambush and lead them back Preacher Vale while keeping our hands clean."
"By all means, set it out," said Jolan Gix. "Arranging the deaths of heretics will be nice for a change."
--------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm not sure I understand Sabar-Governor," said Dana Yardilon. "How is this assassination important? He's not the senior man in any union."
The inquisitor and her retinue were meeting with the governor in a darkened room. The Throne agents were wearing full harness and ready for action. The Imperial Commander wore his formal, medal bestrewed uniform. "He's a senior member of the Steelworkers and he's a troubleshooter. He's the guy people go to when they have problems with their foreman or getting their benefits. He's trusted and he's not a hot head. Someone who would ice the fires and still look after his people."
"A Sabar-Governor knows the name of charismatic union officials?" said Sindar Extos with more than a hint of disbelief in her voice.
"No, but my aides do. This is planet is in my charge, by grace of the God-Emperor. He was one of the thousand pillars that hold the structure of Imperial society up. None are beneath my notice, even if I can only remember so many names and faces. I want his murderer's head on a spike."
Yardilon looked him in the eye. "We are in accord," she said simply. "Beyond that I can only say that the wheels are already turning."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-03-01 10:48pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Danell Keys dropped the two tabacc stick stubs, the burnt out matches, and the flimsy paper matchbook on the roof as he saw the convoy coming. He had spent most of the last week set up on Preacher Vale's growing horde. He didn't know how vale had managed to predict the Arbites would be coming this way, but that wasn't his concern. He would have set up on a likely route and kept throwing fuel on the blaze of public insurrection, waiting for the right circumstances, but that was him. No telling how these heretic trash thought or what witchcraft they employed. Understanding them was Jolan's job. He just pulled the trigger on them.
The convoy was six armoured transports with plenty of room for weapons and Arbites enforcers. Small arms fire wouldn't do more than scratch the armour of their vehicles, unless you counted a plasma gun as small arms. Turrets on top were ready to sweep the street if they had to, although most of them were rigged with water cannons. The Sabar-Governor was too canny to feed into the heretics' hands with indiscriminate slaughter and was either leaning on or convincing the Arbites to do the same.
That's why tonight's ambush as they passed through this working class residential section consisting mostly of tall apartment buildings. To kill Arbites and escalate the conflict to a full scale rebellion with sides already drawn. Preacher Vale's men had the weapons to lay a serious hurt on the Arbites and that's what they would do and then the Arbites would crack down in an irresistibly heavy handed way, sending the spiral of violence.
That was, of course, if the ambush succeeded in spilling Arbites blood all over the pavement and wasn't a disaster to the ambushers instead. Vale's men were moving into position at the windows of the two buildings. For extra fun there was an improvised mine beneath the manhole cover, but Keys had already disarmed it with one of Vikal's cyber orbs.
Keys raised the drum fed grenade launcher he had selected for this job to his shoulder. Targeting displays in his goggles showed the projected trajectory of the shells. His targets were in several apartments down and across the street. He aimed, pulled the trigger, and shifted targets, firing again. It didn't matter that much whether he hit or missed, just that the Arbites knew they were in a fight before they hit the killing zone.
He didn't miss. Both grenades sailed into their respective rooms and burst, filling them with deadly shrapnel. The fury of the Warp burst loose as weapons fire erupted from several other apartments and was answered by raking streams of fire from the Arbites vehicles. Keys fired four more times in quick succession and then dropped the launcher as he stepped off the roof. The fire fight was just going in full swing when the grav chute he wore brought him down in the alley behind the building. He scurried away, like any other frightened citizen trying to avoid the howling gun fight.
Eventually the Arbites would secure and lockdown the area and begin coming for evidence. Figuring out what exactly had gone on would take some time, but they wouldn't ignore the grenade launcher or the matchbook on the roof. Preacher Vale was going to have some very nasty company in very short order.
------------------------------------------------------------
The vans suddenly slowed and the doors slid open. Sindar Extos had jumped out and hit pavement before they came to a stop. The target was two buildings down. Even in carapace armour and carrying a shield Extos was there in seconds. She mashed her shock maul into the side of the steel door, blasting its hinges to junk and then kicking the door in. Her shield raised high, she came through the spacious loft's ground floor. Bullets and laser bolts came her way and hammered her shield. Vale's men were light on body armour, but their autoguns and lasguns were military grade. She kept it up and broke right as Kyne, right behind her, broke left. Kyne's bolt pistol howled on full automatic as he raked the room.
A bullet creased Sindar's helmet, but she kept coming. She swung her shock maul at a heretic still fumbling with a weapon and his skull exploded. Grey matter and blood splattered all over the wall. She dropped to her knees and let go of her shock maul.
The bottom floor of the loft had been broken up by thing partitions and converted into rooms for Vale's retinue. Decoration was mostly cheap furniture and weapon's rack. The upper level was presumably for the chief heretic and his lieutenants. It had been an easy matter to track them from the matchbook to the bar they frequented to here.
She had taken cover behind a sofa and drew her bolt pistol. Lyman and Zess had entered, their shotguns blasting out Executioner rounds and flechette clouds. The flechettes turned the torso of one gunman and the face of another into shredded meat. Seeking Executioner rounds weren't infallible, but they hit often enough. Two torsos were blown open in sprays of viscera, a head exploded, and two arms were blown off.
Extos had her bolt pistol out and was shooting in short bursts. Kyne had reloaded and joined her as Lyman and Zess took cover behind shredded furniture and slapped new clips into their shotguns. Sindar advanced as more members of Yardilon's retinue stormed in. Two hellguns suppressed the upper floor of the loft. Sindar reloaded and vaulted the stairs.
Two dead men were on the upper level, one an apparent victim of Executioner rounds the other sporting wounds consistent with multiple hellgun hits. She didn't slow. There was no telling what deviltry Vale would manage if he was allowed time.
A cultist appeared in the closest doorway with an autogun. He was fast, but his aim could use work. Full auto sent slug spinning off her right vambrace and chewing up her already battered shield. She walked bolt pistol fire up from his navel to his throat. The shells ripped through flak armour and blew the contents of his chest cavity all over the rug, including most of his rib cage. The corpse fell. Sindar charged forward.
Preacher Vale's will hit her like a charging Grox. Despite her hexagrammic wards she stopped cold. All she could see were those green eyes, so imperious, so powerful. The gun in her hand felt very heavy. Everything felt heavy. The bolt pistol slipped through her fingers. She fell to her knees. She bowed her head, to worship this man before her.
There was a brilliant flash of of violet light and the impulse was gone. She looked up to see the charred and headless torso of Preacher Vale. "Enough of that nonsense," said Yardilon from behind her. The inquisitor was holding her plasma pistol easily in one hand. Joxan, the Sanctioned Psyker, trailed two steps behind. "Are you all right?" the inquisitor asked, extending her free hand to Sindar.
Extos took it and was pulled to her feet. "Yes inquisitor."
"He must have been very strong if he was able to overcome you, wards and conditioning and all that. It was a good thing we took him by surprise."
"Yes ma'am."
"Still, not strong enough."
"You think he was the leader?" Extos asked.
"Him? No. He's a lieutenant. This whole scheme is a hydra, multiple heads. He's too heavy handed to be as tricky as we've seen. No, Sevren Dask didn't call this man master. He might have even dropped those very convenient clues so we would take out a rival. No, we've still got a lot of work to do.
The convoy was six armoured transports with plenty of room for weapons and Arbites enforcers. Small arms fire wouldn't do more than scratch the armour of their vehicles, unless you counted a plasma gun as small arms. Turrets on top were ready to sweep the street if they had to, although most of them were rigged with water cannons. The Sabar-Governor was too canny to feed into the heretics' hands with indiscriminate slaughter and was either leaning on or convincing the Arbites to do the same.
That's why tonight's ambush as they passed through this working class residential section consisting mostly of tall apartment buildings. To kill Arbites and escalate the conflict to a full scale rebellion with sides already drawn. Preacher Vale's men had the weapons to lay a serious hurt on the Arbites and that's what they would do and then the Arbites would crack down in an irresistibly heavy handed way, sending the spiral of violence.
That was, of course, if the ambush succeeded in spilling Arbites blood all over the pavement and wasn't a disaster to the ambushers instead. Vale's men were moving into position at the windows of the two buildings. For extra fun there was an improvised mine beneath the manhole cover, but Keys had already disarmed it with one of Vikal's cyber orbs.
Keys raised the drum fed grenade launcher he had selected for this job to his shoulder. Targeting displays in his goggles showed the projected trajectory of the shells. His targets were in several apartments down and across the street. He aimed, pulled the trigger, and shifted targets, firing again. It didn't matter that much whether he hit or missed, just that the Arbites knew they were in a fight before they hit the killing zone.
He didn't miss. Both grenades sailed into their respective rooms and burst, filling them with deadly shrapnel. The fury of the Warp burst loose as weapons fire erupted from several other apartments and was answered by raking streams of fire from the Arbites vehicles. Keys fired four more times in quick succession and then dropped the launcher as he stepped off the roof. The fire fight was just going in full swing when the grav chute he wore brought him down in the alley behind the building. He scurried away, like any other frightened citizen trying to avoid the howling gun fight.
Eventually the Arbites would secure and lockdown the area and begin coming for evidence. Figuring out what exactly had gone on would take some time, but they wouldn't ignore the grenade launcher or the matchbook on the roof. Preacher Vale was going to have some very nasty company in very short order.
------------------------------------------------------------
The vans suddenly slowed and the doors slid open. Sindar Extos had jumped out and hit pavement before they came to a stop. The target was two buildings down. Even in carapace armour and carrying a shield Extos was there in seconds. She mashed her shock maul into the side of the steel door, blasting its hinges to junk and then kicking the door in. Her shield raised high, she came through the spacious loft's ground floor. Bullets and laser bolts came her way and hammered her shield. Vale's men were light on body armour, but their autoguns and lasguns were military grade. She kept it up and broke right as Kyne, right behind her, broke left. Kyne's bolt pistol howled on full automatic as he raked the room.
A bullet creased Sindar's helmet, but she kept coming. She swung her shock maul at a heretic still fumbling with a weapon and his skull exploded. Grey matter and blood splattered all over the wall. She dropped to her knees and let go of her shock maul.
The bottom floor of the loft had been broken up by thing partitions and converted into rooms for Vale's retinue. Decoration was mostly cheap furniture and weapon's rack. The upper level was presumably for the chief heretic and his lieutenants. It had been an easy matter to track them from the matchbook to the bar they frequented to here.
She had taken cover behind a sofa and drew her bolt pistol. Lyman and Zess had entered, their shotguns blasting out Executioner rounds and flechette clouds. The flechettes turned the torso of one gunman and the face of another into shredded meat. Seeking Executioner rounds weren't infallible, but they hit often enough. Two torsos were blown open in sprays of viscera, a head exploded, and two arms were blown off.
Extos had her bolt pistol out and was shooting in short bursts. Kyne had reloaded and joined her as Lyman and Zess took cover behind shredded furniture and slapped new clips into their shotguns. Sindar advanced as more members of Yardilon's retinue stormed in. Two hellguns suppressed the upper floor of the loft. Sindar reloaded and vaulted the stairs.
Two dead men were on the upper level, one an apparent victim of Executioner rounds the other sporting wounds consistent with multiple hellgun hits. She didn't slow. There was no telling what deviltry Vale would manage if he was allowed time.
A cultist appeared in the closest doorway with an autogun. He was fast, but his aim could use work. Full auto sent slug spinning off her right vambrace and chewing up her already battered shield. She walked bolt pistol fire up from his navel to his throat. The shells ripped through flak armour and blew the contents of his chest cavity all over the rug, including most of his rib cage. The corpse fell. Sindar charged forward.
Preacher Vale's will hit her like a charging Grox. Despite her hexagrammic wards she stopped cold. All she could see were those green eyes, so imperious, so powerful. The gun in her hand felt very heavy. Everything felt heavy. The bolt pistol slipped through her fingers. She fell to her knees. She bowed her head, to worship this man before her.
There was a brilliant flash of of violet light and the impulse was gone. She looked up to see the charred and headless torso of Preacher Vale. "Enough of that nonsense," said Yardilon from behind her. The inquisitor was holding her plasma pistol easily in one hand. Joxan, the Sanctioned Psyker, trailed two steps behind. "Are you all right?" the inquisitor asked, extending her free hand to Sindar.
Extos took it and was pulled to her feet. "Yes inquisitor."
"He must have been very strong if he was able to overcome you, wards and conditioning and all that. It was a good thing we took him by surprise."
"Yes ma'am."
"Still, not strong enough."
"You think he was the leader?" Extos asked.
"Him? No. He's a lieutenant. This whole scheme is a hydra, multiple heads. He's too heavy handed to be as tricky as we've seen. No, Sevren Dask didn't call this man master. He might have even dropped those very convenient clues so we would take out a rival. No, we've still got a lot of work to do.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-05-31 12:58am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
"Hi boss," said Danler Stass as Mikal Camron walked into the room. "Grab yourself a beer from the fridge if you want."
"Thanks," said Camron. "You guys are sticking with the limit, right?"
"Right on boss," said another neckless, grizzled thug that went by the name of Fredrin Kozu. "No getting hammered while on planet. That sucks, by the way."
"Noted," said Camron as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and approached the table. The heretic goons weren't soldiers and couldn't be subject to the same discipline. On the bright side, they were good enough at their jobs and were completely expendable. "Fucking this up will suck even more. Got room for another at the table?"
"Sure thing boss," said Stass. "Just let us finish the hand. Table stakes only, small fry. Best not to have your life depend on someone who owes you a lot of cash."
Mikal grabbed a chair and watched the rest of the hand. The lean and vicious Scosfeln, a blonde and scarred killer who was almost as stealthy as Keys, won the hand. They made room for Camron. He anted up in local script.
"So boss man, when do we see action?" asked Stass.
"Soon enough. It's getting crazy out there. Street battles at the drop of the hat. We don't need to risk valuable people out there yet. Let the plebes do the dying. We'll choose our moment and then we'll need every one of you." The lies rolled easily off his tongue. Practice appeared to make perfect.
"Your opinion or-?"
"From the big man. It's going to get nasty. He'll need us all."
"Waiting sucks," said Kozu.
"Yeah," said Camron. "Why don't you tell me something I don't know? Or better yet, deal."
---------------------------------------------------------
Sindar knocked on the door to Yardilon's suite. The door was made from a dark, lustrous wood and carved with images of birds along the boarder.
"Enter," said Yardilon. The former Arbitor entered the suite. It was comfortable and slightly cool. A lush dark red carpet covered the floor and dark coloured furniture decorated the suite. The glow globes bred shadows in the corners. The tall inquisitor stood in the center of the room, wearing a black full body gown embroidered with rampant golden felenoids.
"Ma'am. We have a lead. Maybe nothing, might be something."
"Oh?" said Yardilon.
"Yes ma'am. A prostitute had something to trade when she was caught in a sweep. One of her clients bragged that his boss was big time. She didn't think he was local."
"Really?" said Yardilon. "I had Joxan do a reading a few days ago. It featured the Courtesan Diminished as a bridge."
"So this maybe real."
"Indeed. Cut her loose, let her see and finger the client. We'll track them back."
"Yes ma'am."
"And Extos."
"Yes?"
"Good work."
"Thank you ma'am."
"Thanks," said Camron. "You guys are sticking with the limit, right?"
"Right on boss," said another neckless, grizzled thug that went by the name of Fredrin Kozu. "No getting hammered while on planet. That sucks, by the way."
"Noted," said Camron as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and approached the table. The heretic goons weren't soldiers and couldn't be subject to the same discipline. On the bright side, they were good enough at their jobs and were completely expendable. "Fucking this up will suck even more. Got room for another at the table?"
"Sure thing boss," said Stass. "Just let us finish the hand. Table stakes only, small fry. Best not to have your life depend on someone who owes you a lot of cash."
Mikal grabbed a chair and watched the rest of the hand. The lean and vicious Scosfeln, a blonde and scarred killer who was almost as stealthy as Keys, won the hand. They made room for Camron. He anted up in local script.
"So boss man, when do we see action?" asked Stass.
"Soon enough. It's getting crazy out there. Street battles at the drop of the hat. We don't need to risk valuable people out there yet. Let the plebes do the dying. We'll choose our moment and then we'll need every one of you." The lies rolled easily off his tongue. Practice appeared to make perfect.
"Your opinion or-?"
"From the big man. It's going to get nasty. He'll need us all."
"Waiting sucks," said Kozu.
"Yeah," said Camron. "Why don't you tell me something I don't know? Or better yet, deal."
---------------------------------------------------------
Sindar knocked on the door to Yardilon's suite. The door was made from a dark, lustrous wood and carved with images of birds along the boarder.
"Enter," said Yardilon. The former Arbitor entered the suite. It was comfortable and slightly cool. A lush dark red carpet covered the floor and dark coloured furniture decorated the suite. The glow globes bred shadows in the corners. The tall inquisitor stood in the center of the room, wearing a black full body gown embroidered with rampant golden felenoids.
"Ma'am. We have a lead. Maybe nothing, might be something."
"Oh?" said Yardilon.
"Yes ma'am. A prostitute had something to trade when she was caught in a sweep. One of her clients bragged that his boss was big time. She didn't think he was local."
"Really?" said Yardilon. "I had Joxan do a reading a few days ago. It featured the Courtesan Diminished as a bridge."
"So this maybe real."
"Indeed. Cut her loose, let her see and finger the client. We'll track them back."
"Yes ma'am."
"And Extos."
"Yes?"
"Good work."
"Thank you ma'am."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
I wholeheartedly second Feil's notion -- the followers of the Ruinous Powers need to start dying en masse, and quickly if at all possible.
Wow, I think my respect for Governor Hesh just went through the stratosphere. A competent Imperial governor who makes it his business to know at least some of his subjects and who seems genuinely concerned about the lives of Imperial citizens under his watch. It's so relieving to find a competent planetary authority in charge of things, especially in lieu of the fact that the only halfway decent Imperial Commander I've ever seen in fluff was Governor Shonai of Pavonis -- everyone else has fallen into the broad categories of "lackluster idiot" at best and "criminally incompetent buffoon" at worst.
Wow, I think my respect for Governor Hesh just went through the stratosphere. A competent Imperial governor who makes it his business to know at least some of his subjects and who seems genuinely concerned about the lives of Imperial citizens under his watch. It's so relieving to find a competent planetary authority in charge of things, especially in lieu of the fact that the only halfway decent Imperial Commander I've ever seen in fluff was Governor Shonai of Pavonis -- everyone else has fallen into the broad categories of "lackluster idiot" at best and "criminally incompetent buffoon" at worst.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
There were still clashes at night. Barricades, fires, and flood lights marked the areas of control and the beginnings of the no man's land of contested territory. Imperial forces could push beyond that, but only in force and with a cost. Slug throwers, home brewed explosives, and bottles of burning promethium could exact a fearsome toll in close quarters city fighting.
The Imperial forces could have pushed harder and more troops could have been called in, by Sabar-Governor Hesh did not give those orders. The PDF troopers had ties with the rioting workers and more bloodshed would only cause more wounds that would be a long time in healing. Contain them, press them in, and let them quietly surrender or melt away was his strategy. He knew his enemy wanted him to use the iron fist, so he refused. He would assert his authority and restore order without the bloodshed that the enemy lusted for.
The convoy of unmarked vans did attract a little attention as they passed through the streets. Lifting off from air fields, two Vulture gunships flew towards the city to give fire support in the case it would be needed. The Inquisition did not like to be outgunned.
The vans pulled up outside the apartment building and were detected by Gard's sensor system. Their number were such that an alarm signaled. Jolan Gix bolted out of bed and scrambled for clothes and armour. In other apartments his men scrambled for guns and body armour. They were never more than a room away from them.
Mikal Camron dropped his cards as Sindar Extos shattered the door with her shock maul. Her squad poured passed her through the lobby and up the stairs, her following up at the rear. Inquisition enforcers locked down the elevators and charged up the stairs. They had a few specific targets from the client the prostitute had given up and several associates, but no one was leaving this building without first passing through Inquisition custody unless it was to the graveyard. The confirmed suspect was first, of course.
Sevren Dask's men were hardened killers who were used to following champions of destruction to victory. They were many things, but they were not unskilled and they were not cowards. Their weapons were top quality and in battle, if nothing else, they had good discipline.
Camron strapped on a carapace cuirass and loaded his bolt pistol with Kraken penetrators. Odds were good that heavily armoured troops were going to do the storming and penetration would be more important than doing more tissue damage. "Defensive positions!" he shouted. "They'll be coming by the stairs!" Men took defensive positions in doorways and waited for hell to come.
The first trooper came through, suppression shield raised and an autopistol in his hand. Las bolts and slugs ripped at the shield and then a krak shell from Kozu's launcher struck it dead center. The explosion obliterated the shield and blew off the soldier's forearm. He fell, struck half a dozen times by bullets and las beams. The man behind him had an autoshotgun raised and was blasting out Executioner rounds. One hit a wall, the second hit Camron in the right side of his chest and knocked him down, the third blew apart Stass's skull. The return fire ripped up the enforcer's armour and put him down bleeding from a dozen wounds.
Upstairs Gix had dressed and grabbed his cogitator case. Keys was out, no need to worry about him. He triggered his vox. "Gard? Status?"
"Dressing Sevren. They're dropping the hammer on us. Auspexes detect to gunships inbound. They have us."
"Head for the roof," said Jolan.
"The gunships."
"Will be handled. We need to go up."
A las beam took the next enforcer in the throat before he could fire. He staggered and fell, blood pouring through the hole in his flak armour. The two men behind him opened up with their combat shotguns, alternating flechette and Executioner rounds. Mikal put a burst into one's carapace breastplate, blood spurting from the holes the armour piercers ripped in the enforcer's chest. The other went down under massed fire from the surviving men. Half the fighters on this floor were down and the rest were all wounded.
Sindar Extos bounced a pair of grenades into the corridor. They exploded with a dull bang, filling the corridor with shrapnel. She could hear footsteps on the stairs above and she knew it wasn't her people. She sprayed the corridor with bolt fire, the armour piercing rocket shells ripping through walls, uncaring whether or not they hit bystanders or heretics.
She retreated down the stairs, furious as she did so. She hated to leave her people, even if it was suicide to stay. Camron triggered his vox button. "Dask. Status?"
"Head for the roof," the inquisitor said crisply. "We're boned."
Camron was more than happy to let the authorities kill the heretic scum he lead. He tossed a grenade down the stairs and followed after it. It burst with a bang as he neared the stairs. He pointed his bolt pistol down and sprayed randomly before charging up. He met half a dozen men on the way down. "Move up!" he said.
Executioners rounds buzzed up. Two of his men fell with fatal wounds. Camron kept climbing. "Heavy fighting," he said into the vox as the survivors tossed grenades down or fired back. They followed him up. "Safehold. Golden chronos," he said in Cryptia. Will form the rear guard. Give you time.
"Exalted. Maximus sky." Confirmed. Get up here as soon as possible. Gix burst out stairway and onto the roof, following the impulses sent to him by his divinatory abilities. The howl of vulture turbofans greeted him. One was circling the building, its gun pods already pointing in his direction.
Jolan Gix drew upon the most formidable and destructive abilities he possessed. Ravening and destructive black chaos fire shot from his hand and burst through the Vulture's cockpit in an explosion of warp fire. Smoke and real flame poured from the shattered cockpit as the attack flyer nosed down and fell to the street below. Jolan was already moving as the second one tore up the roof with autocannon and heavy bolter fire. The inquisitor managed to exit the strafing kill zone just before it reached him.
The Vulture howled passed, having destroyed a large swath of the roof and the floor beneath. The attack gunship turned, ready to strike again. Gix struck first, extending his telekinesis to rip and shred the Vulture's turbofan's. Metal screeched and came apart as the Vulture attempted to turn fell through the air. The gunship's trajectory took it into the side of a neighboring apartment complex.
Gard came up the stairs. Jolan didn't waste a word, instead telekinetically hurling him to the roof of an adjacent building and then following him across. "Imperatus maximus!" he said through the vox.
"Affirm," said Camron. The brutal stairway gun battle had taken its toll on his men. He had several minor wounds and he was in the best shape. Most of them were dead and the survivors were all bleeding. He had no idea how many Imperials they had killed with gunfire and grenades. He began running, abandoning his men to their fate. He dropped to blind grenades behind him. The smoke, heat bloom, and EM scramblers should make targeting difficult or impossible. With a little luck he would make it.
Shouts of dismay and more gunfire sounded behind him. He chucked a frag grenade into the stairwell and kept running. The door to the roof was just two flights ahead. He made it out onto the roof. Smoke rose from the trench ripped in it by the Vulture's fire. He looked around. He caught a flash of Gix's blonde hair. "I have you," said Jolan. An invisible force reached out and yanked him into the air, pulling him across the gap between buildings. The Gix came through, as always.
Hammer blows struck his back and then pain knifed through his lower back and up into his chest, as if blazing blades had been stabbed into his flesh. Dimly he heard the roar of gun fire behind him. He coughed up blood and the world spun.
Sindar Extos shifted her aim away from Camron and towards the blonde man on the opposite roof. It was too far away to be sure, but she though it was Sevren Dask. "You won't escape me again," she whispered as she pulled the trigger. Bolter shells streamed toward him, but none seemed to strike him. An invisible fist smashed her like a rag doll, breaking bones and almost sending her off the roof. If it hadn't been for her hexagrammic wards she would be dead.
Jolan lowered Camron to the roof. "Gard?" he asked. The physician checked the wounds.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Bolter rounds. Massive tissue damage, organ failure, shock, blood loss. He's not even conscious."
Jolan nodded his head and dropped an incendiary grenade on Camron's body with a one minute time delay. He crushed Camron's brain, ending everything. Time to mourn later. "Let's go," he said grimly.
The Imperial forces could have pushed harder and more troops could have been called in, by Sabar-Governor Hesh did not give those orders. The PDF troopers had ties with the rioting workers and more bloodshed would only cause more wounds that would be a long time in healing. Contain them, press them in, and let them quietly surrender or melt away was his strategy. He knew his enemy wanted him to use the iron fist, so he refused. He would assert his authority and restore order without the bloodshed that the enemy lusted for.
The convoy of unmarked vans did attract a little attention as they passed through the streets. Lifting off from air fields, two Vulture gunships flew towards the city to give fire support in the case it would be needed. The Inquisition did not like to be outgunned.
The vans pulled up outside the apartment building and were detected by Gard's sensor system. Their number were such that an alarm signaled. Jolan Gix bolted out of bed and scrambled for clothes and armour. In other apartments his men scrambled for guns and body armour. They were never more than a room away from them.
Mikal Camron dropped his cards as Sindar Extos shattered the door with her shock maul. Her squad poured passed her through the lobby and up the stairs, her following up at the rear. Inquisition enforcers locked down the elevators and charged up the stairs. They had a few specific targets from the client the prostitute had given up and several associates, but no one was leaving this building without first passing through Inquisition custody unless it was to the graveyard. The confirmed suspect was first, of course.
Sevren Dask's men were hardened killers who were used to following champions of destruction to victory. They were many things, but they were not unskilled and they were not cowards. Their weapons were top quality and in battle, if nothing else, they had good discipline.
Camron strapped on a carapace cuirass and loaded his bolt pistol with Kraken penetrators. Odds were good that heavily armoured troops were going to do the storming and penetration would be more important than doing more tissue damage. "Defensive positions!" he shouted. "They'll be coming by the stairs!" Men took defensive positions in doorways and waited for hell to come.
The first trooper came through, suppression shield raised and an autopistol in his hand. Las bolts and slugs ripped at the shield and then a krak shell from Kozu's launcher struck it dead center. The explosion obliterated the shield and blew off the soldier's forearm. He fell, struck half a dozen times by bullets and las beams. The man behind him had an autoshotgun raised and was blasting out Executioner rounds. One hit a wall, the second hit Camron in the right side of his chest and knocked him down, the third blew apart Stass's skull. The return fire ripped up the enforcer's armour and put him down bleeding from a dozen wounds.
Upstairs Gix had dressed and grabbed his cogitator case. Keys was out, no need to worry about him. He triggered his vox. "Gard? Status?"
"Dressing Sevren. They're dropping the hammer on us. Auspexes detect to gunships inbound. They have us."
"Head for the roof," said Jolan.
"The gunships."
"Will be handled. We need to go up."
A las beam took the next enforcer in the throat before he could fire. He staggered and fell, blood pouring through the hole in his flak armour. The two men behind him opened up with their combat shotguns, alternating flechette and Executioner rounds. Mikal put a burst into one's carapace breastplate, blood spurting from the holes the armour piercers ripped in the enforcer's chest. The other went down under massed fire from the surviving men. Half the fighters on this floor were down and the rest were all wounded.
Sindar Extos bounced a pair of grenades into the corridor. They exploded with a dull bang, filling the corridor with shrapnel. She could hear footsteps on the stairs above and she knew it wasn't her people. She sprayed the corridor with bolt fire, the armour piercing rocket shells ripping through walls, uncaring whether or not they hit bystanders or heretics.
She retreated down the stairs, furious as she did so. She hated to leave her people, even if it was suicide to stay. Camron triggered his vox button. "Dask. Status?"
"Head for the roof," the inquisitor said crisply. "We're boned."
Camron was more than happy to let the authorities kill the heretic scum he lead. He tossed a grenade down the stairs and followed after it. It burst with a bang as he neared the stairs. He pointed his bolt pistol down and sprayed randomly before charging up. He met half a dozen men on the way down. "Move up!" he said.
Executioners rounds buzzed up. Two of his men fell with fatal wounds. Camron kept climbing. "Heavy fighting," he said into the vox as the survivors tossed grenades down or fired back. They followed him up. "Safehold. Golden chronos," he said in Cryptia. Will form the rear guard. Give you time.
"Exalted. Maximus sky." Confirmed. Get up here as soon as possible. Gix burst out stairway and onto the roof, following the impulses sent to him by his divinatory abilities. The howl of vulture turbofans greeted him. One was circling the building, its gun pods already pointing in his direction.
Jolan Gix drew upon the most formidable and destructive abilities he possessed. Ravening and destructive black chaos fire shot from his hand and burst through the Vulture's cockpit in an explosion of warp fire. Smoke and real flame poured from the shattered cockpit as the attack flyer nosed down and fell to the street below. Jolan was already moving as the second one tore up the roof with autocannon and heavy bolter fire. The inquisitor managed to exit the strafing kill zone just before it reached him.
The Vulture howled passed, having destroyed a large swath of the roof and the floor beneath. The attack gunship turned, ready to strike again. Gix struck first, extending his telekinesis to rip and shred the Vulture's turbofan's. Metal screeched and came apart as the Vulture attempted to turn fell through the air. The gunship's trajectory took it into the side of a neighboring apartment complex.
Gard came up the stairs. Jolan didn't waste a word, instead telekinetically hurling him to the roof of an adjacent building and then following him across. "Imperatus maximus!" he said through the vox.
"Affirm," said Camron. The brutal stairway gun battle had taken its toll on his men. He had several minor wounds and he was in the best shape. Most of them were dead and the survivors were all bleeding. He had no idea how many Imperials they had killed with gunfire and grenades. He began running, abandoning his men to their fate. He dropped to blind grenades behind him. The smoke, heat bloom, and EM scramblers should make targeting difficult or impossible. With a little luck he would make it.
Shouts of dismay and more gunfire sounded behind him. He chucked a frag grenade into the stairwell and kept running. The door to the roof was just two flights ahead. He made it out onto the roof. Smoke rose from the trench ripped in it by the Vulture's fire. He looked around. He caught a flash of Gix's blonde hair. "I have you," said Jolan. An invisible force reached out and yanked him into the air, pulling him across the gap between buildings. The Gix came through, as always.
Hammer blows struck his back and then pain knifed through his lower back and up into his chest, as if blazing blades had been stabbed into his flesh. Dimly he heard the roar of gun fire behind him. He coughed up blood and the world spun.
Sindar Extos shifted her aim away from Camron and towards the blonde man on the opposite roof. It was too far away to be sure, but she though it was Sevren Dask. "You won't escape me again," she whispered as she pulled the trigger. Bolter shells streamed toward him, but none seemed to strike him. An invisible fist smashed her like a rag doll, breaking bones and almost sending her off the roof. If it hadn't been for her hexagrammic wards she would be dead.
Jolan lowered Camron to the roof. "Gard?" he asked. The physician checked the wounds.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Bolter rounds. Massive tissue damage, organ failure, shock, blood loss. He's not even conscious."
Jolan nodded his head and dropped an incendiary grenade on Camron's body with a one minute time delay. He crushed Camron's brain, ending everything. Time to mourn later. "Let's go," he said grimly.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.