There is a loud crash as the door shuts, trapping you in the dark with the xenos...

"Interesting." Jeb mumbles as he blinks once or twice to adjust his eyes to the gloom. He spits on the floor and takes a step to put him in the center of the group instead of its perimeter. "I take it no one brought a spare set of keys?"

To slow might be to fall to the xenos or that thing that pretensds to be human; with that impetous Parsifal rushes headlong for the slowly thinning group. As he closes he raises his voice, the shout of "Ware! Ware!" letting them know that something non-xenos is heading towards them too.

Jebediah grunts with a mixture of relief and surprise at the voice that calls to them from the dark. Remembering what happened the last time someone approached the trigger-happy stormtroopers, he coughs. "Check your fire - he's one of ours, and we'll be glad to have him." With a hoarse whisper, not wishing to draw too much Xenos-attention to his position, he guides Parsifal in. "Pars - over here mate. Hurry up - we have to move." While waiting for the warrior to join them, Jeb takes a step towards Herrod, keeping his lasgun trained on the gloom around him, ready to double tap any Xenos beasts. "Any ideas Inquisitor? What about the hole those things came through, could there be an exit there you think?"

With a surge of energy at the sound of a friendly voice Parsifal pushes hard to get to the safety of the group. As he emerges fron the gloom he must appear like some anicent warrior from times long gone, his white robes and plate anachronisms in all this salughter, the blood and rotting flesh running down what, under better lighting, would be shining vestments still. As soon as he reaches the knot of people though he turns to form a rear guard looking into the dimness, ready for xenos movement, but as he does so he feeds info as quickly as he can. "Jeb. Possible other threat in amongst Xenos. Wearing human skin and robes but is not. Escalated flesh rotting abilities likely. Killed your rear guard and numerous Xenos. I killed it on the way in but it did not stay down."

"Killing something that doesnt stay down, hardly qualifies as killing in the first place, Pars" Jeb remarks drily as he sends a lance of energy into the gloom. "Glad to have you, though... You wouldn't by any chance know about a way out of this hellhole, would you?"

Sword waiting to strike Parsifal half laughs at Jeb's dig, "if it had been human it would be dead, it was a killing blow. It is not, there is something elose within it that changes it as iot moves. And the only way out of here without those doors is the holes through..." He grunts hard as one of the xenos slashes out at him from the darkness and he is forced to slide under his own shield to keep the a claw from ripping his face out from inside his helm. In turn he pushes his sword past the edge of his shield, into where the belly might be before he heaves the shield up again and shoves the squealing thing back into the darkness. Catching his breath again he tries to finish his sentance, "the holes through which these things came. Best chance I can see short of us all suddenly having jet packs and flying away."

The Inquisitor calls for close formation and maximum vigilance, then you head out across the floor, in the direction of the black mausoleum from whence the xenos crawled. You still got no light lit, but the fire is spreading, so instead of pitch dark with strobing lasbeams you get a sort of murky twilight. Enough for you to see by. Enough for the xenos too probably, but so far your group of 20+ people hasn't attracted any extra attention. Parsifal can no longer see the robed man.

As they move out, Jeb relays Parsifals words quietly to the Inquisitor. "Inquisitor. If Pars says he made a killing blow against this guy, and left him standing, then I believe him." He looks into the gloom, his lasgun resting at the shoulder, but ready to tip back up at a moments notice. "There might be more than just Xenos out there."

In the tight formation Parsifal checks the faces and shapes of those to his left and his right as well their names in case it gets tight ahead and they need to tell each other of incoming dangers. As they move together he checks all his armour and weapon harnessing to ensure no unexpected snags or jams in combat, the checks that all experienced combatants have the sense and wisdom to make. His pace is steady and even, each foot carefully placed to make sure of no repeat of the earlier fall, ears pricked up to listen for any agressive movements.

Halfway over the floor, at a point midway between the stairs and the gaping black holes the xenos entered by, Jeb becomes convinced that you're not going to make it. It doesn't feel like cowardice - more like cold logic...now that is a bad word, since it indicates absence of faith...but since Jeb didn't have much faith to begin with... Your group is now the only 'interesting' target left in the Auditorium. Even if only half the xenos decided to attack, piecemeal, you'll get overrun. And if they all rush you...which they look like they are doing right now...

Jeb grunts to himself, considering their options. They needed distractions - and the Xenos didn't exactly seem interested in coins or valuables. He sucked his teeth noisily, as he edged closer to one of the guardsmen he had rounded up, shouldering his lasgun to free his arms. This demanded ruthlessness, and Haxtes had ruthlessly provided the solution even if he didn't know it. Grabbing the lasgun and ripping it out of the hands of the man, the ex-merc delivers a thundering left hook to the guards head, before he grabs him roughly by the front of his jacket and heaves him out of the tight cluster of men - away from the hole and towards the Xenos. "Xenos take the hindmost" he snorts. "The Emperor accepts your valiant sacrifice - I'm sure out it..." With that, he turns and bursts into motion, trying to stay at the front of the group, without getting too far ahead of it.

At the front each step brings them closer to what might be escape and as carefully as Parsifal watches the darkness it is imminent attack he watches for, not the preperations for an all out assault. When at last they do come their numbers seem uncountable in that surge and it is all he can do to keep them knocking him over, two of their number launching directly at him. One runs straight down his blade, almost swallowing it as it moves and he has to repeatedly bash his shield into the face of the second while continuing forwards and attempting to recover the sword. When at least he manages to retrieve it a quick look up shows Jeb to his side and the Xenos attacking. The time has come to move and quickly. "Move, move, doubletime now!" he shouts as he starts to pick up the pace in the hope that they can manage to reach some form of cover or defensive position instead of being trapped in a barren killzone.

It is a desperate gamble, throwing out a bait like that. It buys you a few seconds, but nothing more. There are too many xenos to be distracted by one man, even a kicking and screaming one. You move for the hole. Guns bark, men scream in pain or defiance. The xenos utter their own shrill cries as they bore down on you. The sounds they make when they lie broken and dying are even worse. You make it all the way to the mausoleum and the two gaping black holes. You've killed quite a few, and there are plenty of bodies for them to feed on now. So their loose a little of their momentum. Just enough for you not to be completely overwhelmed. You've been in the lead now, going for the closer opening, the on on the right. But the Inquisitor suddenly strikes out for the leftmost one, sensing a weakness in the ranks of the xenos. Two of his adepts go with him, but their timing is not so good and soon they are swarmed and brought down. Jeb manages to close the gap and hurl himself into the rightmost opening. Its quite the drop and pitch black. Only reason you didn't break every bone in your body is because you landed on one or more xenos. Jebediah can feel panic welling up inside... Leaving Parsifal, one adept, and just five troopers - three Inquisition, one IG and one household - standing not ten paces form the opening. Ten paces that could as well have been ten kilometers. You are hopelessly surrounded by xenos. So this is where it ends. Standing on top of the shredded corpse of the Head Mourner. He was torn asunder by autocannon fire. Your deaths will be more painful

Adrenaline rushed through the burly Jebediah as he stared wide-eyed into complete darkness. The lasgun he had wrenched from the unfortunate guardsman was lost in the fall, and while the other one was slung across his shoulder, the pain in his back told him that it was lodged between him and whatever he had landed on. Desperately he lashed out with feet and elbows, grasping frantically in the dark for something - anything - to fend of the rows upon rows of teeth he had a feeling was about to descend on him. Cold steel brushes against his fingers and he closes his hand around it, drawing strength from the solidness of it even as his thumb seeks the small depression in the metal and presses it. Erasmus Haarlock's powersabre flickers into life with a thrumming hum, as the ex-merc half turns in his somewhat prone state and slashes left and right with the weapon, unleashing a roar tinted with barely contained panic. If Jebediah Octavian Hoare was going down - he'd be damn sure to take someone with him.

There is no hopelessness, there is no failure, there is only not having enough faith in the guiding hand of the God-Emperor and a lack of understanding of his will expressed through all of humanity's actions. Parsifal's faith in the God-Emperor has never been anything other than unshakeable - he lacks the level of rational and articulate thought to form the challenges and doubts that more intelligent men might witness through their so called "logic" and "reasoning". As is, ignorance is bliss. It is for this reason that he does not consider his situation lost. He has trusted servants of the Throne with him and all that they face are Xenos. Yes there are many of them, and yes it seems they might be overwhelmed at any point but it is merely a test of the faith that those that find themselves in such a position must utilise the tools provided by the fate presented by the throne. It is therefore not a thought that provides Parsifal's next actions but merely an automatic response. From the jacket of one of the troopers Parsifal grabs and pulls on the flare stick attached there, shouting to those with him to shield their eyes as he lobs it back over the horde around him to pull their attention away. As it flies through the air and the ozone generated by the laser shot builds rapidly around the laser little knot of men left in the darkness, it arcs high and sudenly bursts with a bright searing light that keeps burning as it traces a path deep into the seething mass of Xenos. In that moment Parsifal turns and shouts to the troopers to concentrate their fire on clearing the last ten feet to the hole while he roars with holy wrath at the xenos that face him. With every sinew in his body he starts to fight now, whirling his blade in block, parry, counter block and guard, a fully defenisve dance of steel that only allows his sword to strike out when it uses just the momentum gained in the effort to stop an incoming blow, trying to cover the backs of the men who he now stands back to back with, trying to follow them into the gap beyond should they reach it. It is a moment of surprising peace for Parsifal, where every movement is now in slow motion, all visible to his senses even given the sheer noise and sound that surrounds him. Almost in a reverie like state he reaches out to the Throne in his mind, an almost tranquil clam coming over him as the litany of endings is recited at the top of his voice. An end is coming he knows, but it will cost the Xenos dear for it will be as the God-Emperor has ordained it to be and he, with his sword, know the service the God-Emperor requires of him.

The blade of Harrlock drinks eagerly of xenos blood. It was no idle boast the dead man made, the sword has a will of its own, to cut, to slash, to stab. It is a great comfort to feel its thirst. Also comforting is the pearly radiance given of by the blade's annihilation field as it tears apart whatever air molecules are unfortunate to cross its path. And scales, flesh and bone offer scant more resistances as it not only cuts but disrupts. You imagine that the xenos must have felt its bite before, for their recoil before it, giving Jeb a moment to get back to his feet. You've cold rock at you back, a sword in hand, and a seething mass of aliens before you. A mass of sleeper capsules fill the room as far as you can see. Grasping for purchase yo mange to cut your left hand quite badly - one moment you think that one of them must have bitten it, but then you remember the xenoflesh mask still hanging from your belt.

It feels like something has kicked Parsifal in the chest - like the hoof of a heavy warhorse. It knock the air out of you and sends you sprawling. It's not a kick though, for kicks don't generally cause fire to burst forth and heat to scorch! You'll never know exactly what happened, except that something exploded - a powerful melta charge or something much like it. Parsifal (who is now 1 Fate Point poorer than he was) is partially shielded by the bodies of the rest of the group as he struggles to guard their backs. His companions and the closest xenos are not so fortunate. They burst into flames and are consumed. Then the floor gives away and Parsifal falls...

Sucking in breath in rasping gulps, Jebediah fights to quell the rising panic within him. Smeared in alien ichor and looking into what appeared to be the very nest of the xenos beasts, he really felt out of his usual habitat. Pressing his wounded left hand into his right armpit in an attempt to staunch the blood and avoid it dripping to the floor, Jeb grimaced. How the hell was he expected to get out of this one - and now with a handicap? And that bloody mask!? Why the heck was he lugging around this stupid thing, when he was being assaulted by what was by all appearances the previous owner of the masks face's next of kin? Why make a mask like this in the first place? Waving the sabre menacingly to ward of the Xenos, Jeb reached for the mask with his wounded hand and dragged it out where he could view it without looking away from his foe. Butt ugly. But then again, so was the breathing, biting version - at least this one didn't try to gobble him up for dinner. A thought entered his mind and he gave a amused snort that came out as a slightly manical chuckle. Hell, if he was alone in enemy territory he might as well do what he could to confuse the enemy, no? With a last look towards the foe surrounding him, Jeb gives a noncommittal shrug and dons the grotesque mask.

The air around him explodes with light, heat and noise as he is thrown to the ground, sliding across it in a manner less heroic then he anticipated but still with the words of the litanies stumbling from his winded lips as he tries to regain his breath from his pained and compressed lungs. In his thoughts he thanks the Emperor for his witnessing of the gift of so many dead Xenos and then, then he realises, in a split second, that he is falling...

The mask fits snugly around Jeb's face - it was clearly made to be worn this way by a human. After that things get...strange...the xenos no longer seem neither grotesque nor frightening. They are, after all, thine own kin. A couple of the blokes are ugly as hell, that is true, but there are quite a few handsome chaps in the group as well. Ah, dearly you love your brothers, who have stood beside you in peace and war...those were the good times. With the ground beneath your feet, the sun at your back and prey before you. Then the xenos came. They had such soft bodies, but were wrapped in hard scales and carried the mot fearsome of weapons. They murdered you in droves. And then he came, the Black-Eye. He alone spoke to you, explained that you must serve him, or perish... You musing are cut short by a mighty EXPLOSION. There is intense heat and part of the roof caves in. A few of your kin remains with you, the rest have gone up to hunt. You claw your way over the rubble...and see one of the xenos lying there. But you cannot approach - he carries the seal of the Black-Eye. He is easy prey, but you dare not defy your master. The last of your brothers leave the chamber - to hunt the xenos. Only you remain to look at the injured one lying among the rubble. He seems familiar somehow - isn't that strange?

Approaching the injured creature tentatively, Jeb the Xenos places one claw on its weapon. He could remember all to well the loss of his kin to such alien weaponry before. Leaning in, he sniffs once or twice as he examines the softskinned alien closer. It wouldn't be defying his master, if the marked one was dead already, would it?

This one doesn't have any of the weapons that strike with rays of light. Only a long fang - only it's not its own fang, merely one stolen from a great beast and held in a soft paw. But it's other paw holds the cold black iron seal of the Black-Eye, the one he gave to The-Thing-Called-Greel and bade you obey as you would him...Greel the Slavemaster, Greel the Entomber. Curse him! It doesn't smell dead though. Actually it starts to stir. It is incredibly ugly - you'll never get used to strangeness such as this. You'll also never understand how something so weak and fragile can be so dangerous and so cruel.

Parsifal wakes. There is pain. A deep gash in the forehead and a slick layer of blood. Dust and stones and the smell of scorched human. You still have our sword though. And in your left hand is a palm-sized metal object with several sharp points. You're unsure what it is or where you got it from. It is very dark. You can feel someone close by. Sniffing at you.

As he lies on his back returning to conciousness Parsfial works through where and what has happened in his mind. Almost conversing with himself. "Pain. Pain means I am not dead. Sword is still in hand. Something else in the other. Blood on my face. Lying on my back. A sound to my right. Movement. But not yet agressive. Sniffing?" Almost instinctually Parsifal starts to move, keeping his sword between him and the noise and trying to get a better sense of his bearings and this place he has dropped into and put his feet back under himself.

For just a moment you think one of the xenos are standing before you, but its not - its Jeb wearing the mouth section of one of the creatures over his face. He's acting all weird though, weaving his head from side to side and sniffing. What is wrong with him?

Watching Jeb carefully, and moving with caution given his strange behaviour then Parsifal checks they are alone before carefully returning his sword to its sheath. Crouching slightly he moves forward, his right hand out, palm upward in an open friendly gesture of greeting, making soft gentle noises as he closes. Then suddenly, once he thinks he is close enough, he snatches at the edge of the mask, trying to rip this evil Xenos thing from what he still hopes is Jeb's all too ugly human face.

Jeb seems a 'little' (gross understatement) confused, so you're able to reach out and then yank the mask of. Doesn't really improve his looks much. And if possible he's even more confused-looking!

Jeb the Xenos was looking at the soft creature. It would be so easy to reach out one claw and render it asunder. So easy to draw a talon across its midriff and spill out its intestines. Something jerked him out of his reverie. "Wha... who..." Jeb looks about in the sudden gloom with alarm. Last thing he remembers, he was backed up against the wall with Xenos all around him ("your brothers", a voice inside him said). Now here he is, looking at a wounded Parsi ("prey", the same voice insisted, although it did so with a questioning tone to it). He glances down himself, trying to remember why his fingers are locked into claw-like shapes, willing them to return to normal and opens and closes them a few times - then he looks back up. "What happened?"

Parsifal waves the mask in his hand. "You were wearing this thing, and acting sort of like one of them. They have all gone up now and left you and I to it it seems. I think we are the only ones to survive of those who were trapped in the room, unless the Inquisitor managed to reach some form of safety. And I found this." And with that Parsifal holds up the iron eye in his left hand.

A shudder runs through Jeb at the sight of the mask. "Put it away. And lets find a way out of this place. Preferably onto the bridge of the ship that'll blast this blighted place into oblivion." He looks around, realizing is own vulnerability in this place. "Throne! Where did I put my weapons?"

The power sword is nearby, lying on the floor, still humming, but its power nearly spent. It needs to be charged or have its power cell replaced. Your in a dark underground vault - or rather several long interconnected vaults. Filled with sleeper capsules - now empty, but up until recently filled with xenos. So dead xenos down here - cut down by Jeb before he went native. But no sign of any Inquisitor. The capsules probably required some maintenance - and that means there has to be an entry point somewhere; the passageways through which they emerged to attack have definitively never been opened before.

Flicking the ignition-rune on the power sabre off, Jeb takes a moment to marvel at the apparent cleanliness of the thing, used to weapons covered in gore after a butchery of the style that seems to have taken place down here. " 's funny, you know. I don't remember being such a capable swordsman" he remarks as he prods to a severed Xenos-limb with the tip of his foot. He hangs the sabre in his belt once more and stoops down to flip one of the beasts over, retrieving the battered lasgun below. Wiping the worst of the sticky ichor that covers it off in his pants, he does a quick check of the weapon to ensure that its machine spirit hasn't taken irreplaceable damage, before he thumbs down the button activating the gun-mounted flashlight, providing some source of lighting in the gloom. "Right" he remarks, his nerves calmed somewhat by the routines of weapon-maintenance and preparation. "Let's go talk to someone about pest control, shall we? Frankly I'm appalled at the size of the rats in this holiday resort."

"I am glad you are still alive though; we started to get people out of the room and I realised you and Haxtes were not there so came down to get you." He holds up the eye symbol. "Although this is interesting. Very strange."

Seeing the thing makes Jeb shy back, just a twitch, but still. He frowns at his own instinctive reaction and shakes his head "I've had about enough of strange artifacts and eccentric Rogue Traders to last me three lifetimes. Give me a mob of dissidents to break up any day - I'll even take 'em on with nothing but teeth and fists, if it means I avoid having to meddle with any more of this mumbo-jumbo psychic omnipretentious bullshit." He grumbles some other less pleasant things about this place and its long dead owner, before he spits on the ground and gives a derisive snort. "I'll take point."

"Of course." And drawing his sword Parsifal drops in behind Jeb, a few paces adrift from him in order to allow him room to use his blade.

As he falls in behinf Jeb he starts to speak, slightly nervously. "There is perhaps something I should mention Jeb, something about this place and the man who built it. His portrait we had? It turned into me. And On the ship, when the thing that happened that I am ordered not to tell you about - well then I was referred to as blood of his blood." Parisfal's voice just sort of trails off at that last.

Jebediah snorts up front. "Yes, because we're not already knee-deep in grox shit. Of course we need a mystical painting that transforms into one of us and... wait, what ship? Blood of his blood?" Jeb stopped up and racked his brain. "That infernal piece of palm-reading heretek talked about something for the blood of his blood. Mentioned a spear of great destiny or some such nonsense and a charter, lying in his cabin... if they are anything as filled with malicious energies as that mask or all the other things in this accursed place, I think we would be wise to make sure it didn't fall into the hands of anyone but the Inquisition." He glances back at the stone in Parsifals hand and gives a slight shudder. "And that thing too, for that matter. It gives me the shivers."

"The ship? When I got wounded - Haxtes has ordered me that I cannot tell you what happened, so I can go no further on the matter but yes, this smells all wrong; the Inquisition is for the place for all of this that the innocent might be protected from the corruption at the heart of it all." "A spear and a cabin? That all sounds rather couched in its language also."

You search around a bit and finally find an auxiliary entrance point. It's closed, but has recently - relatively speaking at least - opened. Jeb suddenly starts laughing, even as he fixes one of the sleeper capsules with his gun-mounted torch-light. On the side of the metal sarcophagus it say, in worn and dusty letters: ISS Spear of Destiny. So the Spear of Destiny is a voidship. And the 'cabin' in question might then be the captain's cabin aboard said ship.

An auspex beam lights up by a panel near the door, scanning you both. It seems to linger a little extra by the iron symbol in Parsifal's hand. A little blue glow-strip lights up next to the scanner: "Command override accepted. Security locks disengaging." In perfectly understandable, is a little posh, Low Gothic.

"Nifty piece of heretical junk," Jeb remarks with a look in the direction of the stone. He still cannot look directly at it without feeling a twinge of the Xenos-beasts worries. "I'm pretty sure I wont want to meet whatever security-measures Haarlock left behind to ward of intruders... Perhaps you should wave it about a bit more? Just to be sure?" He directs the flashlight into the ships corridors. "Y'know what Pars? Once this is all over and done with, you and I are going to have to sit down and have a nice long chat about blood and buried ships and mysterious orders. There's just too many unknown variables here for my liking. It's unhealthy, I say..."

Parsfial steps forward waving the symbol in front of him as he goes, his sword still in the other hand. "I believe that would be very sensible Jeb - I would have spoken to you in the house except that there were too many present who would not have allowed it. That and I had withdrawn after what happened. But now? Now yes, we should speak when we get chance." He looks up and down the corridors. "So a cabin yes? Probably Captain's?"

The door rolls open as you approach it, granting you access to a peculiar and insular universe on the other side. It's a world of tunnels and chambers hewn into the volcanic rock, tunnels and chambers filled with endless miles of pipes and cables and other tecno-arcana. Like someone took parts from a voidship and moved it down here. Before long you also become convinced that you're not alone. First you fear it might be xenos. But it's not. It's a tribe of pale humans, small and wasted from malnutrition. They gawk at you from hiding, but make no attempt to interfere with you.

Jeb snorts with barely contained amusement. This situation was going from madness to the grotesquely insane. "Congratulations Pars - you are now the proud owner of a buried ship filled with what appears to be the wretched offspring of the original crew..." The ex-merc smirks at his next words as he plays the light over the palid forms. "Guess that makes you their new master, eh? You lucky sod!"

He looks a little shocked as he stares at them. "I suppose so; how awful for them, trapped in here so long. What an existence..." A deep breath. "We need to keep movving, who knows who or what might come after us."

The people don't seem very dangerous or overly hostile, but you never know, this is their turf and...well they do look awfully hungry. Might try and eat you even. Before you've got something of a tail of these pale people following you, some quite small. Then you realize - these are children, bold enough to follow, but not brash enough to get too close.

On an impulse Jeb stops up and begins rummaging through the webbings of his bodyguard-kit, drawing out a nutritionbar. He glances at some of the palid kids and goes into a crouch to seem less threatening, waving them closer with a smile. "Here," he says, unwrapping the bar and holding it out. Withdrawing it momentarily, he bites off the corner of it, chewing with delight, then offers the bar to the kids again. "It's good for you. Food." He has no clue if they understand him, but gaining the trust of the people native to this labyrinth of cramped tunnels might just be an asset at the moment. Plus Jeb had a vague hope that they would be less inclined to beat him to a bloody pulp and eat him, if he provided them with food freely. At least it didn't hurt to try.

It works all right. Suddenly there is a little horde of children around you, expecting the same treatment.

Jeb takes out a second nutritionbar. "Ah-ah," he states holding it out of reach. "I will give this to the one who shows me the captains cabin. Do you understand?" He waves the thing around. "The Boss-man? Capitano? Leader? King? His room..."

As Jeb juggles his nutritionbar Parsifal smiles - he forgets sometimes that the ugly brute has a heart and that the mercy and kindness of the Emperor for all of innocent humans can sometimes touch even the flintiest of souls. When he speaks aloud his voice is soft and gentle, trying to reflect that kindness in his tone. "We are here to help; where he asks for is important."

The greedy little wretches are soon all over you pleading for sustenance. They pull and tug at you, threatening to pull Parsifal down and to liberate Jeb of equipment that has nothing to do with food. A few brutal blows with a lasrifle butt, followed by some rapid-fire over their heads soon puts them back into their place.

One of the brighter ones seems to understand though - there will be a reward if he does what is asked, otherwise there with be death and hell to pay. With crocked smiles and eager hand gestures he motions you on, ever deeper into the maze of corridors and rooms. It occurs to you that this is definitely not a voidship. Just parts of one taken down from orbit and installed in the rock.

Despite your misgivings - he could just be leading you to a cruel fate - you follow the child for quite a while, until he indicates he will go no further. He points to a rusted doorway - beyond you hear the sounds of ancient machines howling and grinding. Accepting his nutri-bar reward the child dashes away. Peering through the open door - it's more like a hatch of the type you'd find aboard a ship - you see a vast hall filled with massive pipes, cisterns, tanks and such. You can see a few ancient servitors moving about doing their tasks. Many more servitors lie still in various states of disrepair and decomposition. You go through the hatch and make your way down along a series of stairs and metal walkways until your reach the floor. Around you the machinery rises like the walls of a great machine cathedral. It's quite something to look. Awe-inspiring. A bit daunting.

A small hunched figure approaches. First you take him for another to the wasted children, but as he draws closer you see its a human midget, dressed in old finery of the type a valued servant of a rich man would wear. "Come, quickly, there is not much time. The Captain would speak with you ere the flames consume us."

Parsifal draws himself up, tall and proud. "Then take us there."

The hunchback leads your through the maze of towering pipe-stacks and boiler-tanks, until you reach an out-of-the-way section that has been turned into a sort of living space. Not unlike a captain's ship cabin actually. Nice (if faded) carpets, artwork, books and scrolls, stuffed xenos, a big desk. The desk has a very, very old man sitting behind it, directing a slow-moving auto-quill (with some effort it might be added). He's wearing a captain's red double-buttoned coat (faded like the carpets and the hunchback's livery). He looks up as you approaches, but not before consulting a strange-looking mechanical chronometer sitting inside a crystal sphere on his desk. He makes no attempt to get up before addressing you. hard to say if it's the age or haughtiness. "Raltor! Who are these men? I told you to bring me the Inquisitor, not some...backwater mercenaries." He's looking very angry, the old man.

With a bold step forward and a sharp salute, Parsifal addresses the old man in an authorative tone. "I am no backwater mercenary Sir, I am Parsifal of Carbonek, of Acreage, Last Templar of the Order of the Eagle. The one you call Raltor has not made a mistake. I am also given to understand you have something that belongs to me."

The man starts laughing. Then the laugh turns into a coughing and spitting of phlegm. "Acreage. Nothing but inbred yokels. Backwater indeed. And what makes you think Gideon Haarlock would have anything for you?"

"On account of him being the soddin' blood of his blood" Jeb remarks drily as he scans the room, the gun in his hands held at the ready. "Seems Gideon Haarlock has taken quite a fancy to these backwater mercs - for better or worse - since he's gifted us with prophecies, weapons and the means to survive and face those fanged pets of his, when all others ran in terror..." He rearranges the gun to a onehanded grip, and rests his free hand on the hilt of the power sabre. "Now, I believe the inbred yokel at my side was promised a few things in Haarlock's will - we was told it resided here, and so here we are." "Don't tell me we walked all this way for naught."

In a moment of realisation Parsifal looks at the aged figure behind the desk and frowns and smiles a little all at the same time. "Oh. I see. I was right to call you Sir then. It does not do to be rude to one's elders."

Jeb arches an eyebrow and looks from Parsifal to the wizened man behind the desk. "Oh you have got to be shittin' me. You can't seriously think that this is the Rogue Trader?" He turns back to the old man. "Yeah you'll excuse me - and no offense to that Haarlock-fellow - but you don't strike me as how I imagine someone that's been dead for decades should look. A bit too... zesty... for that."

Gideon Haarlock: "That would be my cousin you're confusing with me. Erasmus, curse his black soul. He's the reason I'm down here...overseeing this...place. The ship-kin will only answer to their captain, you see. They've been her to thousands of years, ever since my forefather Solomon built these halls. A wretched fate, but but was either that or have my soul ripped to shreds and offered to the powers that dwell beyond. So no, I don't have anything for you. You wouldn't understand."

Jeb shakes his head. "Yeah, Erasmus, that's the guy I was thinking off. So you're Gideon, eh? Can't say I rightly envy your position..." He pauses. "But why don't you try us. I might not be much but brawn, granted - but Pars here is a right smart bugger. And he *was* mentioned in the Gilded thingy's fine rendition of the Rogue Trader's last word and will..."

"Then Uncle, many generations removed, I am pleased to meet you, however unsual the circumstances. But yes I would ask then where would be my Antecedent's cabin? He said what he has left for his blood is there."

Gideon looks at Parsifal for a while. "So you are of Haarlock blood? There might be a certain family resemblance...and Acreage was indeed part of the Haarlock dominion, so I suppose it's possible..." "Very well then. Our time is limited, so I shall accept your claim and consider you kin. So gather round and listen. First. Know that my knowledge of the outside is limited. I've been in here for centuries. The Mourners bar any contact between us down here and the outside world. Greel would speak to me sometimes, but he'd only tell me so much. Second. Where would be Erasmus cabin? Aboard his ship of course, the legendary battlecruiser called the Spear of Destiny. He carries with him the Haarlock Warrant of Trade, locked inside a stasis field no doubt, for it is very old. Third. Just because you've heard the Gilded Widow relate Erasmus' last will doesn't mean he's dead. Or even if he's dead that doesn't mean he'll never return to trouble you. I certainly don't believe it. Or I would have left this place a long time ago. Claimed back my birthright. Fourth. Erasmus is not like other men. He was always driven, even when we were little. But the death of his wife and only daughter...it broke him. Deprived him of whatever humanity he had left..." The whole room shudders, quite violently. Somewhere distant machinery screech in agony as their hallowed forms are torn. "Fifth. You've heard how he hunted down his family for revenge. Sure it was revenge. But it was something more. A part of his great plan. Something to do with reading the future to remake the past. That the future could not be shaped by single events, but only though exerted pressure over time. 'You cannot create a dam with your hands alone Gideon, but with those hands you could make the tools for your servants to build a dam of stones.' That's what he told me. You see, the killings go on. He know that all his kin could not be so easily be exterminated. Not then, not ever. So he made sure there would be ways for the galaxy to kill any of his blood kin that reared their heads and tried to interfere with his plans. Only THEY mattered, not the distant ones...or those who knew not their own heritage."

The old Haarlock looks like he wants to say a whole lot more now that he's started. You'd probably also get talkative if you stayed down here a couple of centuries. Alas there isn't much time. Something cataclysmic is happening on the island, something that sends violent shudders through the rock. "Erasmus is reaching out from beyond the grave - if he truly is dead - to shape events. He has something planned that will see him return, I can feel it in my bones. When he does return he'll at last have the power to undo the past. He must be stopped. Such power was never meant to be in the hands of mortal man. Only evil will come of it, I am sure. So watch your steps, and trust no one, for you never know when you are but pawns in the great game. Better perhaps, if you fled far and away and never looked back." More shudders. "You must go now, and quickly. There is a way to get past the shield. Raltor will show you." With that he dons his triangular hat with its ridiculous feathered plume, buttons up his coat, and makes ready to address his 'crew' for a final time.

Seeings as there are no replies I'll move this forward. --- You follow Raltor through a series of tunnels and shafts that eventually takes you outside, beyond the circumference of the shield. You are safe. Relatively safe at least.

So many questions and no chance to ask them and probably no answers he would have liked anyway but at Raltor's directions Parsifal transits the tunnels and shafts until they stand on firm ground again. A deep breath reminds him of the taste of real air, or as real as it is anywhere in this universe and he closes his eyes for a moment in prayer before turning to Jeb and saying, "Can we make it to the Maiden do you think? And what of Hax and Max?"

Jebediah grunts as they reach the outside once more. He gives a slight nod as way of thanks to their guide, and then puts the wretch out of his mind, looking around in an effort to gain his bearings. "Haxtes and Maxi are irrelevant right now, Pars. What little they may have learned cannot possibly outweigh what you and I have stumbled into by pure chance and dumb luck" He massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and indexfinger. "I did some legwork before all this turned into a pile of steaming grox-shit. There's supposedly a small town of ill repute nearby here. I'll bet you we can secure a ride out of here there. Or at the very least find some means to contact the Maiden. I suggest we check if the Cygnan Martyr is still lying at anchor, and if not, we head to this town and make our way from there. That's our best bet, as I see it."

"Not chance, not dumb luck Jeb, my brother, fate. The Throne guides us even when we know it not. The only reason I was on the floor with you was because I knew I could not leave you to die amongst those Xenos. That was the drive that the God-Emperor was so generous to bless me with and therefore you. We made it out because of his gifts; we should give thanks when we are safe. But yes, you are right. We should find our way home, so to speak." Parsifal quickly checks over his harness, rearranging it where that blast knocked so much from him and it. Once he is done he looks up at Jeb and nods. "Ready when you are Jeb. We have people to see and a bed to sleep on somewhere." And he smiles and winks, all the piety dropped as the solid friendship of too many scrapes shared together takes over again.

You leave Ralton standing at the rocky exit - who knows what will become of him now - and start climbing to get a better overview of where you are. Eventually you get a glimpse of the House. Or what used to be. Nothing remains, just a big pool of bubbling lava, slowly spilling out. In the ruddy glow you can just barely make out the sky-ship piers. There are no hips left at anchor. That leaves only Deadtown - unless you wish to spend your days wandering around the old tombs and mausoleums scattered about the island? Didn't think so... Deadtown is a collection of shacks and habitats carved from the sea-cliffs. It's hard to tell how big the population is, but you doubt more than a few hundred souls live here. Well, maybe a thousand, but not much more. Jeb remembers one Mr. Chenshan being mentioned as the de-facto leader of the place. But that's about the extent of your knowledge.

"This is the place, Preacher Man," Jeb remarks, as they look out over the shabby excuse for a township. "I seem to recall Mayweather saying that this is a place one goes to disappear - from the Administratum or anyone else needs disappearing from - so probably best to keep a low key." He thought back to the remnants of the House. "... As much as one can keep a low key in present circumstances." Jeb looked to Parsifal while easing the soreness out of a shoulder. "Some fellow named Chenshan runs the place. Don't know anything about him, but if the place is anything to go by, I suspect him to be a run of the mill crime-lord. I don't rightly know if we'd be best of avoiding him, but its not like we have much of an opportunity. We need stuff that he'll probably be the only one to provide presently." He pauses. "If other's have escaped the house, they might head here as well - we might be able to slip in any confusion... bring less attention to ourselves that way."

With some care Parsifal checks over his weapons again before nodding to Jeb. "i am ready when you are. I expect we'll meet him and I am sure pleading to his loyalty to the Emperor will get us far." And he grins.

"Ah... yes..." Jeb shifs a bit in place. "If my grasp of the conceptual idea of this refuge-refuse is somewhat correct, I would suggest you hold a bit back on the preaching, Pars." He scratches his stubbled chin absentmindedly. "Lets just enlist their aid to get back to the maiden, and let the Emperor judge them in the end, eh?"

"One day Jeb, one day, you will learn when I am jesting. I have no wish to end our days because I decided to preach in a hive of scum and villany when we had more important things to do. Let's just get back to the ship and take some well earned rest." And with that he begins to make the walk to the settlement.

Jebediah mumbles some indecipherable things as he finds out he has had his leg pulled. "You've spent too much time among unsavory types, Preacher Man. It's messing with you image..." He seems about to say more, but instead grunts as he sets of after Parsifal into the outskirts of Deadtown.

You make your way to the outskirts of 'town'. There are a few people out and about, not not very many. Most seem to be staying indoors. It's late in the evening, but still... Eventually you find a largish bar set into the side of the cliff, with a sort of cobbled-together entrance section made from many different materials. Everything is pitted, rusted or otherwise badly corroded. Then it strikes you. This is why there are few people outside, and why the few you saw were wearing heavy clothing. The spray from the sea is mildly acidic. Not enough to harm directly, but unwholesome over time. --- Assuming you spend a little time around the town and/or the bar (which is named Chenshan's - wanna guess who runs it?) you learn the following: - a big-ass void shield went up around the House of Dust and Ash many hours ago - a large group of people, many of them rich-and-powerful looking, headed through deadtown more than an hour ago - they went to the sky-ship docks and then took of aboard several sky-ships - then the void shield came down as the House filled with glowing lava, if anyone was left inside they are dead - a while later they townsfolk could hear the screaming of high-power engines, and what sounded like explosions in the distance - there is one sky-ship still at the dock There are two people in the bar that might be of interest to you: - the proprietor, Chenshan, is sitting by himself next to a large fireplace, letting others run his bar, doesn't look very dangerous to you, more like an old Adept of Terra that was...misplaced - there is a burly man in utilitarian leathers and camo-patterns, you saw him inside the House you think, he has a big hunting rifle leaning on the bar and several shots of strong liquor lined up before him

Conspicuous in his whites and his burnished plate, even dustied and messy as they are, slick in places with xenos gore and fluid, Parsifal tries to hide his nervousness as he orders drinks at the bar for him and Jeb while they both appraise the room.

Jeb glances shortly around the taproom as they enter Chenshan's, before he settles his eyes on the bar and head there, not all that far from the burly man. "Drinks" he manages wearily, indicating himself and Parsifal and throwing a few credits on the table. "Tell me when that runs out..." As he waits, he glances left at the other man in the bar. "You where in the house too, no? I saw you bidding at the auction... I think. The book?" He waves his hand dismissively. "No matter. I guess you, as I, would rather forget the whole thing, eh?" Knocking back the first drink, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and deposits the glass on the bardesk. He looks to Parsifal. "So, looks like there's only one skyship left to get out of here" he says, his voice perhaps a bit louder than needed. Large enough to carry around the room. "I guess we just need to find out how we get ourselves aboard and away from here. Whad'dya think, Preach?"

Also speaking slightly louder than perhaps he intends and drawn fully up proudly, "I think you are right my brother, that we shall have to find the person who is in charge of the vessel and seek passage aboard it. Which of the patrons here present do you think it might be who would know of such?"

Man: "Yes, I was in the House. You were too, were you not? In Guilliman's employ? I followed Rogue Trader Guilliman and the others out, but opted to wait here...to see if there was any...stragglers. But alas, you are the first to appear." He takes another shot of foul-smelling liquor. "I'd think twice before heading out to sea. We've heard the drone of Imperial fighter-craft, followed by weapons fire and explosions. If I'm not much mistaken the sky-hips that fled have either been seized...or shot down by the Navy. Wonder why they would do that to the survivors?"

Magyar Marshrek: "Anyway; in case you see her...I'm looking for Ms. Octavia Nile. She has something that belongs to me that I want back. So if you see her, let me know and I'll be much obliged." The door opens and another man enters. A large man, dressed in what was once very fine robes indeed. Now they are very dirty and torn.

With the identity of the rifle-tottering man next to him confirmed, Jeb nods, guessing as to what Marshrek is after as he can't see it on the mans person. "If I see her or the book I seem to recall you outbidding her on, I shall let you know." He runs a finger over an eyebrow to smoothen it down, seeming about to say more, but finding himself interrupted at the entry of the robed man. He glances in the direction of the door, but opts to remain silent at first, waiting for the man to introduce himself, or memory to kick in and place his face among the important figures from the now-ruined house. One of the clergy, perhaps? Jeb seemed to recall some fancy cardinals and whatnot throwing about themselves with money at the auction.

Without thinking Parsifal nods a greeting to the newly arrived figure and requests a drink for him from the barkeep, handing it to him with a gentle smile.

The robed man accept the drink, downs it, and speaks: "You three, you were inside. Did anyone else make it out?"

Magyar: "And who wants to know." Man, menacingly displaying a ring bearing the ]I[ of the Inquisition: "Who I am is none of your concern, WHAT I am is what should trouble you." That ring is the symbol of a servant of the Inquisition, but the man is no Inquisitor. Perhaps he was with Herrod? Or maybe he was with another group, undercover?

Chenshan: "Look Sir, we want no trouble here. I will answer your question; a large group came through about two hours ago, led by a cold-eyed Rogue Trader. They headed straight to the sky-ships they did, then set out to sea. Only one ship be left at the quay good sir."

Jeb makes a pretense of seeming adequately impressed and awed by the signet ring. In truth, the last few hours had left him too exhausted and tired to care very much about anything at all. He does perk his ears a bit as Chensan speaks. "That would be my boss" he remarks as he listens to the description of the Rogue Trader. "I got separated from him in the House. He must think me dead by now." He looks to the newcomer. "I was trapped alongside the Inquisitor in the house - where you part of his retinue, if you don't mind me asking? I got separated from him too at some point, and I am curious if he actually managed to get out - he seemed an amicable sort. Amicable enough to allow me to trek along and not die a grusom death at the hand of some Xenos-beasts at least... which counts for a lot in my book."

The door is torn brutally kicked in - and yet another man appears. This one is even dirtier and more harried than the last. And he has a gun. A big bolt pistol with a polished Gunmetallican finish. "Xenos diabolous" he screams, even as he starts firing. Bolter rounds punch into the back of the robed man - but instead of reducing him to bloody chunks of flesh and bone they explode somewhere deep inside, with hardly any visible effect. The last bolt hits a wrist, however, blowing the arm clean of - and revealing a glimpse of the horror beneath the skin. No blood, no meat, no bones. Just a writhing mass of...worms.

Military training of the mercenary kind takes effect almost immediately as the roaring of battle starts. Before he even realizes what he is doing or why, Jeb is halfway across the counter, heading for the relative cover that the bar might offer. A string of profanity follows in his wake.

Without thinking as he moves it seems Parsifal's hand is hardly visible as he steps forwards, dropping to the hilt of the sword, making a lightning fast draw and then snapping the highly polished blade in a deep slash across the body of the worm-riddled figure, a cut from the right hip to the left shoulder, before he brings his blade to a guard position and looks for the next strike or a return of attack.

Jeb makes an epic leap into cover, landing next to the bewildered barkeep. A moment later an unholy radiance engulfs the bar area - and the barman starts screaming as his still-living skin starts to wither and his flesh to rot. What witchery is this!? Parsifal draws and slashes, his blessed blade biting deep, cutting through skin and into the writhing worms and necrotic ichor hidden beneath. But the robed thing does not fall. His remaining arm becomes impossibly long, snaking past your guard and smashing into your chest with shocking force - enough to send you reeling. Some sort of substance splatters onto your tabbard, which immediately stats to decompose, and within the span of a second the metal beneath is pitting and rusting...you got to get out of the ting or the barman's fate will be yours! The radiance moves towards the bolter-armed man...who is busy reloading...but it halted by an invisible wall of force.

A shiver runs through Jeb as he watches the man next to him shrivel and decompose at an unnatural rate. Left momentarily stunned by the sight, he shakes himself out of it as Parsifal charges the figure and steel strikes flesh on the other side of the bar the mercenary takes cover behind. Muttering a strange mixture of prayers and profanity under his breath he looks about him, before finally locating a bottle of cheap spirits. Scrabbling across the floor to get it and a nearby dirty rag, he drops back again and works furiously to uncork the bottle. With his back propped against the meager cover the bar provides, he takes a large swig and grimaces as the liquid, more akin to base prometheum or turpentine than the drink its supposed to be, burns his mouth and stings the many cuts from the last hours of heavy fighting. He quickly follows the drink with the bar-rag - stuffing it into his mouth and chewing on it, trying hard not to gag on the exotic substances attached to it, as his teeth work to get the liquid sloshing in his mouth firmly into the fibers of the cloth. The deed done, he spits the remaining mixture of bar-juice and alcohol out on the floor, takes a quick swig to cleanse his mouth of the foul taste, and begins to stuff the alcohol-drenched rag into the improvised incendiary-grenade with one hand, while fishing for his lho-stick igniter with the other.

While Jeb readies his firebomb Parsifal struggles to get out of his armour - a task made easier by the corruption taking hold in the metal, allowing him to rip the metal links open with his bare hands. The robes man, whose attempts at casting his corruption on the man with the bolt pistol have been foiled by the latter's shield, quickly moves into melee (having given up the pretense of humanity it more like GLIDES than strides). It's met by a torrent of bolt shells - but they do it no more lasting harm than the last burst. Indeed, the lost hand has been replaced by new worm-things, and both arms now lash out to grapple with the enemy. Jeb's throw is true. Liquid fire engulfs the figure. Some of of it splatters the other combatant, but that's a small price for him to pay - better cleansing fire than foul corruption!

As the breastplate swings free from his chest Parsfial lobs it to the side and roars in anger at the Corruption of the Thing. The Words flow quickly form his mouth now, the rite of cleansing and purification repeated by him every morning of his life since he can first remember and with his sword he strikes out again and again as he closes on the burning bundle of rotten stench trying to drive the festering thing from this world by the force of his words and the slicing tip of his sword alone.

With his missile thrown, Jeb edges away from the fight and the fire blooming in the middle of the room, bringing up his gun to loosen a few shots it the opportunity present. Keeping an eye on the skirmish he makes sure to have the bar between him and the worm-thing as he steps backwards to get closer to the proprietor of what is rapidly turning into a circus of destruction. "You. Chensan." He snaps, his eyes never leaving the fight. "Is there a back-door to this place?"

Chenshan crawls over behind the bar with a speed that would make any Guard drill sergeant proud. Eyes round with fear and short of breath: "In the back, there is a tunnel that leads into the rock and out." Still hugging the ground he makes for the back room.

Following the man to the back-room, Jeb stops in the doorway to keep half an eye on the battle. Here he tries to asses how damaged the writhing mass of worms is, and whether Pars needs to be withdrawn from the engagement. Even though it would be best to destroy this thing here and now, the new information the ex-merc and the templar held regarding the Spear of Destiny and Haarlock really needed to get back to the Inquisition - not wither and rot in a random tavern.

Parsifal recognises the thing that was killing guards in the chamber and will not let go of the need to cleanse it from this place. As the purification litany ends he replaces it with just screaming the words "Blasphemy! Daemon! Heresy! Be Cleansed!" over and over again as he tries to kill what seems unkillable.

The fire slowly eats through robes and skin, threatening to reveal the full horror beneath. Just the though that he might have to see it in all its dark glory...almost enough to send Parsifal running. But his faith is strong, and except for some shaking of the hands he continues to press his attack. And what an attack! Strike after strike with the blade. Each hit enough to kill a man. But not this target. Your strikes seem to affect it but little. You hack away some robes and skin and some worms fall lifeless to the ground...but nothing lasting. The only saving grace is that its corruption doesn't seem to touch your blade. At one point gunfire hit it too - you recognize the bark of Jeb's gun and another, more powerful, weapon. If they hit at all they have no effect. The man with the bolt pistol - you can see now that it is Inquisitor Herrod - has discarded his firearm and drawn twin power blades. He's doing the same as you, dancing around, hitting it, again and again. But to no apparent effect. Ah yes, Herrod is also partially on fire. But he doesn't seem to feel the pain.

As they both dance Parsifal stops the shouting and tries to speak with Herrod while still maintaining the constant strikes. "Inquisitor - what can we do to this thing? My sword chips at it and no more."

Herrod: "Get away, you can do naught. Bring word to the Inquisition: The Slaught walk on Solomon. Now run!" Herrod plunges his left blade into the thing, leaving it there as he is knocked onto his back. The slaught moves to engulf him - but the power blade overloads, blowing away the last of skin and robes and a whole lot of necrotic mucus and writhing worms. Parisfal's mind is trying to shut down, only your faith in the Emperor is holding it together. Herrod, to the monster, having pulled something from his belt: "I have something for you, let's see which is stronger, come get it!" Parsifal, not being very technical, doesn't understand what it is. He only sees a grey globe in the Inquisitor's burning hand. The slaught moves again...

Jeb, seeing the slaught disrobed abandons all thought of fighting and hurries after Chenshan. Bring word he must. Yes, bring word. Don't look back.

Parsifal, as commanded, knows now is the time to run. And he runs. Every once of energy is in retreating, carrying the word to the Inquisition now.

Behind Parsifal unholy energies clash. But you've no time. You run out the door and into the street. There are no people outside. It's begun raining and the wind is quite strong. In the corner of your eye you see something is happening to Chenshan's, but you don't want to know what so you keep running. You don't stop until you slip and fall, cutting yourself in the process on some sharp rocks. You lie there heaving for a moment. You can barely make out the strange energies playing across the little town you've just left behind. Then they are gone and all is quiet... You get up and start running again. Towards the sky-ship docks. Only place left to go.

Jeb regains his senses some time later. He's standing in a small cave, the sea-spray stinging his face. Chenshan is there to. He's standing there slack-jawed, staring down into the sea. Jeb knows he doesn't really want to know...but still he walks over and looks down. A massive black shape is visible, lying in wait just below the surface. You just KNOW it has something to do with the thing in the bar. It's probably crawling with them... Chenshan pulls out a small projectile weapon and shoots himself in the head. That snaps Jeb out of it - you reel back. When you look down again the black shape is gone, like it was never there.

"Throne have mercy..." the mercenary, hardened from a dozen conflicts, exhales briefly. This day has, without doubt been one of the more testing in his relatively short career with the Inquisition. A brush in with several powers so beyond his reach and scope he has no idea how to handle them presently. He shakes his head and stares at the dead man beside him - feeling anger rise at the sight. To give in like Chenshan had, was the easy way out. That would mean 'they' won. Jebediah Octavian Hoare would give whatever 'they' was, no such satisfaction. He would get aboard that last damned sky-ship, even if he had to do so at gun-point, and find a way of this sick world before those things... those black writhing things... surfaced. "Nuke the friggin' place from orbit" he mumbles as he bends down and lets trained hands pat down the corpse of the dead bar-owner. Some habits just die hard.

Jebediah Octavian Hoare, who isn't going to die on this rock today if it can be helped, makes his way out and up, towards the sky-ship. You catch a glimpse of it through a short break in the downpour. You move on. Some time later you spot Parsifal, kneeling on the wet rocks on the quay next to the ship. He's praying. There are dead people all around. Seventeen all told. Either decapitated or shot in the head with a hi-power rifle. A voice from behind: "That's quite far enough. Make a wrong more and you're next." Magyar Marshrek? What kind of ambush is this? "Parsifal. Check him."

Parsifal stands slowly and turns to face his friend. "I am sorry Jeb, I need to check you. Those things are here now and we cannot let a single one off the surface. Submit to the search and it will be easier on us all."

Parsifal roughly checks Jeb's neck and head, looking for any patches of necrotic flesh. The dead men all had them. But Jeb does not. Magyar: "That's why this ship never left. It was the one that carried the beast to the auction. He was in there. I saw him. the crew...they were infected with...something. I don't know what. We best get going. We can steer the ship alone. And we should not stand around in the open for too long."

As soon as Jeb steps past him Parsifal snaps his blade out, his left arm out wide to balance him in case anybody rushes them as they board finally. Backwards step by step, he edges to his escape.

Eying the man with the rifle suspiciously - he must have been the first to slip away from the bar - Jeb moves quickly up the ramp to the ship. He stops once, just before he enters, to look back at the small township and the road leading to the house and the events that took place there. Then he spits as if to clear a foul taste from his mouth and continues into the Skyship. "Let's leave this dump."

As he enters the ship he nods to Jeb again and Parsifal hits the ramp button. His sword does not get sheathed until the deadbolts lock in.

No more misfortunes await. You find that the sky-ship, Storm's Edge, is devoid of life. There are some corpses through, presumable crewmen slain by their possessed companions. The corpses are relatively fresh. The ship is much smaller than the Cygnan Martyr, more like a very large personal yacht. And its prepared and ready to go. Otherwise you'd have trouble steering it out of dock. With Magyar you make it out to sea, leaving the accursed island behind forever (one hopes). Magyar: "I am hoping that the weather will shield us. It'll prevent any orbital detection, but we still have to get past any fighter patrols. So we need to stay low, wave-top level. It's dangerous, but getting shot down now is not my cup of amasec."

Staring at the panels, the dashboards and the apparatus of control for this thing Parsfial looks more bewildered than at any time in the last day, the sheer multiplicity of buttons, lights and levers confusing in their density and meaning. "And where would you suggest we go Sir, where might we find the required refuge?"

Leaving Magyar to do most of the flying, Jeb pulls Parsifal aside at some point and addresses him in a hushed voice. "How did you come to be with this man... and what do we even know of him? I recall him from the auction - one of the bidders. Only he seems very competent around a weapon, which he would need to smuggle into the auction in the first place, and he is one of a few who walks away from that house without a scratch." The ex-merc runs his tongue around his mouth while thinking. He still had the taste of bad liquor and that bar-rag lingering on his tastebuds. He made a small promise to himself only to use the best the Maiden had to offer to clean that out when they got back. If they got back. "Pars, If we three are among the only ones getting away, and with the navy hunting down everything that tries to escape, we need to be sure we do not bring these... things with us." "You checked me. Who checks him?" He pauses, lightly hooking his thumb in his belt within comfortable reach of his sidearm. "Or you for that matter, Pars. We know nothing of this new threat, save that it takes the form of man and walks unseen among us. Does those that are infected even know it?"

"I think they do judging by their reaction when I arrived at the Skyship. I believe they were the infected servants of that Corruption and that when I arrived they were clearly not happy to see one not of their number there. I fought them and was about to be overwhelmed when the one called Magyar began picking them off me with his rifle - he is an excellent shot." He pauses, in thought. "He was not with them when I arrived and I am happy to submit to your examination to prove I am not one of them. I am also confident that if we raise it with him, so all three of us can answer such questioning as we may be put to with clear conscience then I think he will submit to it too. I will raise it with him once you have proved I am free of the taint if you would prefer?"

Hand still hovering in the vicinity of his sidearm, Jeb nods. "Yes, I would prefer that I think."

Parsifal bows his head and holds his arms out with his palms turned up. "Then you should search me first. You are looking for necrotic, rotting flesh on my head or neck and you should check in my hair line as some of them were placed there. I assumed it was some form of entry point for whatever corruption was planted inside them."

Parsifal has no such marks on him. So you guess he's clean. Magyar isn't too happy about it, but he can see your point. He also cannot afford any distractions right now. So you can check him while he remains at the helm. He is also clean. Magyar: "I, Magyar, is a Rogue Trader. Like your master. Unlike your master I'm not much for large retinues. My ship - The Momentous Occasion - lies in obit waiting for me to return. I came for a specific object. That 'book' I bid for. It contained Haarlock's notes on warp routes out in the Koronus Expanse. It would have been of great value to me, I think. But that Nile woman stole it. And if you wonder how I got out...of many dangers...I have resources lesser men do not. Archaotech devices. My rifle. A tough hide. We are now going to run as far as we can and hope we don't attract any attention. Then we are going to leave this world and not speak of what happened here. At least I'm not."

Parsifal nods his agreement, carefully not to answer the question that Magyar's words leave hanging - knowing that lying is hardly his strongest suit.

Hours pass as Maygar wrestles with the control, guiding you safely through the wind and rain at the level - sometimes it even feels like he is dropping lower than the tops - of the mighty black waves. Finally he declares that you've reached a distance sufficient for a small vessel like yours to escape further notice. The sky-ship gains a few meter of air under it's keel - enough to clear the waves - you're amazed at how tranquil the world suddenly seems. No heaving decks, groaning engines, or acidic waves smashing into metal. Maygar: "I intend to take this vessel to a smaller port, one of the free-floating refinery-cities. Once there we'll go our separate ways. I'll contact my ship and you contact yours. End of story. Now I don't want any questions asked of where we came from and such. So we'll sabotage the vessel and send a distress signal as soon as we have contact with a viable port. We get rescued and the ship ends up in the black below. Agreed?"

"Agreed," and Parsifal immediately checks over the gear he has left to check it is all secured for when they need to get clear of the vessel.

"Whatever gets me off this bloody rock" Jeb remarks. Having spend the last couple of hours being violently sick somewhere to the back of the ship, he seems a bit better off now that it is more steady again, though he is still a very peculiar shade of green.

It goes according to plan. Maygar locates a refinery-city, a massive semi-submerged structure, much like a metal iceberg, sends out the distress signal and...an hour later you are on a rescue hopper bound for the refinery and the sky-ship is sinking into the crushing dark depths below. A handful of gelt see you through any unwanted scrutiny. Maygar says goodbye and heads off to find his own people. You are now on your own. You should probably try to get in touch with the Maiden.

Feel free to make descriptive posts, but unless you do something very strange I'm going to assume you've got the skills needed to make your way to somewhere civilized, get in touch with the Maiden somehow (though a commercial astropath for example - if you think you can afford it). All in the span of a few days. Which should synchronize you time-wise with the others.

Jeb expresses his thanks to the Rogue Trader, when they finally get off the skyship. "I am not aware of what happened with Nile or that book you where looking for, but should we happen across her or rumours of her existing, I shall be glad to inform you - call it a favour for a favour." He pauses. "That would of course require that I have some means of contacting you, though..." he lets the rest of the sentence hang. Contacting the Maiden is one thing - but Jeb and Parsifal has information that needs to get to Inquisitor Marr as well. Information about Erasmus Haarlock and the Spear of Destiny as told to them by the man's own cousin. And of course, as the Inquisitions man on Solomon, informing Marr about the Slaught seems like something that should happen pretty damn quick. Jeb will try to remember as much of the bureaucratic nonsense that they had to go through to get to Marr in the first place - all in an attempt to bypass it and start further up the bureaucratic chain - but word needs to get to Marr, and the sooner the better. While waiting for retrieval, from Marr or the Maiden, Jeb suggests to Parsifal that they lay low. No one can be trusted with these Slaught on the loose.

Maygar: "You can reach my ship by astropath. We check in from time to time with Calixis astropathic relay, so sooner or later I'm bound to get the message." He looks you over. "I will of course pay for the transmission. I have a decent-sized account with the Guild Astropathicus, so you should not have any problems." You don't HAVE to go directly to the Maiden of course. You could try to find Marr on your own. Except you've no idea how to contact him.

Well, it seems we have a few days with little or nothing to do. And the sooner the information about the Slaught-threat is passed on, the quicker the Inquisition can act. If we can get a hold of the Maiden, I'm sure they can transfer our request for a debriefing to Marr, and save us all the extra time it will take us to first get to the Maiden, and then head back to the planet again. If nothing else, the Maiden's Aquila knows the way to the Chancellery Court where Marr has his office, seeing as its been there before. I'm sure we'll be asked what the heck we're doing in their airspace once we get close enough - leaving us with a couple of seconds to explain before we're shot down. That should be to get us inside.

You have a few days during which you need to book passage to the mainland, find an astropath, and get the message sent. And then its off to the closest spaceport where the lander will pick you up. When you contact the Maiden I assume you are still acting undercover. If you want them to relay information to the Inquisition you are potentially (the chance is very small) jeopardizing your cover.

That is a decision Jeb can't take alone then. Parsifal needs to make up his own mind on the matter, but the ex-merc states that he believes it important enough to warrant discovery. Alternately the two of them can split up - with one going to Marr, and other heading for the Maiden.

"We need to send the message but I think we do not send it in the open. We make it clear as part of the message we have an 'urgent package' that requires appropriate attention and we send the report encoded, on the understanding that we have been told we are sending it. So we are not blowing our cover, but doing the duty assigned to us by the Inquisitor who ordered us to do so?"

"Yes well you know me, Pars. About as subtle as a friggin' brick to the face." Jeb shrugs. "So we send a message - all sneaky-like - and hope to the Throne that it arrives in time to do some good, rather than get bogged down with bureaucracy..."

"No we send a message all honest. We follow the orders the Inquisitor gave us as good citizens should. We just do not reveal our cover beyond that. We are honest about it and I do not get caught in lying anymore than that which Haxtes has already engaged us in." Parsifal sighs again. "Neither of us is the best at lying."

The message is sent - indicating that you have 'the important package' and are ready to return to the ship. No connection to the House. No connection to the Inquisition. The reply from the Maiden is that you prepare for immediate return to ship. A little over two hours later you see the Aquila lander touch down. The pilot has orders to pick you up and return to ship. No detours allowed.

Jeb grunts and makes his way to the cockpit. "Patch me through to the ship" he grumbles in a threateningly low rumble. Grabbing the Vox-receiver he thumbs the activation rune and waits impatiently for the pilot to acquiesce to his "request". "Maiden, this is Jebediah - we need to get in contact with our friend in the Chancellory and stat. We have information that really needs to get to him now!"

Parsifal looks for a moment at Jeb and then nods, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword and looking straight at the pilot - the implication of not aiding them hopefully very clear indeed.

The pilot just shakes his head: "The Maiden is HIGH up sir, way out of range of the vox - given atmospheric disturbances. We need to gut up and into space before you can reach them. Or you need to run a patch through ground control. If you're in a real hurry that's maybe what you want to do. I dunno. We have about 30 minutes of turnaround before we can lift of, then maybe another hour before you can reach the Maiden."

Jeb turns to Parsifal. "Those Slaught-thingies might've everywhere, no? We might tip them off, if we go through ground-channels, but can we really afford not to? So we might rush their hands... it can't be any worse than letting them keep on with their infiltrative hogwash..." He shakes his head and looks back to the pilot. "Patch us through to ground-control then, comrade. And stay on your toes - we might be in a hurry to get out of here, if someone intercepts our communique and decides we need to be silenced."

"I agree. Being vocal about it now either gets the info through or forces their hand to be exposed. Do it." And Parsifal kneels down and begins to pray.

It takes about 15 minutes for the pilot to arrange it. "We have a patch through ground control, bounced of an orbital. Semi-secure. Standard Maiden encryption protocols. Slight light-lag, so speak slowly and clearly. The Officer of the Watch is on the horn."

He hands the vox horn to Jeb.

Parsifal nods to Jeb. "Do it."

Jeb takes a deep breath as he accepts the Vox horn. Time to get a bit creative. "This is Jebediah Octavian Hoare from the Maiden of Golgenna, member of Rouge Trader Jax Guilleman's personal retinue, former sergeant of the 113th Iochantian Rifles and loyal servant of the Throne." "Under Guard-protocol Helix-A 7.7b I am hereby tasked with reporting a Xenos incursion on Solomon, witnessed by Lord Inquisitor Herrod, myself and another man who I have in my immediate presence. I must also report Lord Inqusitor Herrod MIA in action against the same newly identified threat, leaving me to get word through to the Ordo Xenos at his request." He pauses. "We are presently at coordinates that will be transmitted at request, and place ourselves available for a debriefing to a member of the Commissariat or the Ordo Xenos on station on Solomon, for a duration to be confirmed by our Master aboard the Maiden." "Acknowledge please."

The Maiden acknowledge receipt. The ship's master will be notified immediately.

As soon as the lander has been turned around the pilot indicates that you must take your seats. If there is a reply from the Maiden he'll flesh the lights in the passenger section and you can come up front and answer.

Jeb takes a seat.

Parsifal also takes a seat and pulls out a set of prayer beads.

Once you are outside the atmosphere the lights blink and Jeb makes his way to the cockpit. "Rogue Trader Jax has received your report and is preparing a missive to be sent to the correct authorities. Mr. Dante will take down the particulars once we dock."

After 2 hours of flight-time you down with the Maiden. You are greeted by armed guards and Maxi. Thread closed unless there are some more that needs clarifying.