Dark Heresy: Illumination

[Aaron]

It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

Yet Even In his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

To Be A man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

You find yourself on a non-nondescript lighter, a kind found on innumerable worlds. A battered, rough and foul smelling craft crammed with your fellow acolytes and their kit, bound for the civilian cargo vessel Brazen Sky. The trip is mercifully short and you are hustled on board amidst the crew loading and unloading various cargo and left in a plain open crew bay, it's only furnishings a number of poor quality bunks, lockers and flickering glow globes. You can hear the sounds of screeching and grinding parts both near and distant and you wonder how you will be able to sleep during the three day journey to Iocanthos.

The rooms only occupant upon your arrival is a ships purser, going by the name of Sebek. He hands you a badly printed pamphlet detailing your limitations and routine aboard ship, the bright blue ink rubbing off on your hands. He informs you that he has been detailed to look after "your needs" and stands to the side while you settle in and stow your kit.

[Tyyr]

5:31 PM
Phebia looked the handout over and frowned. The orders were sparse, mostly keep out of the way of the crew and don't leave your cabin without good reason. As she folded the small pamphlet up she saw the ink left behind on her fingertips. Phebia grimaced, rubbing her fingers together to try and remove it. Low quality ink, poor penmanship, paper little better than rags. Her teachers at the convent would have lashed her back bloody for turning in such abominable work.

She did her best to ignore Sebek as she picked a bunk and started to stow her gear. The accommodations were shoddy. Shoddy and ill kept. Her room at the convent wasn't lavish by any means but it was well taken care of, this place was neither. She took great care in stowing her Lascarbine but kept her revolver and flail on her. The revolver had been a gift from the Sister Superior of the convent. She'd told Phebia to keep it close, that it had served many other initiates well on their final tests. The flail was similar, the triple aquila flail a gift from her weapons instructor after showing a talent for using the archaic weapon.

She looked back at Sebek. "If you have it, a decent rug. I can conduct my daily prayers on the deck but I would prefer not to." With her request made Phebia put the purser out of her mind and waited for her fellow acolytes.

[Deepcrush]

5:40 PM

Enrick entered his cabin. To his surprise stood a Sororitas. "Very interesting." Noticing the horrible bunking on an already dingy ship he couldn't help but feel anger. Should any ship commander of Nyleaha be caught with such, he should expect to be dishonored and discharged from the service. It was also easy to tell the 1.8 meter bunks were not fit for his 2.2 meter height. At least the bunks were rated to hold two hundred kilos, he was thirty five under that. Though it wouldn't be comfortable, it was better then the metal floor. He chose a bunk across from the Sororitas as to not get in her way while she unpacked her belongings.

Slipping off his backpack, Enrick slid it under his bunk. His helm clanking against his hip. His long-las reached across his back, criss-crossed with his Axe. A double short barrel shot gun on his left thigh, a las-pistol on his right and a combat blade on his waist. Enrick unslung his long-las, leaned it against the wall and laid down on his bunk. His legs bent at the knees from over reaching.

Looking over to the Sororitas. "My name is Enrick Von Hydden, Nyleaha's 35th Storm Trooper Corps." He awaited her response.

[Tyyr]

5:41
Phebia had watched the trooper enter, astonished that a regular human had grown to such proportions. On her own homeworld she was considered tall, a giant like Enrick was unheard of there. She focused on her training though. Swallowing her shock and stuffing it away. "Initiate Phebia, Order of Our Martyred Lady," she declared confidently.

[Lighthawk]

5:42

Haxta stared at the sleeping arrangements in mingled horror and alarm, and was glad that she had her hood pulled far forward. Between the deep shadows cast by the thick fabric, and the mask of tubes and filters of her respirator unit, her face was well hidden from view, so with luck no one would know how appauled she was by the situation. It was not the state of ill repair and maintaince that truly bothered her, though such shoddy conditions did not speak well of the ship or it's crew. It was the idea of sleeping in such an open, vulnerable location, surrounded by men!

Thoughts racing furiously, she accepted the pamphlet absent-mindedly from Sebek, not even noticing the ink staining her fingers. Her gaze traveled across the room, to where the battle sister was stowing her gear. Haxta's respirator hissed as she let out a long breath. She made her way swiftly across the floor, to claim the bunk nearest the warrior woman. Perhaps, if anything were to happen, if any of the men got any ideas, she might be able to count on the battle sister's help. She knew that she was suppose to be working with the others, that they were going to all be part of the same team, but at this point, she knew nothing of any of them, and was only certain that she could trust none of them as of yet.

Lowering her kit to the floor, she sat stiffly on the bunk, her hands wrapped tightly around the slender staff of steel she carried as a walking stick.She held the staff across her knees, breathing in slow, steadying breaths, seeking to over come her nerves with calm, rational logic. These people were to be working with her, her with them, they were on the same team, they were allies. Surely she had no reason to fear her own allies. Her grip on her staff didn't slack in the slightest, and the electoo on the back of her hand shimmered and crackled with minor discharges of static from her tension.

[Tyyr]

5:43
Phebia watched the techpriest enter the room and hustle to claim the bunk next to hers. The techpriest's voluminous robes hid any personal features in deep shadow and exposed circuitry. The Machine Cult followers' quick steps to take the berth beside her left Phebia a bit uneasy but having one such as the techpriest nearby would certainly make it easier to keep her gear in working order. "And you would be?" she asked.

[Lighthawk]

5:43

Haxta's head turned slowly to face Phebia, momentarily caught off guard by being addressed directly by the Sororitas. After a brief pause, she cleared her throat, causing an electronic pop from her vox synthesiser.

" Haxta," she answered simply, continuing to stare at the battle sister.

[Mikey]

5:52

Sanctionite Milo Trask accepted the handout from Sebek and skimmed it - nothing more than typical regulations for passengers on a bulk-freight vessel. He stepped into the indicated room and immediately began setting up his berth in a seemingly-unclaimed bunk, unaffected - as the others in the room seemed to be - by the state of their accommodations. He'd spent weeks stowed in a hammock under a plasma engine, so this small cabin didn't seem so bad. As always, when not engaged in conversation or a demanding task, a barely-heard murmuring stream of litanies and prayers rolled from his lips. Laying his staff on the cot and shifting his sword so he could sit easier, he sank down with the ease of someone familiar with space travel. He finally turned to the others in the room and said simply, "Milo Trask."

[Tsukiyumi]

5:55 PM

Pahr snatched the handout from the steward with a pale hand and shot the foul-smelling man a scornful grimace. He read the document through before stuffing it in his pocket, then opened the hatch to the assigned cabin.

He slid silently into the small room, sparing a quick glance at his new comrades as he examined his accommodations with dark eyes. This ship is in appalling condition. What a disgrace, he thought, growling as he stuffed his gear and his rifle into one of the few remaining compartments. The numerous throwing knives he carried clinked together as he sat, cross-legged on the floor, and closed his eyes to meditate and pray.

[Tyyr]

5:43
"Haxta? Is that all?"

5:52
Phebia's eyes narrowed as Milo entered the cabin. Her eyes were instantly drawn the the knife he carried. Her own hand fell to her flail as she recognized the mercy blade of a sanctioned psyker.

[Lighthawk]

5:44

Haxta shifted a bit uncomfortably, not sure what more the woman wanted. " Haxta," she repeated dully. " Adeptus Mechanicus." she added as an afer-thought.

[Mikey]

5:52

Milo sighed and stroked his wiry, reddish goattee. He didn't have to be a psyker to recognize the Sororitas' expression. "That's right, blunt," he said. "I am a sanctioned psyker - and conditioned in faith and loyalty before the Golden Throne in ways that make your simple oaths look like child's play." Before the outrage on Phebia's face could be expressed in words, Milo snatched up his staff and left the room. He meant to find Sebek; but it also just felt good, in a bittersweet way, to feel his space legs returning.

[Aaron]

5:31 PM

Sebek acknowledges Phebia's request with a fawning "Yes, honoured lady" and leaves the room, returning around thirty minutes later with a worn but still serviceable rug embroidered with an image of a long forgotten saint.

He places it at your feet with a sycophantic smile and a bow and turns to address the rest of the party. "If there is nothing else my honoured guests, I have duties to attend to around the ship. Please restrict yourselves to this room and the mess hall for meals. A washroom with showers is just down the hall. If you require anything please use the wall vox." At this he indicates a rusty and greasy set of buttons on the wall by the rooms door with an inset grill. "Simply press the third button down on the left and request me by name."

Sebek looks at each of the party in turn, giving what he obviously believes is his most respectful smile and turns to leave. He pauses as he realizes two of you are missing. "Please rely my words to your missing friends." At that he shuffles from the room.

[Tyyr]

5:44
"Well Haxta, Adeptus Mechanicus, nice to meet you," Phebia said with a small smile. The machine cult's acolytes were too useful to be rude to them.

5:52
"Suffer not the witch to live," Phebia snarled under her breath as Milo left.

6:01
Phebia took the rug from Sebek and unfurled it. It was worn but unlike the cabin it appeared to have been worn by proper use not simple neglect and indifference. "Thank you, this will do."

[Sionnach Glic]

6:07
After a short while seaching the ship, Marco Karibi finally managed to find the cabin he'd been assigned to. The damnable purser had hurried off on some errand immediately after handing Karibi a list of activities that were forbidden on the ship, leaving the archivist to find the room on his own.

"Good evening." He said quietly as he entered the room, only glancing at his companions while he found a bed.