Darkness and Light

[Necris]

The Electus sat in the hangar a star ship of no significance it was little more than a trader escort, yet that was the intention the ship itself was an advanced beast with compact weapons and an improved warp drive far beyond the normal capabilities of a ship of it's class The Electus was a sheep with a wolfs bite.

It was a ship of the Inquisition requisitioned to the service of Inquisitor Creed and it was awaiting it's latest crew, the ancient Inquisitor watched from a mirrored observation deck as the ships provisions and armaments were loaded, while its technorati and it's piloting crew made the necessary preparations and chanted the proper rites and rituals. The Electus' captain had been in his service for seven decades and was a stern man a disgraced captain of the Imperial Navy he ran he ship like a ship of the line, tight as a space marines grip. He stood to one side observing everything with a stern frown upon his face.

Turning his grav chair he keyed a data terminal with a bionic claw, he'd lost the hand decades ago crewed off by a rabid orkoid during some battle he'd long forgotten, he'd forgotten so much in his long life, seven centuries of service to the throne had robbed him of many things but his sense of duty and his passion were still as fresh as the day he had stuck out on his own. The data terminal came to life and he looked over the operative crew of The Electus he'd hand selected each one of these men and women from his extensive staff brought them together for this operation.

"Send the buggers on their way Pylus."

He spoke to no-one for he was alone in the observation deck Pylus stood in another section of the vast ship he travelled on, a tall man Plyus had been gene bred to tower over common man yet it was not threatening his body was wraith thin yet his eyes it was said were sharper than a space marines he could pick out the most minute of details from a thousand yards and had he followed the purpose of his breeding he would have made a fine master mason in the artisan guilds, but another calling had found Pylus his mind was as sharp as his sight and he'd found in himself an obsession for always noting down his surroundings aided now by the pict recorder implanted into his brain he was able to make observations others would miss, and that was why Creed had selected him to join his staff four centuries ago a healthy course of rejuve kept Pylus at his prime and it was his duty now to overseen the Inquisitor's operatives keep and eye on them as it were keep watch for any details that the old man might have missed and report back to him.

He stood now with the Operation crew or as he like to think of them the minions, he'd always been an arrogant soul it came from his breeding and he'd never had the desire to change it, he looked them over once more his eyes scanning each one of them carefully for anything that ought not to be, when he spoke his voice was soft like a choir boys another aspect of his breeding to make him more appealing when attempting to commission works of art.

"You are cleared for boarding, go in the Emperors name."

[Necris]

The Electus burst from the warp the tides spilling out around the ship as it turned it's nose towards the world of Mellisan Secondus even as the warp portal closed behind them the bridge was alerted to an astropathic transmission from the world, accessing the astropathic choir the Captain had the transmission presented to him via a terminal in his command throne, a weak faced man appeared before him.

"Inquisitor Creed?"

The Captain sneered at the weak murmur in the man's voice.

"I am one of Lord Creeds servants you may address me."

"Very well, we are sorry my lord."

He snapped at the pathetic whelp.

"I am no Lord! I am the Captain of this ship, now what are you sorry for?"

The man started, he snapped his head to one side as if talking to another, then turned back to the Captain.

"Lord Creed's proxy."

"What of him?"

"He has been murdered sir, do not punish us, please."

The Captain narrowed his eyes.

"Tell me what happened."

"He was following a lead that he suspected was cult activity, he was on the trail of a murder plaguing our counties, one of our Sheriffs found him two days ago."

The Captain's frown deepened.

"I have a team of specialist on board, they were to assist Interrogator Clay in his investigation."

"What will they do now sir?"

"They will continue his work."

He dismissed the whelp from his screen and rotated the throne from the view before him, as it rotated round it withdrew from the command deck rolling back on hissing pistols along a set of rails into the wardroom, the space came alive as he entered he spoke into the dying darkness as servitors came to life.

"Put me through to the insertion team."

A hololithic display illuminated before him linking him to the lower sections of the ship where their passengers awaited their deployment, he did not permit passengers to walk the upper decks they were reserved for the ships crew and vital personnel, a face appeared before the display he didn't know it but waited as they backed away showing the rest of the team.

"I have some bad news for you, Adlan Clay has been murdered, your mission remains the same descend to the world and complete Clay's work, he was tracking a series of murders on the world believed showed signs of Cult activity."

He paused for a moment.

"The local enforcers will be available to assist but do not rely on them, Clay's brief transcript with the Inquisitor did not paint them in a good light."

His face vanished replaced by the face of Adlan Clay, the image was distorted as it started to speak.

'My lord this world is a backwater, their methods are beyond archaic and their attitudes sub par ddo they not know about the warp and it's dangers?

I know I know I am here to enlighten them to protect them but they are I fear beyond my abilities, there have been incidents of graffiti on holy sites in the northern counties and nothing has been done about it, I am about to set off to the counties to see what the local enforcement and clergy intend to do about this desecration.

I feel it is in my remit my lord, the symbols daubed on the sites are not any form of gothic I know, they have an air of the xenos about them, I can not decipher the words from the images provided me but I suspect if I see them first hand I will be able to identify their origins.

I understand my Lord I will report back as soon as I return from the counties.'

The Captain's face returned it still held the sternness of before.

"It is reported by one of the Local Magistrates that Clay diverted his journey to the counties to investigate a murder in Arthax county it was here that he was murdered start looking there and follow what leads you find to the source of these murders. Your shuttle leaves in one hour to take you to the sky hook."

The hololithic display died before him and he sat back in his throne speaking into the wardroom.

"This is turning into a viss in the dark."

[Necris]

The team translated from the Electus to the skyhook via aquillia as the gilded ship touched down in a secure bay and air (or what could be classed as air) filtered into the space a delegation of crimson garbed figures entered each figure had a rebreather clamped over their faces as the made to stand before the entry ramp.

The shuttle's pilot turned in his seat shouting down into the passage compartment.

"Rebreathers! The air up here is thin and cold."

Outside the Aquillia Judge Midos Syng shuffled nervously these representatives of the Inquisition were here to uncover the truth of the murders, the truth of the graffiti, his mind turned to the murder of the last inquisition man, Adlan Clay it had been the worst thing he's ever seen the Arthax Country Commissioner Jocan Lisk has insisted on him coming to see the scene and despite his years of service to the militia he was ashamed to admit that his bowels had betrayed him emptying his guts before the corpse.

The man had been butchered his skin flayed from his body, his eyes torn from his head and the tongue cut from his mouth with a vicious blade that had sliced through his cheeks, his chest had be cracked open by a blunt trauma and his organs pulled from their cavities, the heart was missing and the liver appeared to have been gnawed upon the intestines had been draped around the scene in some gaudy display of triumph, the man's blood oh throne there had been so much of the man's blood had been similarly painted on every surface of the room, symbols that none could decipher even those adepts that specialised in such matters.

One of his personal escort stepped up beside him one of the dozen Sheriff's that followed his ever step.

"Sir, should we be letting these people planet side? Can we really rely on them?"

He sighed

"We have no choice the Inquisition is the highest of authorities, we couldn't stop them even if we wanted to."

[Macabre]

Excerpt from the Journal of Sister Rebekah Ellis. 44.008.012.M42

   I heard him in the corridor several minutes before the bulkhead to my chamber slid open with the pneumatic hiss of ancient pistons and the distressing squeal of badly maintained bearings in desperate need of blessed oil.
   I heard the awkward, arrhythmic thumping footsteps of someone obviously suffering from a podiatry condition, most likely gout, a common complaint amongst the adepts of the Administratum and even before he paused outside my domicile, I deduced him for what he was; a menial functionary of Inquisitor Creed's and that could mean only one thing; my services were demanded.
    The harsh light flooded in from the phosphor tubes outside, thoroughly drowning out the mellow glow of my own sodium electro-candles. A stale draught stirred the dust covering several archaic tomes and curios that littered shelves, surfaces and floor, and lifted the fresh vellum pages gently from my desk, upon which dried the ink of my current discourse on the geometric script of the Mech-Masons of Thaal (the translation of which relied on turning the forms like the tumblers of a lock).
    I had discarded the auto-quill moments before in favour of a freshly lit stim-tube and sat naked in the comfortable, baroque wing-back chair (liberated from an antiquarian on Locos) facing the door.
    I was naked for three reasons; one, it helps with my concentration to be entirely unfettered. Two, my chambers are located just above a nexus of pipework from the hot gasses exchange, meaning I often end up working in an arid atmosphere (especially after real-space subsector traversing). And three, it is an excellent tool to disarm anyone foolish enough to disturb me.
    This time however, Inquisitor Creed had learnt from previous experience, and whilst I was correct in my deductions, as the adept crossed the threshold, I noticed the myriad of other intricate details. I ignored the ink stained fingers, the shabby robes and embroidered insignia, and instead noticed the tube extending from his left nostril to a filter-lung clipped to his breast, the shiny, oiled neural-jacks behind his right ear, the apathetic stare and the tricolour studs of ruby, sapphire and imperial topaz set in a triangle upon his forehead. I knew then my intruder for what he was; a conditioned eunuch.    
    The adept snorted with a wisp of smoke that smelled like Mordian spearmint tobacco as he vacantly took in the chaos of the veritable library before him. I detected a brief twitch of his hand and smiled thinly, knowing my lack of systematic filing was anathema to his ilk and tantamount to heresy.
    I pulled on the tube again, the coals glowing from scarlet to brilliant orange, dragging down stimulant laced smoke into my lungs before breathing out a hazy blueish ephemera.
    "The Inquisitor dema...." he started.
    "Already bored. Get out." I countered.
    The adept snorted in petulance and continued to try an stare me down.
    "There has been an incident...." he tried.
    "There always is. Get out." I said, irritated, tapping the cinders from my stim-tube into a bowl, already full with an mound of stale ash that looked bizarrely like a scale miniature of the Hive Primus on Necromunda, and turned back to my studies.
    It was then he stepped forward with an uncanny quickness and dropped a sheaf of pict-captures forcefully upon my desk.
    They were poor quality and stamped with the barcode-tag of a servo-skull in desperate need of a focus lens retune, so probably taken by local law enforcement. But even with the blur, you couldn't fail to notice the series of close captured glyphs of a cryptic language.
    "Assembly deck Beta-6. Five minutes." he stated flatly, before turning and limping away.
     I couldn't argue with that.

[MarcoSkoll]

Gala drew out her rebreather, the same, aside from once being reglazed, as she had worn on the blizzard walks of her home world. Locking it into place, she glanced down the Aquila at the rest of the team.

   "Everyone masked up?"

There were assorted nods and a general murmur of response from all the team save Lina, who appeared quite content to rely on some bionic augmentation instead.

She turned back to her right, where Severino had been contentedly seated and conversing for the last half hour.

   "Severino, get the door. It's time to meet the neighbours." , she smiled.

He stood up, pressing several buttons on the panel next to the door, and there was a slow hiss while the pressure equalized. It faded away as the heavy thud of the electromagnetic latches fired in sequence and the hydraulics hissed,  opening the way to the hangar outside.

Gala's rebreather briefly misted up as the hot air rushed outside and its glass rapidly chilled, but with a slight buzz from the systems within quickly kicking into life, the condensation cleared once again. Getting her feet, she pulled her lasgun from the magnetic clamps that had held it in place during transit, and slung it over her back and stepped down the ramp, carefully surveying the landing bay.

Her eyes flitted over the various maintenance equipment that was bolted to the floor, assessing it for any potentially hidden assailants, but it appeared that the only people in the room were the nervous group of crimson uniformed troopers and the various maintenance servitors that were flocking forth to service the Aquila.

Striding forward as various of the others followed in her wake, she picked out who appeared to be the highest ranking of the group.

   "You are Judge..."
   "...Syng. Midos Syng."
   "Cymone Regin, Ordo Perditus Inquisition operative, temporarily seconded to Inquisitor Creed's service."

She pressed a sequence of buttons on her forearm multi-slate, bringing up her identification codes before turning the screen so the judge could read them. He studied them briefly before gesturing a trooper to come forward with a security auspex to scan the slate. It clicked for a few seconds before giving three all-clear pips.

   "That seems to be in order."
   "Thank you Judge. I appreciate you taking the trip up to meet us. Are you our primary contact in this case?"

[Inquisitor Octavian Lars]

Matthew Sword casually made his way along the corridors of the Electus to the shuttle bay. He had decided that he would not appear at the formal planetfall of the rest of the team and would go down a day early to set up a safe house in Hope Landing. As he matched down the corridors with a confident gait, he bumped into Gala and she said:
"Where you off to Matthew?"
"Just a casual stroll to the shuttle bay." whistling innocently.
"To do what, Matthew? I know people don't go to shuttle bays for a stroll!"
"To be honest, I was going to steal one and set up a base in Hopes Landing."
"That might work, but I'm objecting for 2 reasons."
"Which are?"
"A: the captain is only allowing one shuttle flight, due to crash risk.
and B, I think you should accept your responsibility as part of the team. I know you trust me more than you do the rest so listen, you need to learn to work WITH others rather than alongside them."
"I will think about what you have said. Thanks for the insight, but don't expect instant results."
Disheartened by this, Matthew continued to march back to his quarters to collect his weaponry and ammunition. The corridors were dark and disorientating, but he was used to this from his time in the underhive. Eventually he reached his cabin. He was the sole occupant, for which he was grateful, partly because it gave him more room for trinkets, weapons and ammunition and partly because he disliked the company of others. He got on well with Gala and his new boss, Creed, the rest; he had an innate distrust of them. He picked up his marksman's rifle, assault gun and 2 large packs with the relative ammunition types as well as several clips; he also grabbed his magnoculars to examine his shots.
On his way to the firing range, he encountered Draki going the same direction. His previous mentor, Octavian Griess-Lars had said to him once, several years ago that to be an effective member of a team is to understand them which meant conversing with them, and building conversation skills which he lacked. He was content to walk in silence until Draki said:
"How goes the shooing, Calibre?"
"Wha--t, oh, it's you! Going shooting too Draki?"
"Better than you!"
"You wish! I was mainly hoping to let rip with this big baby" Pointing at the A&S Assault Gun, "But I could loose a few rounds and find out."
"Don't do anything you aren't prepared to loose at."

Draki was a skilled marksman, but the equipment made the difference. He had a rifle of reasonable standard, but he knew it well and started racking up the headshots. Meanwhile, Matthew set his kit down next to Draki so his fire would put him off, loaded an ammo-hopper, flicked down the bipod and set the weapon to burst. In one smooth motion, he racked the slide, raised the weapon, swiftly moving my hand to the trigger and discharging several rapid busts, knocking over the human shaped targets at the mid range marker. After that set of shots, he picked up the controller for the targets and set them to advance; he then pulled up a table and unleashed hell in calm controlled bursts of fire. Matthew fired several more times, knocking over yet more targets and then the range was filled with a single solitary "Click!" Matthew went into a flurry of action, detaching the box magazine and re-loading a medium cap sickle mag, pre-loaded with the rounds, cocked the weapon and started firing again. When that magazine ran dry, Matthew picked up his Sword Firearms rifle and drained the small magazine in about a minute, taking out all 10 targets at the far end of the range. After that, he picked his entire kit, said farewell to Draki who was still training and retired to his cabin. On the way, Gala walked past and he said: "How's it going?"
"Good to see you Matthew. Anything specific to talk about?"
"Well, I came up with another plan to infiltrate the city, do you want to hear it?"
"Actually, I was thinking about that, you should try and develop your ability to communicate with others, so no. I'd rather you didn't go "missing" and took up an active roll in the initial politics. After all, you need to learn these things for when you do the investigation."

[Macabre]

Memoro.

   It was too cold, that icy permeating chill that can only be equated to the vacuum of space, and despite the thick layers of my winter robes, I suppressed a shudder with difficulty. Impeded by the constricting safety harness, I struggled to pull the fur collar tighter around my neck.
   Three hours onboard the Icarus personnel void-carrier had been cryogenic torture, but the compartment capsule of the colloquially called 'sky hook' was a brand new experience of hell.
    I recalled details of the briefing to try and distance my mind from being strapped in what I can only describe as a floating refrigeration unit in space. The skyhook was essential in maintaining planetary survival, and was, I gathered (from what little attention I paid to the droning of the martian priest during the briefing), simply a pressure sealed elevator that ran along a flexible cable of Ferrox elasteel several feet thick in diameter stretching from the surface port to the waystation in geostationary orbit in the planet's thermosphere.
   It was important because prior to its installation, anyone attempting a surface landing had to traverse the fluctuating mesospheric electromagnetics, which more often than not, reduced most craft into a plummeting metal coffin.
    The skyhook didn't suffer from such technical flaws as it relied solely on sets of well oiled narrow gauge bogies and gravity, often spending much of its traverse in terminal velocity before the base mounted anti-grav coils kick in and slow the descent. Original designs used retro-thrusters or composite ceramicalloy brakes, but they proved to be just as perilous as an interatmospheric landing.
    The call for donning rebreathers came mechanically across the internal vox speakers. I stole a quick glance at the lexicogitator mounted on my forearm brace whilst it ticked away running a cryptographic program, analysing what little data we had on the enigmatic language already.
    I felt my ears pop as the pressure hatches of the capsule were sealed, several members of the team were already seated and harnessed in the safety rigs looking agitated, others were fretting to and fro, aiding the locals as they performed the final pre-drop checks.
    I pulled the rebreather mask over my face and gave a constricted sigh as I felt the rubber clamp tightly against my skin and endured the discomfort. Instantly the lenses misted over with condensation and my vision was reduced to a blurred watercolour. So, with little else to do, I drew my hood up over my head, closed my eyes and slept.

[Dolnikan]

Dendara Nachtigaller was anxious for her first deployment as an agent of the Holy Inquisition. At least the journey in the shuttle had been better than when she had left Gavr II, her homeworld, almost a year ago. Then she had become sick in the shuttle carrying her away from the planet forever. This time she only felt her stomach move slightly.

The skyhook was another prospect entirely. As far as she understood it they would be lowered to the planet at high speed held only by a single cable. The idea made her sweat with fear. She sat in her assigned position and was fumbling with the mask she had to put over her head, her trembling fingers were next to useless to attach the mask. She hoped that the other wouldn't notice or would think that it was because of the cold.

In her head she prayed to the Emperor for a safe landing. She found that the rebreather would not fit well over her bulky bionic eyes. Calling for aid one of the staff came to help her. She was given a special mask which left her eyes exposed. The cold in her eyes was painful but she had to endure.

Then the countdown began. Nachtigaller swallowed looking at the others who seemed calm and collected. How could they be so calm she wondered. She tried looking calm and collected but when the elevator was released the exposed parts of her face showed pure terror.

[Necris]

Syng nodded nervously.

"Yes, yes I suppose I am, Governess Jussca has placed me and my office at your disposal I have collected up everything we could find that Interrogator Clay was working on for you it is held in the central precinct."

He gestured for his sheriffs to back away as he stepped closer he was becoming more confident.

"Please allow me to escort you to the surface, the passenger hoist is this way."

He led the team off to the opposite side of the skyhook.

[Van Helser]

Godday took a seat beside the aged sororitas, sure that doing so would grant the blessings of the Emperor radiated by the being of His anointed servant.  She regarded him curtly, recognising him, but paying him no immediate attention.  Godday took no offence; her mind would be occupied with contemplating the holy as was the way of the sororitas.  He found the chair uncomfortable, its angles reminiscent of those of the pews of the Schola.  Those days seemed so distant now, but here he was, in service of the Throne just as the Drill Abbots had told him in his classes.  Well, none of them would have predicted servitude in this particular branch of the Imperium.  Even he could not have foretold this.  The Administratum had been selected for him, and he would have been well suited to it.  It was in his blood after all.  His memories lingered on his parents – a snatch of conversation before a meal one day in the record stacks – and he offered up a small prayer for them.  This calling in the service of the Throne was the greatest task one could ever undertake, but he would not forget them.  The patronage of Inquisitor Creed would present opportunities to track down their killers, but his pledge to his new master would now always be his primary concern.  The Inquisition would not allow him the luxury of deciding his own destiny.

For the moment, his destiny relied on a quite unusual construct.  The skyhook was an unfamiliar concept to Godday.  Like so many of the structures and engines of the Mechanicus he had been borne around in, he calculated the likelihood of it reaching their destination from the level of agitation of its red robed custodians.  They were, for the moment at least, calmly anointing a cluster of metre tall levers at the far end of the cabin with oils and talking amongst themselves in their disturbing language of screeches and hissing.  As long as they maintained an air of calm, he would too.

[Inquisitor Octavian Lars]

As soon as the tiring pleasantries of arrival had finished, Matthew took his leave to requisition a safehouse for the agents. This was an important task given to him by Gala and he would find something that fitted the bill to the best of his ability. He could hear Gala's words in his ears with the criteria he had been given for the safehouse: 4+ bedrooms, easily defensible, 2 entrances, located on the edge of the city. He parted from the group and walked up to one of the militia and asked:
"Is there a place we can stay, or has accommodation already been arranged?"
"Who are you? Only the agents of the throne should be here!"
"I am a throne agent, but you can call me nightstalker. Do I have to repeat the question?"
"Of course, what sort of building are you after?"
"Let's start on the edge of town, take me there. Humour me."
The Militia picked up a militia speeder and got it ready. Meanwhile, I contacted Gala on his vox bead.
"I'm off to find our accommodation and get it ready. Report back on what you find, over."
"Good luck and throne be with you!"
Matthew grabbed a map from a dispenser on the wall and laid it out on the front of the speeder. He plotted the points where Clay had been operating and selected an area of the city that would be most useful to the group. He briskly rolled the map up and tucked it into one of the many inside pockets of his coat.

[Koval]

The thought of being herded from one confined space to another was hardly pleasing to Severino, and he found himself scratching absent-mindedly at the back of his neck as he struggled to suppress his irritation.

Judge Midos Syng. Brow: mild sweat coverage. Heart rate: returning to normal. Three gold pins and an aquila tattoo on left pectoral. Shotgun: loaded, safety on. Carrying some limited forensic evidence, nature unclear.

"If I may, your honour, are you by any chance carrying items of interest to investigators like ourselves?" Severino inquired. "After all, I would very much doubt that such a fine gentleman as yourself would go to the trouble of meeting us with nothing to share with us."

Grav-restraints active, strap harness too tight. Adept Secundus clearly not comfortable. Curvature of Regin pleasantly accentuated.

Severino shifted slightly in his seat as he awaited Syng's response.

Strap harness more comfortable.

[Necris]

"Yes, Yes I have this."

He slid a data slate from the inside of his coat passing it to Severino.

"The Interrogator had this on his person at the time of death, our techs have been unable to crack the encryption I was hoping one of your people could access it."

He sat back in the cradle

"I must confess your presence here is of little comfort, one of your people is already dead, I have strange glyphs and markings appearing in the sticks and a murderer on the loose, I hope you can achieve what Clay could not."

[MarcoSkoll]

   "You don't need that kind of pessimism, Midos! Everyone of us comes with a glowing dossier. As for the slate, I would have been utterly gobsmacked if you had been able to crack it - it is Inquisition security. We'll have Lina take a mosey. But what might be more interesting is any psychic residue - have you had it pscrutinised?"
   "Only in the most cursory manner. Our astropaths have been occupied on any number of fronts, and comparatively, this is low priority."
   "No matter, we can manage that."

Indeed, Severino already seemed to be studying the slate. A welcome change from him studying the militiawoman who was making the journey with them.

   "As to the source of your problem, I trust you've been paying attention to the goings on in the Cuir Subsector?"
   "The business with the saint?"
   "The potential one, yes - well, at least until someone took an orbital las-lance to her. That cooked up a flurry of unrest, and there's no shortage of cults taking advantage of it. Frankly, I'm surprised Inquisitor Rhodes could ..."
   "... Inquisitor Creed, you mean?"
   "No, Lyra Rhodes - I'm on secondment. Which is exactly what surprises me, given the scale of what's going on. But I hear she's got a new team she's got high hopes for, so I expect they'll have their hands full with that in the near future."

She held up a hand, stopping herself.

   "But listen to me, telling my life story. The important thing is that there's a chance this is the ripples from that. Troops are being pumped into the subsector like water, and there's going to be a lot of people who are going to be very happy to see them going."

[Dolnikan]

Nachtigaller managed to calm down quickly. The judge seemed moderately competent. He would be worried of course, having to work with agents of the Inquisition would do that to someone. She was a bit worried by the talk about large troop movements, that could mean disasters. In the records such things had often been the cause of great problems.

She asked the judge breaking out of her uncomfortable thoughts: "Those markings, do you have images of them? Identifying them could be very useful."