IC - Preludes, Interludes and Rumours.   Posted by Haruspex.Group: 0
Haruspex
 GM, 56 posts
Fri 8 Jan 2016
at 23:02
IC - Preludes, Interludes and Rumours
OOC: We will be using this thread to provide some colour to the campaign, some foreshadowing and to provide a lens into what's happening outside the character's purview. Some of this will reach their ears, but not all.
Haruspex
 GM, 57 posts
Fri 8 Jan 2016
at 23:19
And So It Begins
9876962.M41 - Aboard the Bel Kuon, Faldon Kise, Malfian Sub-Sector, Calixis Sector, Segmentum Obscurus

It was close to darkness in the Great-Captain's observation dome, a few floating lumens flickering. It was close to silent as well, Demos Creed standing silently in his overlong robes a few feet from the command throne where his master sat: Great-Captain Cormac Saoirse, third holder of the Warrant of Saoirse and head of the House of that name, Conquerer of Cyleath and Tampas IV, slayer of the heretical Impedius Kor and Defender of the Shrine of St Etienne on Valon Urr. Great-Captain Cormas Saoirse, his master for close to fifty standard years and perhaps his friend.

In the shadows of the command throne two eyes glittered - one natural and reflecting what little light shone from the lumens; the other shining from within, a baleful red that bellied the wound he had taken on Nx'men before the colony was lost for the second time. Those eyes pierced Creed. Ignoring the grandeur of the dome and it's high vaulting ceilings. Ignoring the winged cherubim that flitted nervously in the shadows. Ignoring the high armourplas windows, five times the height of a man, and the cold void beyond them. Ignoring the receding carcass of the xenos vessel just recently engaged that burned from prow to stern in their wake and even the smaller fires that still racked the forecastle of the Bel Kuon. Gral would take care of the fires, Demos thought distractedly, before recalling himself to Cormac's appraisal and knowing that he had been caught in his inattention.

"Well, my Master of Whispers?", came the Great-Captains voice, melodious at odds with his appearance. Cormac leaned forward, the scarred and pitted surface of the ancient suit of carapace armour he habitually worn coming a little more into the light, revealing it's purity seals atop trademark patterns of oak and ivy painstakingly painted and embossed upon it. His face remained in shadows, though some light fell on his thick mane of auburn hair and plaited beard, "Is she ready?"

"Her time in the Imperial Navy was cut short, my Lord", Creed temporised, shifting his weight uncomfortably as he mentioned a subject known to cause his master to become broody or fly into a rage. He waited for a moment, fearing a reaction the micro-currents of the cavernous chamber shifted a billow of incense from the sanctified pneumo-censers between them. When there was none he continued, "And her war-band barely forged into cohesion, competent though they may be as individuals."

"But is she ready?", repeated the captain, with the barest trace of a smile. He leaned fully forward, resting ceramite-clad elbows on his knees. His features were craggy and scarred like the suit, a man who had lived long and fought for every moment of it, in one battlefield or another, "Few outside this chamber know of recent negotiations and fewer still of our most recent-", and he paused, uncertain of the correct term, "-most recent repatriation"

Creed let the thick oily smoke caress his face and drew in a lungful, using the moment to collect himself, "She served well enough under Aveen; they all proved themselves. Let them prove themselves once more. Send them to Sinead, she will know which direction to aim the Bane Sidhe and her newest Lord-Captain..."

Cormac considered the words of his spy-master, then nodded once, "Send word for Aveen to bring her to me"

This message was last edited by the GM at 23:48, Fri 08 Jan 2016.

Haruspex
 GM, 117 posts
Thu 21 Jan 2016
at 22:38
And So It Begins
9015963.M41 - At the edges of System GY-246-D, The Halo Stars, Beyond the Imperium

At the edges of a dead system full of dead worlds three Furies coasted in the void, a few hundred metres apart and another hundred metres 'above' the predatory profile of a single Faustus. Nothing stirred this far out, even what specks of interstellar could be found kilometres apart. Within each starcraft a handful of Adepts worked, quiet except for the occasional necessary squeal of binary cant and the ever-present broadcast of algorithmic psalms to the Omnissiah. Deep within the interceptor, nervous and cradled in a chel-hide couch, a lone Astropath listened for the barest whispers of the Astronomicon and bantered with her fellows on the handful of massive vessels further down the gravity well as she lamented the long weeks at the edge of nothingness, waiting.

Deeper in the star's embrace sixteen worlds tumbled in a melange of orbits, each a barren hunk of rock dotted with millions of craters tens of metres across in a pattern that was strangely hypnotic. Half of the worlds held irregular moons, fragments and blasted remnants of settled worlds themselves though nothing remained. Close to the fourth moon of the fourth world a half-dozen vessels hung in high orbit - two vessels of the Saoirse Dynasty and four of the Adeptus Mechanicus. It was rare that one, let alone two, forge tenders might be brought this far out, but that was why they were accompanied by the might of the Rhathmantor Proximus. And why tens of Furies patrolled the system. All six vessels fixed their orbit around a seventh, a once-corpse that had been drifting insystem and now, two years later, had finally been repaired sufficiently to have begun the rituals to reawaken it's machine spirit a month ago

Ahead, perhaps a quarter of a millions miles, an unassuming section of space began to twist and writhe. Scintilating arcs of nightshade-purple and bilious-green fought for dominance before being joined by others arcs of cinnabar and pastel pink. Between them the arcs cascaded into something big enough to form a point in space, whereupon it erupted suddenly and formed a tear. On one side, nielle-black nothingness and dust and ice; beyond, a undulating mass of knifes-edged clouds and screams and... a shimmering egg-shaped field that looked to be battered by invisible hands and claws and teeth. With a smoothness that bellied the titanic forces at play the egg transitioned across the boundary and into realspace; the clouds and the screams and the arcs vanished; and them the shimmering field collapsed and all that was left was a mammoth of ferro-steel and prayers, the name Carbhán emblazoned upon her prow.

Within the interceptor the Astropath's banter ceased and, once her crew had received their confirmation, she pulsed a message inward, ++ Arrived confirmed. Guiding them through the Wash to the rendezvous point ++