As the Sovereign Pilgrim makes its way through the treacherous Malestrom Autonomous zone, you quickly turn the bustling cantina of the massive Rogue Trader vessel into the social waterhole for the contained eco-system of courageous individuals brought underneath the same banner. The sounds and smells of the lively hub greet you all as you step inside with a colorful collection of traders, mercenaries, and Imperial Navy personnel mingling and enjoying the various and extravagant amenities.

The Rogue Trader, Crastus Scipiones, has so far proven elusive since the journey began, leaving most of the interaction to his intermediates and his seneschal in specific. Speaking of the seneschal, his name is Lucien Decius, and he is a dashing figure, with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to take in everything around him. He moves through the cantina with an easy grace, his presence commanding attention without ever seeming overbearing.

As you step into the crowded yet spacious cantina, you can hear conversations from the various tables with gossiping patrons, subjects ranging from trade deals to rumors of pirates lurking in the nearby systems onto even darker and more horrific subjects discussed under murmured breath by individuals huddling together under the cover of smoke and scent of hard liquor. The air is thick with the aroma of cooked meats, strong drinks, and the smell of tobacco smoke, and you can hear the sounds of laughter and music coming from various corners of the cantina.

If you look around, you can see a variety of patrons engaged in various activities, from gambling to music to simply enjoying the atmosphere. Given the months onboard the vessel you may even find familiar faces among crew members and freelancers whom you are already well familiar with. Who knows, some of them may have interesting rumors or business proposals to share.

As you begin to explore the cantina in earnest and all that the Sovereign Pilgrim has to offer, you can't help but feel a sense of excitement in the air with baited anticipation for the journey ahead. With the support of Scipiones and his crew, they are ready to face whatever challenges may lie ahead in the Malestrom Autonomous zone and emerge victorious.

Valshaenala stalks in to the cantina, turning heads as usual. It's difficult not to notice a seven-foot-tall woman with fiery red hair, even before her distinctly non-human appearance becomes apparent. Despite this, the xeno is dressed similarly to many of the other crew members in dark brown cargo pants, a sleeveless shirt that was probably white once, and practical boots.

Crossing the room without a glance to the left or the right, she plants herself at the bar and orders a beer, slurping it noisily as she looks around the room for familiar faces or something of interest happening.

Perhaps it might be a good night to gamble?

What was "Alice" going to look like today? That's the betting game that's been spreading among certain crew members of late. The Eldar seemed to have an endless wardrobe of all kinds of styles and colours and materials. Some days she dressed as drab and bland as many other crew members. Other days she wore outlandish outfits of sight bright and clashing colours that one would pray to the God-Emperor to be stricken with colour blindness. Still others might find her practically naked with only so much covering her to maintain requisite modesty. Occasionally a skin-tight bodysuit that, at first blush, made it seem like she wasn't even bothering with any coverings.

Her hair and eyes changed almost as frequently. "Xenos Bullshit" as one crew member jealously declared it when she tried to explain.

Today Ylyeecia enters the cantina dressed in something more fitting for a member of the Imperium, if on the higher side of the pay grade, and with a distinctly colourful flare: a black greatcoat with ice blue trim and silvered buttons atop a pink blouse and blue skirt. Black hair and blue eyes.

As always, at her hip hangs her Agaith, the Harlequin Mask. Deactivated, the mask looked fairly normal. A half-black, half-white depiction of a woman's face with silver eyes.

Her eyes scan about, briefly stopping on her fellow Eldar who gets a pleasant smile and nod in greeting. A silent invitation to join her should she wish it before she continues her search for... Ah! There they are. Well. There he is at least.

~Why must humans walk so strangely?~ she thinks to herself as she meanders her way through the cantina and toward her target. In an attempt to help the crew feel more at ease around her, she'd taken to trying to emulate their graceless and awkward walk. It felt weird and wrong and often uncomfortable, but it had given her some early insight into mankind.

"Evangelos," Ylyeecia's melodic voice announces her presence to her fellow storyteller. Much like their movement, human communication was inefficient, but at least it wasn't uncomfortable. "Is there anything of interest today?"

The gaze of a pair of steely blue eyes follows the movement of the Aeldari through the room, though room might not quite be the adequate word to use. It's a cavernous space. The bastard-child of a cantine and monolithic cavesystem. It's a chaotic place, a pandaemonium of different conversations, song and more than a few verbal altercations and outright fights. He doesn't pay too much attention to any of it, even though his inquisitorial training makes sure that certain words and phrases manage to be picked up, no matter how tumultous his enviroment.
The perks of inquisitorial training: having to listen to nothing while listening to anything that might be of interest.
The inquisitorial Agent tips two fingers agains the rim of his empty glass. Kurt has chosen a place at the bar and the empty glass is switched out for a full one. He scratches the patches of dark carbon-fiber synth-skin on his cheek and takes another sip. "Bloody Xenos." grumbles the man behind the bar. A fat man. Scars, but not a fighter. Lower deck scum that made it. The Agent takes a sip of his Amasec and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. The loose great coat he wears around them follows the motion. "The Lord Primarch Guilliman has declared it so: They are our allies and they are to be welcomed. Who am I to argue with the Throne's own avenging son." He makes the sign of the Aquila in front of the black undershirt he is wearing beneath it. The barkeep stiffens noticeably. Kurt pretends not to notice the reaction while he puts the glass down. He had tested the man and he had passed. "Though Throne knows, it ain't easy to see the Knife-Ears strouting around as if it is normal, all of a sudden." The Barkeep relaxes again and Kurt pretends to not notice the reaction again. "Put it on my tab, Allister." He picks up the glass with his organic hand and moves to follow the harlequin.
Again he listens while not listening and the reactions of the crowd towards their visitors are picked up on, catalogued and filed away without paying much active or noticeable attention. Those who speak to openly antagonsitic are scanned with a quick glance and their faces committed to memory. He takes another sip as he reaches his target.
"Noone will ever believe that gait to be organic, Aeldari." he informs Ylyeecia. "It looks as if someone shoved a Las-Rifle up your backend. No offense intended, but the Throne knows it's the Emperor's own truth."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:29, Thu 13 Apr 2023.

In reply to The Narrator (msg # 1):

The rapid pitter patter of metal on metal announced that Progressius were on the move as his five bionic legs moved in a smooth rapid succession. He could of course be more silent, but the precision his bionic legs demanded to reduce the impact his legs made as they struck the ground was rarely worth it. Also, this gait was unique to him amongst the crew and he had found that unique things tended to amuse people so why hide it.

The bar was always a good place to socialize for some reason. Inebriation was after all requested by a lot of the crew, the machine god knows why though. It must be some fault in the human biological code that made being sub optimal consciousness desirable. That was an amusing though, a bionic stomach which regulates the toxic effect from alcohol, would that be in demand? Drunk on one glass or sober after 10 bottles according to your calibrations? Perhaps later.

As he was want to do, Progressius wore his practical red robe, always minorly stained with various fluids. The robe to little to hide his augmentations but at least his mechandrites remain out of sight. For some reason, the medical mechandrites needles and saw always seem to make people uncomfortable despite being instruments to save life. The robe was red as the red sands of holy Mars, but it was also practical to hide the blood and galls from his latest patients. A success by any measures today, another crewman had blessed by the machine spirits as his broken arm had been removed and replaced by a bionic limb.

Progressius sorted through the information he had about his fellow crewmen as he drew near the bar and saw one of the Aeldari alone. Valshaenala his data vault remind him, but she use Shae around the crew. He isolate the rest of the memories they share to a separate sub-routine, ready for recall if needed.

“Greetings Shae.” Progressius Monotome machine voice intones as he walks up to the bar. The barkeep no longer offers him a drink, it suits Progressius well. “Is this a good evening?”

"Eh, it's been better," she says to the hulking tech-priest. She never would understand the mon'keigh fascination with replacing their perfectly good limbs with mechanical oddments, but at this point, she knew better than to question it.

"Kraus found some kind of weird ritual set up in one of the lower decks few days ago. Not sure if it was neverborn-related or no, but bad in any case. Think we got it all now, though." Kraus, Progenitus would know, was the head representative of the Ecclesiarchy on the ship. He and the redheaded eldar often worked together to root out signs of daemonic corruption.

She slurped at her beer with an exaggerated sigh. "How 'bout you?"

Ylyeecia's attention shifts to Kurt, a pleasant smile upon her face.

"Of course not, and it is rather uncomfortable, but that's not the point," she says. There was the temptation to joke that she'd had worse up there, but she's learned that humans tend to have bigger, spikier things up their own rears when it came to humour. "I suppose I could study how other humans walk, interested in being my study subject?"

In reply to Clevermird (msg # 2):

“Better? A statement that fits most days, also congratulations to a successful hunt.” Progressious intone as he casually flickers though a few filters of his surroundings. Life signs were a bit of a wasted effort. It was obviously life here, gas? Same. So many body odors here that the place almost looked like a hallucinogenic dreamscape which… frankly used far too much of his battery and memory banks because of all the colors.

Infrared. Always interesting. Progressious gaze drifts to Sheas ale and what remains of his eyebrows curl slightly. “I might need to speak to the barkeep later. The ale is warmer than it should be when served fresh, perhaps the refrigeration system needs some service. I'll make a note of that.”

His memory banks forced a scene into hsi mind, a question from Shae. Oh yes, how his day was. “My day have been fine, I have just returned from another successful operation, as soon as his implants stabilize, servitor EEP-327 will be able to carry almost twice as much as before.” As he speak, Progressious adjust his voice box so that his voice reflect that he show pride in this accomplishment.


What interesting Biometers that Jane Swift shows. Her gaze is locked on Shaes movement, her body temperature is abnormally high, especially in her nether regions and her pulse is rising. “Congratulations on your admirer.” Progressious say to keep the conversation going. “Janes biometers seem to indicate a very keen interest in you.“

"Yeah, it would be great if you could do that. There's nothing worse than warm beer."

The news of his work brings a slight frown to her face, but it passes almost instantly. "What do you plan to use him for, then?"

At the mention of her admirer, she looks around in a very obvious fashion and finds Jane staring at her. "What am I supposed to do?" she asks as she turns back. She's not unused to mon'keigh attention, but her previous attempts at discouraging it have resulted in awkwardness and anger.

In reply to Clevermird (msg # 9):

Progressius have to pause and consider Share question about his work.

"I never asked the captain what work servitor EEP-327 is supposed to perfor so I do not know. Is that important?"

But concerning Jane Swift, there are least he had been informed of the common protocol.

"I have been informed that the regular protocol when someone is attracted to you would be to mate with her if you find her attractive as well. And for some reason to reassess that judgment after a few beers if you do not. I ... Can not provide a logical explaination for the later part."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:15, Sun 23 Apr 2023.

"Nah, it's not important. Just trying to make conversation." Not that it was easy with the strange servants of the "machine god". She'd learned that by now.

"Hmmm. . . " She seems to take his advice to heart and orders another beer. "And if that doesn't work?"

In reply to Clevermird (msg # 11):

"In such a case, evidence would support that you are not attracted to her and thus should do something more productive with your time.” Progressious state as a thought hit him. Is this perhaps a medical concern? People had a tendency to avoid asking questions about medical concerns by asking around them. It did make dealing with patients frustrating at times.

”Or is this a medical issue? There are several physiological phenomenons that make the act of procreation difficult. Luckily, there are treatments for the clear majority of them."