Player Character Back-Stories

Post your char's lore-type-stuff here so we can figure out the retinue's origins ;)

Silas So the idea was that he was born into a Rogue Trader crew and worked as the ship's engineer/mechanic/tech-xpert due to his preternatural understanding of machines. He grew up around outcasts and xenos that the ship docked and traded with. However when he was a kid (13 was the number I landed on) the Rogue Trader was forced to dock with a Mechanicus Explorator ship they met in deep space. When the Ad-Mechs came aboard and saw the state of the ship (custom patch jobs, xenos systems integrated into the hull, completely new designs they didn't recognize...) they started on a tech-heresy rage. Silas knew he'd either be executed or worse indoctrinated and pressed into ad-mech sevice, so he and his best friend Jebiden, an old navigator who was like a grandfather to him, stole a small corvette from the hanger and made a break for the nearest trading post. they spent the next 10 years taking whatever jobs they could get their hands on, mostly smuggling illegal tech and xenos cargo. When Silas met the the inquisitor, he was pressed into service and Jebiden was killed. So he has no love of the Inquisition, and absolutely hates the Adeptus Mechanicus, but he always covers his inner turmoil, maintaining an attitude of optimism for the sake of those around him. In his own words "yeah, my life sucks, but I'm alive and seeing things nobody else hase ever seen, so I don't have much of a right to complain."

Born on the Feral Planet Annazir as a psychic Blank, Aksai was admitted to one of the warrior societies as a warrior-shaman and given a special position as a shaman/monster-hunter. Chaos cult arrived on planet from somewhere, got annoyed, attacked Aksai's tribe and killed everyone he cared for, leaving him to die after his arms were chopped off. An Interrogator trailing the cult found the remains of his village, and the still-alive Aksai. The Interrogator's psyker recognized him as a Blank, and that alone made him worth saving in the eyes of the Interrogator. He was taken the largest Imperial city on the planet and had his Bionic "Gifts" installed, a fact he was most indebted for. He was then taken off-planet and inducted as an Acolyte after some training with an Inquisitorial Acolyte(Arbite), who was the only one who's style matched Aksai's brutal hand-to-hand fighting. The tribes on Annazir worship the God-Emperor in a non-orthodox way (the Emperor has in different aspects, usually animals, representing the many facets of His Glory), causing friction between Annazirians and the Ecclesiarchy. Some hard-liners accuse them of outright heresy. Edited for shortness. Full stuff inside the game on Aksai's info.

Born on the planet of Juno in high spires of Vesuna Regis hive, Grendel’s live was well planned long before it even began. As the 7 th son of the Borgia family he had no chances for succession but was still obliged to contribute to its legacy an fulfill an important role in fostering wealth and influence of the Family Therefore he was thought high gothic, numerous sermons and histories of the Imperium saints so that one day he could become at least a cardinal and support his blood with the light and guidance of the Emperor’s grace. Unfortunately Grendel’s inquisitive character made short work of that as he kept asking his tutors questions about the Brides of the Emperor, the Black Rage and other things no one he should have knowledge of. As a result it was decided that military service in the Grand Army, as the local PDF was called, would help him to understand his place in the world and, once finished, be a good basis for his introduction into the Emperor’s Clergy. It didn’t go according to plan. Vasquez was a gifted officer and a great speaker, capable of driving his men to feats of valor and sacrifice rarely seen in PDF formations. He would also spend lots of time with his soldiers, eating, sleeping and fighting by their side in a way that most nobles, making the vast majority of the officers cadre, found disgraceful and disrespectful to their position. Still both the NCOs and common soldiers loved him for that and were willing to go to go to great lengths to prove their appreciation for a man who would buy their equipment from his own purse when denied the Munitorum denied him supplies. This didn’t go well with some of the more rigid officers and once another purge of the mutant population began Vasquez received his first real combat assignment. He and his men of the 501 st where ordered to hold a single ghost town called Rakathia that formed an important junction for the operation in progress. Once Grendel saw the cartographic data on this location he started laughing so hard that some of the officers present though he lost his mind. The truth was much simpler. Rakathia was a doomed position, a certain grave for him and his men. Surrounded by high cliffs and lacking any defensive capabilities other than a few ruins it would make a perfect shooting range for anyone wishing to attack it. Still he had to fulfil the order of holding it against two much more numerous groups of mutants that were spotted moving it the city’s direction. Determined not to be easy prey for his political opponents he hid most of his water supplies in the ghost town and rapidly marched through the deserts to confront the enemy host. Thanks to equipping his NCOs with night vision googles they were able to move forward even in the middle of the night and lunch a surprise attack on the enemy that quickly decapitated whatever chain of command the mutants might have had. After this swift victory he returned with his men to, by now occupied by the mutants Rakathia. Driven by his fiery oratory and the dwindling supply of water the men and women of the 501 battalion aka “Grandel’s Fist” broke the mutant horde and reclaimed the town with their precious water stores. Shortly after this incident, the judges of the Grand Army military court had a real problem in addressing this situation. From one side those experienced fighters knew that Grendel’s forces, though definitely too few in numbers for the task set before them, have not only survived against the odds but achieved a major victory. On the other hand the order demanded to hold the Rakathia town and Vasquez did, even if for just a few hours, lose control of this position. Eventually it was decided that he would leave the Grand Army with full honors and a keep in mind that this kind of behavior could one day acquaint him with the Commissariat of the IG. Strangely, his time in Grand Army was for him a source of great interest in the ways of proper management of available resources and drove to join the ranks of the Adeptus Administratum. It was an interesting experience, form one side stack of data that could be analyzed to deliver the perfect solution, from the other thousands of unnecessary and time consuming procedures that could drive any one mad. Shortly one did just that. As Prime Administrator Legalis – Akustus Okane passed a new procedure allowing mutant work in the lower hive the tension became almost touchable. Most noble houses saw it as a plot that would bring a vast fortune to the Okane but were unable to stop the grinding of the huge cogs of the Administratum. When first unrests began, driven by the laid of human workers who were to be replaced by cheaper mutants, Grendel pleaded to his superiors to reconsider and wrote to numerous high members of the Adepta. Most believed that his “concern” was attributed only to the loses that house Borgia would suffer due to this new procedure and therefor his requests were totally ignored. When the protesters somehow acquired large quantities of weapons and high explosives all hell broke loose. The angry mob stormed the Administraum buildings and butchered many of its noble members. In order to stop this madness Grendel tried to drive their mindless rage from the blessed Adepts of Administratum and against the vile mutant threat. He did that but calling it success would be like saying that nuclear bombs are good for extinguishing forest fires. A proposal to serve the Emperor and be paroled on all of his crimes was an offer he dared not to consider for too long and willingly joined the ranks of the holy Inquisition. And then the fallout began…

Fire and Zeal, the Psyker’s Curse “They call us monsters, merely doorways to the Immaterium and darker things than man, however I disagree. A Psyker must pass the greatest test of faith to find salvation, for the Warp is as fire, chaotic and dangerous yet ultimately necessary. Those who forget this fact are prone to immolation.” -Scy thius Eizen, Sanctioned Psyker of the Ordo Bestillius A child of the Imperial Creed, the newly born Scythius, second child of Markus Eizen was already resigned to a pre-destined fate. The Shrine World of Gael Secondus had always been faithful in its tithes of Ecclesiarchal initiates, some might say bordering on fanaticism in its devotion. Ever since the Burning Decree of M.37.655 all second born children were to be tried and tested for a life within the priesthood of the Ministorum, Lord Eizen’s was to be no exception. Tutored in the more commonly known specifics of the Imperial Creed at an age far younger than most, the boy was soon to be found as somewhat of a prodigy. Fluently speaking both High and Low Gothic at the age of 8, Scythius’s combination of unstoppable determination and above-average intelligence gave Gael Secondus’s priesthood the perfect candidate to indoctrinate and teach the many ways of the Ecclesiarchy. The Shrine World had always possessed a rather brutal set of rituals to ensure that only the purest and most devout would ever reach the ranks of their most elite priesthood. The Rite of Relinquishment, which involved carving ancient lines of the Imperial Cult into the initiate’s flesh and bones was one of the most difficult to pass, for the recipient must emerge with his faith and zeal strengthened, lest the priests burn he who is unworthy to bear the scars. Whatever fate may have befallen him in the Ministorum, it was clear that the Emperor had chosen another path for this child. Upon the last test, the Rite of Fire and Zeal, Scythius was to be burned of all impurities through an hour within a scorching chamber. Often an initiate is either killed by the intense heat’s many offences or zealous enough to survive with only a few burns, what happened to the Eizen was nothing but extraordinary. As he emerged from the most holy chamber, he was confronted by a sight not often seen by the Minostorum’s priesthood. There were many who claimed him to be blessed by the God Emperor himself, one of the great heroes who will defeat the darkness assaulting the Imperium, there were many more who accused him of witchcraft and heresy, demanding that the boy be executed. Were it not for the Cardinal himself reminding the conflicted Preachers and Priests of the duties placed unto them by the Imperial Tithe, Scythius’s life would most certainly have ended on the edge of a fanatic’s sword or upon a pyre of raging flames dwarfing what he needed to endure before. It did not take long for the Black Ships to arrive, it took even less time for his very homeworld to banish him unto them. The Imperial Creed was his only company upon those vessels of the damned and insane. The words and litanies he remembered keeping his mind stable and strong against the madness that threatened to consume all who were aboard. It is in this place he truly took the Creed to heart on a level far greater than even the Ministorum had managed to influence him to. Spending his 14 th birthday within those dark holds, Scythius was ready for what he believed he knew would come next. Technically, Scythius did not possess enough psychic potential to be eligible for passing the assignment. However, the Overseers and other officials in charge of organizing the newly arrived Psykers saw through his lack of raw power and saw his soul for what it truly was, ablaze with zeal and tempered by a strong will. Taking his likely ability to learn the Telepathica’s teachings easier than most, he was judged to have just enough potential to become a true Sanctioned, neither Astropath nor sacrifice. The process of Sanctioning has been known to permanently break the minds of even strong men and women, almost every combination of rites, lessons and punishments specifically attuned to the Psyker’s abilities, control, intelligence and personality. Scythius already had a strong faith in the Imperial Creed, he was ready and determined to learn whatever they though fit to teach him, as the teachings of the Telepathica fortunately aligned with the Ecclesiarchy’s in many areas. Somewhat mirroring his Ministorum Rites, one of the more memorable processes of this particular sanctioning involved inscribing wards and symbols of the Imperium into his skeletal system. Those responsible for the act were able to work around the holy sigils and words already present, Scythius’s very bones were nearing saturation with inscriptions. 7 years for a complete Sanctioning, truly remarkable for a young Psyker with such nascent powers. It appeared as though during this time, Scythius had not been forgotten by his former peers of the Ecclesiarchy. [To be Finished]

The Castigation of the Gadston Martin, as witnessed by Silas the Heretek Damn, this whole exhaust duct is going to need to come out. Silas muttered a string of xenos curses he'd picked up on some asteroid post or other. He didn't speak many xenos tongues, but he knew how to curse in every language ever invented by sentient beings. Except Kroot, He doubted anyone could ever figure out how to pronounce the Kroot language without extensive surgery. And of course, the only duct that's rotted to the Black and leaking engine fumes into ventilation is the one we got from that Imperial outpost. Marked with the Aquila and everything, like that's gunna keep these shit wields from falling apart. Well, here goes nothing. Silas sighed and pulled up his Shemagh. An ancient invention by the desert tribes of Terra, just a large woven cloth wrapped around the mouth and nose to keep dust and fumes out of the lungs. It had been given to him by the Lord Carlege, as a gift upon becoming the new ships engineer. Silas valued the over-sized bandanna more than all the technological treasures he had built or collected in his young life. Silas reached out and grabbed the jagged edges of metal, and wrenched the loose duct section free. He was just moving the replacement into position when his com-bead started beeping. As the ships only engineer (since the old techpriest Tenson died 3 years ago,) Silas had defacto access to several ship's systems, including the proximity sensors now ringing in his ear. Must be something big. Sensors picking it up at that range? Definitely something big. Silas finished his work hurriedly before heading to the nearest access terminal. As he made his way through the narrow, low ceiling-ed corridors at a light jog, he took a moment to admire his handiwork. Traces of Silas' craftsmanship could be seen on virtually every square meter of the Gadston Martin. Patch jobs, custom system wiring, integrated tech from thousands of different sources, and even a few inventions of his own. He preferred Xenos tech the best. Aliens actually knew what they were doing when they built something. None of the mysticism and grox-shit that the Imperium reveled in. Arriving at an interface terminal, Silas qued up the bridge log and sensor readings. Apparently it was a ship, maybe even a fleet of ships. This was incredible. This odds of two ships meeting each other this far outside any known system were beyond calculation. As it was the Martin was only out here because the the warp drive had been disabled when that duct started leaking. This is important. These kinds of coincidences don't happen. Not by accident. Something important is going to happen. No sooner had the thought formed than the Inter-comm buzzed. "Crew of the Gadston Martin" It was the voice of Lord Carlege. He sounded worried. "We have encountered an Explorator fleet of the Adeptus Mechanicus. As custom demands, we shall dock with them, and great them as brothers on the void. All nonessential crew are to remain in their quarters until further notice. In the Emperor's name." Now Silas knew something was wrong. Carlege NEVER closed a message with a prayer. His suppositions were confirmed when his com-bead buzzed. and Lord Carlege's voice came over the line. "Silas. This is a secure channel. Do not go to your quarters. How long would it take to get the warp engine active if you ran there right now?" Silas was stunned. "Well that ruptured vent bled enough exhaust into the main system to corrode half the Gelar emitters on the main housing, to pull and replace them all, I'd need something on the order of three weeks." "You have three hours. If we aren't ready to jump by the time that fleet reaches us, everyone on this ship will die." The line went dead, and Silas started running. He was young, only 16 years by goundpounder reckoning, But he'd been on enough circuits around the Black Run to know that if the Mechanicus docked, there would be blood. Forget that the Martin was currently transporting highly illegal and heretical technology, the Martin WAS heretical technology. The whole ship was run through with enough Xenos and Archeotech to condemn her a thousand times over. Silas should know. He was the one who put it there. Silas sprinted for the aft engine housing, desperately trying to convince himself that what Carlege had asked was even remotely possible. He turned a corner and ran head long into Jebiden. "Where are you going? We need to get off this frakishnija hulk!" The ancient navigator was more fluent in cursing than Silas would ever be. And right now he had good reason to curse. "Come on, The OPOS is in the starboard hanger. We need to go." Silas shook free of Jebiden's grip. "No, I need to get the warp engine back online. We can still save the Martin." He ran through the corridors like a man possessed. By the time he reached his destination and started pulling Gelar emitters, his face was covered in perspiration and his eyes had the wild look of a man who knows his life is forfeit. "Help me with this. Quarter twist left and pull hard. All the ones with green spots on the heads. GO!" he shouted as Jebiden came up behind him panting and doubling over. The old man probably hadn't ran since he was fifty, and that was sixty years ago. "Stop, Silas. We need to get the nga'chuq out of here." Silas ignored him. He kept pulling emitters for an interminable abount of time. He only stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of groaning in the inner keel. The mechanicus had just docked. Both Silas and Jebiden went silent. Sounds carry far in a voidship, and the voidborn with a skilled ear can hear a pin drop three decks above him if the air pressure is right. So when the lasguns started going off, both of them heard it loud and clear. Silas looked at his work, then at Jebiden, then at the bulkhead above him towards the sounds of fighting. He took a deep breath and said "We take Omicron deck. Cut by my quarters, then up the starboard access chute to the hanger. We'll take the OPOS and book it for the nearest Black Rock. You'll need to navigate it." They did just that. stopping only so Silas could collect his gear and his weapons, A long, bolt action sniper's rifle, and a sawed down lever cycling shotgun. The shotgun went to Jebiden, as the old man would make better use of it than Silas could. Silas expected that if he had need to use his rifle while still on the ship, then there would be bigger problems to deal with. By the time they made it to the hanger, the sound of lasgun fire was everywhere. They passed several groups hurrying to escape pods, unaware that without warp travel, they were doomed all the same. When they came to the hanger, Silas saw, for the first time, a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus. It (he couldn't tell if it was a HE or a SHE) was tall. covered in flowing red robes, mechanical limbs snaking out behind it, shooting sparks and smoke and death. In it's hands it held a great, two handed ax bearing the symbol of the cog and the skull. When it say them it released a blurb of what Silas unconsciously recognized as auditory binary code. It was far too fast and distorted for him to understand, but He knew it wasn't good. Jebiden didn't seem to care that the thing in front of him was making noises. He Just put two slugs in its cranium and kept running for the OPOS. The OPOS was a small ship. Silas had pulled it from the spacecraft graveyard orbiting GraelonTertiary. It had originally just been a sub-orbital skiff. barely able to make it to a planet's moon and back. That was before Silas was set loose on it. Now it had fully self sustaining life support, maneuvering thrusters that wouldn't be out of place on a combat fighter, and-and Silas was most proud of this-a fully functional warp drive cannibalized from a needle ship that probably used to belong to the Officio Assassinorum. Silas had called it his greatest work. Jebiden had called it "an Old Piece Of Shit" And so the OPOS was named. "You know how to fly this thing?" Silas yelled as he climbed the on-ramp after Jebiden. "I can get us out of the Frakking hanger if that's what you mean." The old man shot back. As the OPOS whirred to life, Silas saw a familiar figure running into the hanger. It was Cromisson Carlege, and he was tailed by a half-dozen Ad-Mech priests. "Get up here. C'mon, RUN!" Silas shouted for his lord and captain as the ships engines ignited into idle. He saw Carlege turn his head, saw the red priest raise a lasgun tipped limb, saw the beam shoot across the open space of the hanger. And Silas watched as Carlege fell to the deck with a black hole burned in the back of his coat. Silas roared, and without thinking, raised his rifle. He fired one shot from the hip, and watched the red priest's head explode into a mas of shrapnel and fluid. He aimed for another shot, red mist clouding his vision. The on-ramp slammed shut before he could fire. The OPOS lurched hard, and Silas was knocked off his feet. Jebiden wasn't lying, he could get them out of the hanger, what he couldn't do was fly a voidship with any descernable skill. "You're over correcting" Silas said as he jumped into the co-pilot seat and wrenched control of the craft away from Jebiden. He pointed the nose towards the black and the ass towards the Explorator fleet and punched the throttle. When he had enough speed he cut power and spun the OPOS 180* to see if anybody was following them. He was just in time to watch the Gadston Martin, his home, his family, his world, flash silently into a white hot ball of plasma and turbo las fire before disapearing into nothingness. *** Silas walked slowly into the aft of the OPOS. They were in the warp now, and Jebiden had the con. There was nothing for Silas to do but wait and prey. No. He woudn't prey. Not to the Emperor, not to the Ship-ghost, and certainly he would NEVER prey to the Omnissiah. The Gadston Martin had burned in the Omnissiah's name. He would never honor a diety who's teachings sanctioned mass murder. No holy book should ever deal out death on a man who had harmed no one. Silas felt a jingling against his boot and stopped. He looked down to see a brass rifle casing, resting where it had fallen by the closed on-ramp. Silas picked it up and examined it. He remembered the red priest's cranium turning to a shower of circuts and hydrolics. My first kill. This is what I am now. I have no home. I have no purpose save stay alive. So I'll stay alive. I'll work the Black and live as long as I can, free from the Imperium and their gods of death and misery. I can run tech, that's what I know. I can run Xenos machines on the Black, because nobody else dares to. I can see the galaxy through free eyes, and answer only to my concience. Silas, survivor of the Gadston Martin, put the brass shell in his pocket, and walked away.

The Death and Revenge of Jebiden the Navigator, as witnessed by Silas the Heretek Silas fiddled with the brass casing on the necklace under his shemagh. Well that went well. We go through the trouble of acquiring good, solid Cretian plasma rifles -15 of them- the hassle of moving them, the pain in the ass of finding a place to test them for quality control, all to make sure that this gorram cartel lord is satisfied with the merchandise, and now the frakwad won't touch them. Just up and walks out on the deal. This tirade was taking place in Silas' head now because after 15 minutes of voicing it out loud, Jebiden had hit him with his walking stick to shut him up. Eventually Silas gave up his semi cathartic rant. It wasn't like cursing or crying was going to fix anything. Tears are easy, but duct tape works better. So Silas picked pulled the OPOS out of the grav-well of an asteroid post that he was fairly certain he would never do buisiness on again. Not after he had so fluently insulted the man who pretty much ran the place. I've got to stop pulling shit like that. One of these days it'll get me in trouble. "So what are we doing now?" asked Jebiden "We have a hold full of the hottest cargo we've ever hauled, and you just called the only man in 3 sub-sectors willing to buy it an 'Ugly Belgiumite' among other things." "Oh c'mon, he deserved it." Silas protested. "Oh he deserved it alright. I was actually rooting for you. Was glued to the show right up until he sicked his chem-hounds at you." "Yeah, rooting for me from that chair in the farthest corner of the room. Way to help a shipmate out." "The day you need help so bad that a 124 year old man would be useful is the day I call it quits." Said Jebiden "Besides, you didn't look like you needed help. Real calm and collected you were, running and jumping over shit like a regular squirrel." "What the frak is a squirrel?" "Nothing important. What is important is the still unanswered question: What to do with our cargo?" "Start going down the list. Next leg of the Black takes us by the Red Fjordes, the Barrens there are always looking for shiny new toys. I sure as shit ain't going to dump it, not after all the trouble we went through to get it in the first place." As he spoke, Silas brought the OPOS up into formation with the Caravan. The Black Run, or Black, was a smuggler's circuit run by the Rogue Traders. It consisted of Asteroid outposts, dark planets, and general out of the way places. Travelers on the Black would move in caravans, usually centered around a large Rogue Trader owned vessel, for protection against marauders, unfriendly aliens, and especially Imperial law. In more populated areas, an arbites cruiser made people feel safe. Out here, it meant torture, mutilation, and death. "What is this jaggoff doing?" said Jebiden pointing at the largest ship in the caravan. Silas watched as it pulled ahead before cutting it's pro-grade engines and banking left, so that it was drifting sideways in front of the caravan, but moving in the same direction. Silas was just as confused as Jeb, until he saw prow of the frigate brighten as hull illumination cast harsh, white light on the raised form of an Imperial Aquila. "Mother of--" Jeb started before Silas grabbed the short wave vox. "Break the caravan! Scatter and jump, it's the Imps! They're going to broadside the caravan!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than the Frigate's flanks began to sparkle and shimmer with flashes of clear, yellow light. Seconds later, the front row of the caravan disapeared into a dozen fireballs and clouds of dark flack. How did they get onto the run. That boat's been with us for at least 3 jumps. No Arbitrator would wait that long. Unless it's not an Arbitrator. But that would mean- "In the name of the holy Imperial Inquisition, " A voice came over the vox in nasely High Gothic "All vessels are ordered to power down and prepare to be boarded. Resistance would be ill advised." Silas and Jebiden both looked at the Frigate, then at each other. Then, simultaneously; "Frak that shit!" It was an attitude shared by many on the open vox channel. Everyone there knew that those in the front row of the caravan had been the lucky ones. Now it was just a matter of who would be the really lucky ones, and who would be the poor bastards who got caught and tortured. Silas might not be the luckiest person in the world, but any odds were better than surrender to the Inquisition. The next several minutes were a crazy, chaotic mess, as Silas drove the OPOS through a storm of fire and steal rain. Most people who watch space battles on the holos would have thought that this would have been a terribly loud and cinematic event. But they would have been wrong. Fire and death happened silently in the void. The experience so eerie that most men's minds start creating noises to reconcile with the visareal carnage. Noises that stay with the mind long after the actual images have faded from memory. It had been 10 years since the authorities of the imperium had killed everyone on board the Gadston Martin. Everyone save Jibiden and Silas. Now they were back to finish the job, back to collect the toll for surviving the first deathtrap, and this time they had come in force. After minutes of some of the scariest flying Silas had ever inflicted upon the old man Jebiden, there was a lurch, a groan, and a contact warning on the hull. They had just been snagged by a magnetic grapple, and were being dragged towards certain doom. Both men knew what was coming, knew they were dead anyway. So as they saw hanger doors close around them, they drew their weapons and stood in front of the on-ramp. If they were damned and dead, then by the Black, so were the first 10 men to come in after them. Silas watched the on-ramp lower, raised his weapon to fire- then the world went white. ***** Silas came to his senses kneeling on the deck with his hands bound behind him, and surrounded by guards in black Armour and gas masks. Jeb was at has side, similarly bound. Before them was a man in powered armor, running his hands over a sealed crate that Silas knew contained his cargo. "Xenos plasma rifles." the man said in the same nasely voice that had come over the vox after the opening broadside. "Tell me where you acquired them." Silas and Jeb both remained silent. Not out of some insane loyalty to their supplier, but on general principal. If you ran the Black, you never flipped for the Imperials. This appeared to fracture the man's calm. He rounded on Jebiden. "I am High inquisitor Calvon Scriptotus, and you will tell me where you acquired these weapons!" Jeb straightened. "And I am the Navigator Jebiden Fick-Dich Manns," He spat on the High Inquisitor's boot "And you will kiss the darkest part of my shriveled white arse." Oh you brave, beautiful,frakking suicidal old man. The inquisitor reeled, face aghast and beat red. "Ah, a rogue psyker are we?" He raised an enormous Laspistol. "I shall give you the Emperor's peace." The world froze as Jebiden's headless corpse hit the floor. Silas stared, struck stupid in the face of what he had just witnessed. The report of the Heavy Las detonation still ringing silently in his ears. The Inquisitor was speaking to him now, undoubtedly demanding he answer where Jebiden had not. Silas couldn't. His head was racing to fast. I should kill this man. Righ here. Right now. I should get on my feet and tear his throat out with my teath. I could grab a grenade from one of these guards and blow this whole hanger. No. Never mind It would never work, I'd never live through it. Jeb is dead because he didn't think. I can still live through this. I can walk away. And I can kill this man, this High Inquisitor. But not here, wait, play it smart. Honor Jeb, don't go to meet him just yet. Tears are easy, Duct tape works better. "Do you hear my boy?" Calvon Scriptotus was demanding, the world coming back into focus. "I asked if you want to end up like your employer, or would you rather tell me where you purchased these weapons?" "I was his employer," Silas said seizing control of the conversation "And no, I won't tell you where. They see this hulk coming and you'll get blown to cinders. I guarantee they know about this ship. Hard money says at least 50 transmissions made it out of that caravan when you opened up, and at least a dozen survivors are probably still talking about it. Your cover is blown. But I can get you in. I can take you there in my ship. you'll be halfway through the station before the first alarms go off." The Inquisitor turned and studied the OPOS. "Where did you acquire this craft? I do no recognize the pattern. And I know all the warp capable patterns that small." He asked in the most infuriating version of his nasely voice. "I built it." "Do not lie to me boy!" Shouted Scriptotus, raising his Heavy Laspistol against Silas' forehead. "He does not lie." This was a new voice. Silas turned and saw a young woman, his age, maybe younger. It was hard to tell with ground-pounders. Her face was covered in tattooed wards, and the scabbard an ornate dagger was sewn into the folds of her robes. She was looking at Jeb's corpse with something resembling pitty. Silas might have seen it if he wasn't staring daggers at the Inquisitor. Scriptotus turned to her, then to Silas. "You're a lucky one aren't you. One Psyker dies instead of you, and another one saves your life a moment later. If I wasn't the friendly sort I might accuse you of having an unholy pact of some sort." It was a very unfunny joke. ***** It had been days since Jeb's death, and Silas was now piloting his killer towards the dark asteroid of Pearalix. It was more of a rogue planet than an asteroid, but the irregular shape and cratered surface made calling it a planet with a straight face nearly impossible. This was where Silas and Jeb had purchased the bulk of the Tau rifles, now destroyed by the Inquisition. As the OPOS approached, Silas reached for the Vox handset, bumping his elbow on no less than 3 of the 15 storm troopers crammed into the cockpit with him and the Inquisitor. There were a further 50 in the hold waiting to kill every man woman and child on the station. As he did so he felt a gun muzzle against the back of his head. "Don't try anything stupid." said the storm trooper in a voice that Silas imagined one could only acquire by gargling shrapnel every mourning before breakfast. "You think I dragged myself all the way out here to try and screw you? There are easier ways to commit suicide buddy" Then, into the vox "This is Silas of the free ship OPOS, requesting docking clearance for bay 13." he sent. "Why bay 13?" asked the inquisitor. "I like bay 13. Closest to the junkyard. I always dock there." The vox crackled "Negative. Bay 13 is occupied. Routing you to bay 9." Came a voice Silas knew as Pearalix's head of security. "Wilco for Bay 9" Was what Silas said outloud Frakking A, they got it. Was closer to what he meant. As the OPOS set down in the docking bay, the Storm Troopers filed down the ramp and into the station with the Inquisitor right behind them. There was nobody else in sight. The storm troopers spread through the station. There was nobody on the entire deck. Only when the Troopers were spread to single squads did the shooting start. Bay 13 was a myth. A fiction created for exactly this purpose. No Black Run station actually had a Bay 13, the only reason you would ask to land there was if you were a loyal smuggler forced to carry unwelcome guests. As soon as the sound of lasgun fire reached them Silas grabbed the Inquisitor and dragged him into cover. "They must have read the extra heat off the ship. Frak, they could have just blown us up. They want the ship for parts. Come with me I know a way to the nerve center. I get you there you can force a surrender." Silas yelled over the din of battle at the Inquisitor, who was obviously only brave and threatening when he wasn't being shot at. "R-right, You get me there, and my retinue will lead the Storm Troopers against these rebels." The retinue, consisting of the psyker Silas had already met, an assassin, and a chem-charged brute with a heavy stubber were already doing just that, regardless of any lack of orders. So Silas took Scriptotus through an access shaft to the left. There was fighting all through the station, and it was easy to get the green Inquisitor to go where he wanted him. How the hell did this guy ever wind up leading storm troopers. I'd bet money he's never been in a real firefight before now. Probably some navy jaggoff who wanted to be able to say he'd stormed an asteroid station. Soon they came out of a narrow shaft and into a large, open space filled with greenery, water vapor, and harsh UV lighting. Nobody ever came onto a stations hydroponics farm, especially when a firefight was happening in the docking ring. There was plenty of time. "Where to next?" asked the Inquisitor "Nowhere." replied Silas. "What?" "End of the line. I am going to kill you now." Panic entered Scriptotus's Eyes. He raised his Heavy Las. Pulled the trigger, it did nothing. "Why do you think I led you here instead of any of the other empty places on this station? We passed 14 other places where I could have killed you. But I'm going to do it here. The water vapor is very thin in these hydroponic bays, and that Heavy Las has very large air cooling vents. It shorted out the moment your finger touched the trigger. So did your com-bead." Silas raised his a large caliber auto-pistol he had taken from under the pilot seat of the OPOS when the fighting started. It was loaded with armor piercing rounds. He fired one shot that ripped through the man's adamantium covered leg. The Inquisitor fell to the deck, screaming. "But your internal suit sensors are just fine. In fact, I'm counting on it. You will bleed out. It will take you roughly 10 minutes to flat-line, by which point I'll already be back with your retinue. My allaby. The only reason I'm still talking to you is because I want you to know I did it. I want the last thing you carry into whatever afterlife awaits you to be my voice, and the name of the man you killed." Silas stood over the bleeding dead man, and spoke the last human words the Inquisitor would ever hear. "Jebiden Fick-Dich Manns" ***** Silas found the retinue with a squad of Storm Troopers hunkered behind an enviro-crate in a ring corridor around the central spire. "Where's the Inquisitor?" He asked them "We saw him last in your company." stated the assassin in a voice like death through a pillow case. "We got separated around deck 4, I've been back-tracking to find him for the last 15 minutes." An explosion at the other end of the corridor sent them all ducking for cover. Several minutes later, The assassin checked his beeping wrist mounted terminal. "The Lord Inquisitor is dead. Just now. Can't tell where." He said to the group. The Chem-brute Immediately leveled his heavy stubber at Silas. "You killed the master!" it shouted in an adrenaline and dopamine fueled rage. Silas through up his hands "No, I've been here with you the whole time. I told you I lost him somewhere on deck 4. I don't know what happened to him after that." The fact that he had a giant gun in his face added authenticity to his feined panic. "Coriola?" asked the assassin looking at the young psyker. Coriola looked deap into Silas' eyes, peered through the veil, and saw his soul. Silas knew that she saw everything, as she had the day Jebiden died. "He does not lie" She said. Silas, last survivor of the Gadston Martin, breathed A sigh of relief, and touched the Brass casing on his necklace.

(This is the last one, I swear. I won't make the GM throw out any more notes. To that end, I want to make it clear that these events are not earth-shattering, and have little to no effect on the party today. This is just a memory that Silas has from his childhood aboard the Gadston Martin, and only serves to give him just a little more life as a character. MC, please don't rage-kill me. Like I said, this is the last one.) an Event in the Travels of Ashetara the Seer, as Witnessed by Silas the Heretek This place is HUGE! The wide eyed child named Silas had run off on his own for the first time in his life. For years he had known only the Martin's corridors and holds, filled with faces he already knew and places he'd already been, broken only by the occasional, tiny asteroid post. Now he was on 624-VL, the second largest port of harbor in the entire Black Run, set loose by his teacher Tenson with only a departure time and a warning from Jebiden not to miss it. Silas liked Jebiden. Sure Tenson may have been the one he worked for in the Martin's engine hold, but he was only a never ending string of orders. The old navigator Jebiden was the closest thing he had to a father, telling him stories of far off worlds and describing the strange things that lived on them. Silas was sure he was looking at some of those strange things now. Part of the reason 624-VL was so large was that it was a hub not just for humans, but thousands of xenos races. It was the most alien-friendly location in the imperium, and if Jeb's stories about the Imps were true, than that was a feet indeed. Silas saw short, furry men with beady eyes and prehensile ears, Tall, slender bipeds that looked like they were made from quick-silver, and dozens of others he could not even begin to describe. Countless sounds and languages flew through the air. The station was alive. Silas found the closest human and asked directions to the scrap-bay. He wanted to see if he could scavenge anything interesting to bring back and tinker with. black knows there isn't anything on the Martin I haven't already torn apart. Tenson doesn't like it, but it just bugs me. A machine I havn't seen the inside of is like an itch in the back of my skull. I have to know how it works. When he got to the scrap-bay, Silas started digging through piles of metal and rubber and silicate. Anything that was at least semi intact, or just plane interesting went into his bag. He had a good eye, and the heap had a good supply. The bag was full within minutes, and Silas found himself playing triage to make room for each new find. Then something strange happened. There was a noise that wasn't a noise. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Silas found himself digging almost before he knew what he was doing. He dug after the sound. When he reached the source he dropped his pack. It was small. A device of obvious xenos make, fashioned from a substance like bone, inset with a smooth stone the color of blue flame. Symbols were carved in the bone-like fixture, elegant and flowing. The sound had stopped, but Silas didn't care. He grabbed his pack and started heading back towards the Martin. He doubted the scrap-bay held anything better than the gem he now held. As he walked back through the station, He took emptier routes, not wanting to be bothered with the bustling crowds. Then, suddenly there was a shout from behind him. Silas turned, and found himself staring into what looked like the barrel of a weapon. The gun's owner was tall, clad in bright yellow plate armor, and obviously VERY angry about something. The red eyed helmet did little to muffle his voice. It was a language that would have sounded like song if it were being used to convey anything but a death-threat. Before Silas could even form a thought as to what the man wanted, the most beautiful voice he had ever heard issued from behind the warrior. "Do not be so rude, Caeramar. The child knows not what meaning your words carry." From behind the armored figure appeared what Silas only dared describe as a goddess. Hair like silver water flowed at either side of her porcelen face. fine tattoos ran from her eyes down her cheeks, and pointed ears peeked out from her ornate headdress. Her face was both young and old, as though the knowledge of eons were given strange and mystical vitality. She knelt in front of Silas so that she was at his eye level. "You carry something you have no claim to. It must be returned to it's rightful place." Without hesitation, Silas produced the strange gem, for the first time noticing that the symbols on its face were matched by runes on the woman's robes and armor. She took the stone from him, holding it gently between them. "How did you find this?" she asked him. "I heard it. In the scrap-bay, Lady." Silas replied, using one of the only honorifics he knew, and wishing he knew a better one. At this the woman's escorts stiffened, and for the first time Silas realized that there were at least 5 of them, all armed and armored. "That is a strange occurrence." said the woman. "My name is Ashetara. I give it to you because I would like hear yours." "Silas, Lady Ashetara" He replied. "Where are your parents, young Silas?" Silas didn't know that himself. He never had. So he told her what Jebiden had told him when he had asked where he had come from. "My mother is the void, and my father is the stars. The crew of the Gadston Martin are my brothers and sisters." She smiled, and to the apparent shock of her companions, placed her hand upon Silas' forehead. When next she spoke, her voice echoed as though through a trumpet. "Silas, son of the void, brother to poets and pirates. You will outlast your very world, and others besides. You shall travel far, and see sights innumerable beyond the ken of your race. You shall travel in the company of predators and pitty their prey. Your steps will be as stones cast in a stagnant pond, and the fish will not thank you for it. Know now that peace shall forever illude your sight, for you are doomed to die with a lasgun in your hands. And though the histories will shy from your legacy, those you call friend will remember your name unto the breaking of the cosmos. May the blessings of the wanderers go with you." And with that, she stood and walked off, trailed by her retinue. All but one who lingered long enough to say something to Silas in the toungue of his race, then he too vanished into the crowd. Silas turned to one of the many humans he saw who had been gawking at the scene that had just unfolded. "Do you know what he said? That last one?" Silas asked. "Aye," said the man, a grissled spacer with wonder in his eyes. "He said 'remember well her words, for few of your race shall ever know the blessings of a Seer of the Eldar.' I agree with him, kid." [Things I need to say right now before MC starts foaming at the mouth: 1- Does this mean that Silas is secretly descended from the Eldar? -NO, the soulstone sensing him was a fluke. 2- Does this mean Silas' parents are somehow super-special -NO, he's an orphan, leave it at that. 3- Am I trying to get even MORE missions built around my character? -NO, this is just something I had to write down to stop it rattling around in my head. 4- Did I already have this thing thought out? -YES. I didn't just pull this out of my ass yesterday, It's been part of Silas' story ever since I started giving him story. I just now got around to putting it on paper. If MC wants me to nerf this or change it or just plain stop posting shit and make room for other people, I will do so. Like I said, it's been rattling around in my head too long and I just wanted it on paper somewhere so I could stop thinking about it. Good-day.]

Seizure of the Hadronian Wall Black Run. Part A. The inside of the run-down van was filled with the stale smell of old lho-sticks and smoke, the smell having soaked deep into the dirty plasteel walls of the packed van. "Yes, it is him. Here, see the man with hat?" Vladistin pointed at a pict-screen among the rack of similar pict-screens, showing multiple locations around a dilapidated habblock. Aksai leaned forward, grunting and squinting at the screen, trying to make out the man the grizzled old Investigator had pointed out, but couldn't make him out from the massed throng of people slowly roiling around in the images. Vladistin in the meanwhile was muttering commands into his vox, brushing his mustache with a bone comb. "Team 3, stop drinking rahzvod, I smell it from here. Four minutes until go. Team 2, start moving onto backside of block, don't khek it up." after which he clicked his commbead and banged his fist on Aksai's pauldron before stooping up in the van, and grabbing a gilded shockmaul from the van's weapon rack. "Why we not crush them all." Aksai said, and it was not a question. Vladistin looked at him, then looked around at the three other Arbites crammed into the small van and laughed "This crazy chevek! I love him! Thick as mother's ohx, but crazy like ork!" Aksai growled and stood up, stooped against the roof of the van "You make fun. We kill evil, we win. Go." Still smiling, the old Investigator patted the feral warrior on the arm "Calm, friend. We take prisoner, we win. I explained that, yes? It is good. Just do not crush the heads too bad, yes? Because now we go!" The last words were shouted to the commbead, and Vladistin slid past the big feral warrior with surprising grace, kicking open the back door of the van, revealing a throng of people milling about on their business, the closest dozen or so yelping in surprise. The three strike-teams moved like synchronized swimmers through the rivers of people flowing in the hivecity Pearl of Iolcos, colloquially known as Dregvale among the lower-class citizenry. --- A fly was buzzing around a chemlamp in the canteen, slowly dinging off the flickering lamp from time to time in the gloomy room. There were seven people in the room, four playing tarot on the table closest to the front entrance, with two others at the counter of the canteen, slowly talking with the bartender. "Ahm naht sure yah geht me, 'aite?" the bigger of the two men at the bar said to the bartender, placing his patchwork cap on the counter "Tha run ahn't goin' over 'til nex' monf. Ai ain't gots naw goods 'til then." The clean-shaven bartender glared disdainfully at the dirty man while cleaning a glass "I do not need excuses. I was promised the go-" His words were cut short by a shrill beeping from under his desk, and he snapped his gaze downwards, blanching white almost immediately. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever he was going to say was turned into a scream as the back door of the canteen exploded in pieces of flakboard. "In the name of the Imperium, surrender!" a screeching, inhumanly loud shout blasted into the canteen as five heavily armored men charged into the room, dropping the portable ram they had blown the door open with. The four men playing tarot had no time to react, one of them twitching for his sidearm, before the Arbites were on them. The three men by the bar had a scant second more time, the bartender reaching below the counter for a shotgun and his two companions grabbing at their own weapons. Then the reinforced front door exploded, forcing the trio to cower as pieces of plasteel and rockcrete rained on them in a stinging rain. The big, filthy man recovered quickly, rising up with his readied autopistol. Since he was the only one with his wits about him at that time, he was the only one to spot the three grenades landing at the counter. "Oh fra-!!" and then his whole world went white, his ears ringing from the concussive force of the point-blank flashbangs. He was still up, however, somehow managing to fire blindly around the room, his stray shots exploding into corrosive pools of acid. The man couldn't see nor hear, but even if he could, he couldn't have stopped the bellowing barbarian charging at him with a furious tackle, nailing the man to the floor and forcing him to drop his gun as the air was knocked from his lungs. The very last thing the dirty man saw, was a fist growing larger in his blurry vision.