Out of the frying pan... Chapter 1 - IC

Kage frowned as his fingers began rapping against the table in a stilted rhythm watching the ganger begin posturing - he thought he had seen the like of that before - or maybe it was him that acted like that he wasn't sure but he had the definite feeling that things where about to turn sour and quick

"Thank you for your concern, but if the Mistress expects us to work together I think bolting from a confrontation at the first opportunity would not go particularly well[."

+++ Servitor Workshop +++

The workshop is quiet with only a few utility servitors carrying out simple repair tasks, there are no human crew present other than yourselves. The lighting is dim and there is a strong smell of machine oil. All kinds of tools and apparatus for the maintenance of servitors are available, although they are scattered about without order; the place perhaps unsurprisingly is a mess.  The tech adept walks Felyx to the back of the room where there are five servitors in a bad state of repair “It would be useful if you work on these first. They are too badly damaged for the utility servitors to fix and require a more skilled hand. If you have no further need of me I should return to my duties.”



+++ Habitation Deck A +++

The drinkers at the nearest table move away with a few backward glances at Donna’s outburst. Their dislike is obvious but a few of the more sensible ones pull the others away at the sight of the intimidating woman. You notice some others glance into a corner where a couple of large men sit; one is short and very fat, he has a bull like neck and barrel chest the other is tall and rangy. They are both looking your way with the fat man looking lewdly at Donna… after a moment the stand and walk over the fat man leading. He stands before Donna and licks his lips “No need fer dat talk ‘ere darlin’, tell cunt face there.” He nods at Damiel “te get lost and we can ave a few drinks eh?” The tall rangy man stands to the side his fists clenched, clearly ready to react if things got physical.

+++Servitor Workshop+++

Felyx took a deep breath as he entered the workshop. The smell of sanctified oils and lubricants was always a welcome scent. Regardless of his unorthodox take on the Adeptus Mechanicum, it had been an almost oppressive, always pervasive smell that surrounded his youth. As such, it was extremely nostalgic now, especially after have been so long away from it.

Felyx simply smiled his dead-eyed smile at the adept and nodded, waiting for him to leave completely. Once he was alone, he took a good long look at each utility servitor, mentally taking notes. He would stop in front of each, pouring over them with his eyes, noting how each one was easily reparable, yet not quite like Servitor. His Servitor.

Spelled with a capital 'S' - a Proper Noun - a companion through thick and thin. A friend.

He had almost given up hope for something that could fill that void until he came to the last one. It was the tracks that gave him pause and touched on the memory of Servitor in a way the others could not.

"You. Servitor II. 2nd Servitor.... Second Serving. It is being like fine grox steak; so goods, one bite is not being enough. Yes. Welcome to the services of Felyx-080 Turing, Second Serving."

He immediately got to work.

Damiel nodded to the wiry man with a smile of camaraderie, and was about to reply when the two men began to talk to Donna. He winced at their words, solid, cutting words that dragged him from his seat. He held both hands up, bandaged palms open, as he moved to the door. "Got it fellas. This door here, yeah?" He pointed past them with just a finger and walked closer.

"I was just on my way out, didn't mean to cause trouble." He walked around them, stopping when they were between him and Donna. He relaxed, dropped his palms, and began to speak plainly. "But see, I really put a lot of effort into this face, and the kind of authority it commands. I can't have folks going around thinking I don't. That underappreciation really is disrespectful. That kind of disrespect can get you in to a lot of trouble when you get pissed and run your mouth. Lemme show you what that looks like." Almost before finishing, Damiel snapped forward, letting in to the rotund drunk's face with a furious train of unreserved punches.

+++ Habitation Deck A +++

The rangy thug sneers at Damiel in undisguised hate, his fists ball. He darts a glance at his companion to see if he's going to start something, he was clearly eager to do Damiel some damage. Despite the sudden attack the thug is ready for the blow and rolls to the side causing Damiels fist to snap at air.

Combat Info:

Hooting and cheering from the patrons of bar urge the thugs on as the first punches are thrown. The rangy thug tries a haymaker at Damiel but the strike is poorly timed and misses his head by a fair margin. The fat thugs leers at Donna as he tries to grab her with his fat pudgy fingers his grapple though is poorly executed and he just grasps at air.

Donna grabbed the top of a bottle with a devilish grin and bats at the head of Damiel's assailant wih the makeshift club.
"Whuts awl this? Yew tryna get me all hot in my undies ain'cha?" she goads. Missing the target, she licks her lips as any sense of sensibility disappears with the thrill of violence.
"S' a gud try luv. But yew need to focus on tha real threat."

Damiel stepped in after the tall thug rolled away. Rearing back a punch, he shot for the fat thug's head. He didn't care about the weedy sidekick, he wanted to teach the big guy a lesson.

Felyx's eyes had barely adjusted to the room before he saw a fight break out. The old Felyx would have found a corner, waited for an obvious advantage and then taken it. Or perhaps even strolled back to get Second Serving and have the servitor come do his fighting for him. The new Felyx knew that in a prison brawl, there could be no hesitation. This wasn't quite that, but Damiel was fighting. That was all he needed to see. So he rushed forward and threw a devastatingly bad right hand.

Kage for now looked on, interested to see his fellow acolytes skill in combat. He didn't think his talents would be needed in a simple bar fight...

++++++++

The rangy thug ignores the flailing Felyx and concentrates on Damiel. He snaps out a flurry of punches, one low the other high but cramped bar with tables and benches in the way make the fight clumsy for all as he misses the mark again. Damiel ducked under another punch from the tall drunk. He looked up at him with rage and said "Alright, here's a lesson for you too." and exploded with an uppercut. The punch caught the thug a glancing blow off his cheek, it was nothing to put him out of the fight but it would leave a nasty bruise.

Prison fights were simple. Hit first, hit hard, and end it quick - before the guards could pinpoint and punish you. That was a calculation that stayed in Felyx's mind as he swung for the fences. The haymaker caught the thug on its downward swing, smashing into the collar bone and muscle causing him to howl in pain; the blow catching a nerve or other weak spot. The thug tries to catch a glance at the fat guy, suddenly unsure of the fight they'd gotten into.

The fat man tries to grab Donna, he was eager to wrestle and get his fat fingers on the gangers flesh. Donna grunts and drops the bottle as the big one grabbed her.
"What are yew doin? Aw! Yew smell like shit n piss wrapped up in vomit sam'ich."
He had her arms firmly secured, but she was just starting to have fun. She looks him in the eye and brings her head forward down into his several times. Blood, Donna wasn't sure who's, began to flowdown her forehead and the tub of laird's as well.

++++++++

The fat man licks blood from around his mouth "Yeah I ain't washed in a while Darlin', cum ere' and give us a cuddle" he slobbers into Donna's face as he tries to squeeze her against his ample bosom. If there was something worse than his stink, it was his halitosis. "Whut died in your mouf?" she say as she squirms in his stink-grip. The fat man fails to grasp his hands together behind Donna's back so can't really apply his bear hug. Oblivious to his friend getting pummelled he seems to be enjoying his clinch with the Ganger.

Damiels upper cut and Felyxs' brutality had caused their foe to back up a little as he regained his composure, his punches were weak and ineffective and he seemed now more focused on trying to stay on his feet. Damiel blocked the weak blows from the tall thug while chambering another shot. He let loose a strong right hook, which he knew when he threw it that it would miss.

Felyx drew back his fist, ignoring the pain from a solid connection. He kept up the pressure. none of his swings looks particularly good, but he knew how to pivot from the hips. It was something Donna had taught him. Despite his relatively unskilled stance and windmill like punches he connects solidly again with the thug, right into the thigh muscle causing his leg to go dead. Letting out a whelp of pain he tries to hop back away from Felyx's wrath clearly he was done with this.

++++++++

Felyx threw another fist, but hadn't quite realized their target had more or less backed off to stop fighting. "You are being done, bitches?! Eh? Fucking off then, bitches!" He yelled in an adrenaline fueled nearly incomprehensible low gothic. The punch missed and it gave the thug the chance he'd been looking for, he turns tail and runs out of the bar.

"Gimme a kiss then darlin' an' I'll show ya." the other thug slobbers at Donna as tries to crush her but his fat arms were having trouble getting a proper grip, he was sweating and now red faced with the exertion. Damiel, seeing that the taller of the two was out, cross-stepped behind himself and spun around, launching a shot at the fat drunk. "Come here you bloated bastard." He grunted out as he swung. The blow connected with the top of the thugs shoulder causing him to break his hold on Donna, he looks over at Damiel and see's he's now alone and with three foes against him. The thug gives a nervous grin and take a step back... "ere' now just havin' oursleves some fun eh?"

"Don't try to be convinces to us, fucksmouth." Felyx was breathing heavily but had generally regained control of himself after the guy he had punked ran off.

"Convinces to her, fatsshits." Felyx pointed at the enraged Donna who had only recently been held in this fat, sweaty asshole's arms. He knew there would be a reckoning. With Donna, there was always a reckoning.

Donna spins, rage in her eyes. lock onto the fat, slimy bastard.

"Yew fat fuk. Yew think yew can try an' slobber your disgustin' pig-drool awl over me an git away with it?"

She clenches and unclenches her fists. She was barely holding back her rage. This lump of human goo had embarrassed her by holding her down. Then he had almost killed her nose while spraying her with piss-sweat and dog-drool like he was marking his territory.
Worst of all, her panic had caused her drink to wear off.

She proprs a boot on one of the broken crates strewn about the room.
"If yew want out alive, I suggest you lick my boot. Like a dog. Go'on, Lick it."
She commands.

The thug looked down at Donna's boot then to the crowded bar, perhaps trying to see where his companion had gotten too. If it wasn't for the distant throb of the engines you could have heard a pin drop as the onlookers waited with bated breath to see what would happen next.

He eventually gives a nervous grin at Donna "ere' now, no need fer that. Let me buy ya some drinks n' we can be friends."

She snarls, "Oui an' nevah sharin drinks wit'chu. Oui think Oui'll letchu live for now tho, Oui already got 'nuff of your stench on me."

She wanted him dead, but did not really want to turn the drinking hole into a charnel house.

First think was first, she needed to wash his stench off of her.

Felyx had calmed enough to stop breathing heavily and stood, staring at Damiel, smiling with his crazed yet dead eyes.

"How come that I am to fighting better than you're?" The same question two years prior would have been serious. This was clearly a jest at someone who had become, despite all odds, Felyx's only friend.

Donna was an acquaintance, more akin to a cybermastiff. Allistair had disappeared. Servitor was gone. Everyone else likely dead. So, the one human that seemed to exude hatred and disgust from everyone he encountered had become his only friend.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Felyx's mind simply did not work like others. That much was clear.

"We should be to leaving. Our names on this vessels having been mades. I go."

The tech priest turned on his heel and walked out, strutting his lean torso and lanky arms with a new sense of pride at having done a very fine job in the fight. If the others follow, he tells them how he not only improved their living space physically, but how he also hacked into the security system to re-code the passwords so that only they could enter.

He doesn't mention his new friend Second Serving until they enter the room and meet it for themselves.

He had been busy. He had been productive. Omnissiah damn it all, it felt good to be back.

Your vessel the Honest Trader takes two standard days to reach the system edge where it can safely translocate into warp space. You've found out that there is no navigator on the ship but its navigating stable and what is considered 'safe' warp routes. This is standard practice for many merchant vessels. You spend your time recovering from two years hard labour where you've neither had a break or any personal space. You can drink, eat, sleep and indulge in the limited vices the social areas that the vessel has to offer or perhaps tinker with your servitor. The shift to warp space is smooth where you'll spend five days travelling to your destination... the system of Kul.

++++ Day 2 in Warp Space - 03:48AM ++++

+++ Philomena +++

Philomena sleeps in her personal quarters. She dreams of times back in the Scholastia Psykana when she perhaps pushed to far and was punished for it, but instead the positions were reversed. She was the one who unleashed her powers against a student pushed into it by another. She was still being punished for it though but the Scholastia Psykana professor was inquisitor Maud... this wasn't right.

"Wake up Philomena" Maud demands of you in your dream "I need you! Come to the acolytes quarters"

You wake with a start, the telepathic message echoing in your mind.


+++ Damiel, Donna and Felyx +++

You'd spent another fine day since your freedom doing whatever you damned well liked. Life was good and at some point you all slept... Felyx and Damiel wake to an urgent knocking on their quarters door. As you wake you can both hear the heavy snoring of Donna after another heavy night at the bar, she'd take a bit of stirring to get up if needed. One of you opens the door which slides back revealing Maud, standing unsteadily against her stave. She glares at you and manages to blurt out "who changed the code..." before collapsing forward into your arms. You smell burnt flesh. her robes are wet so you look at your hand which is red with her blood. The lower right side of her face is a burnt and a charred ruin. She is unconscious.

Philomena sits up in her bed, breathing heavily. Something is wrong. Travelling through the Warp was always a trying thing for her. She could hear the Warp scratching at the Geller Field, like rats in the walls. It spoke in myriad of voices, reminding her of when her parents used to host soirées long into the night and she'd listen from her bed, hearing the hum of conversation but unable to make out the words. Laughter would would ring out periodically, rising above the din.

In the Warp, the laughter was replaced by screams.

She strengthens her mental defenses and slips out of bed. If Inquisitor Grimm had taken the risk to reach out to her with her powers in this vile place, she was either incredibly powerful or desperate. Most likely both.

Philomena bemoaned the urgency, as it meant she wouldn't have time to properly prepare. A noble woman had an image to maintain, after all. She splashes some water on her face and pulls on a simple acolyte's robe. She'd had the dreadful thing tailored so that it flowed and rested in all the right spots, but it was still too plain for her tastes. Unfortunately, her other outfits required more time. Looking in the mirror, she makes sure her hair looks messy on purpose by adjusting a few strands, then grabs her staff and heads for the door.

As she nears the exit to her quarters, she pauses. Her time on this ship had taught her that a lot of spaceborn folks sorely lacked in manners. An obvious display of force was often more reliable than one's noble bearing amongst these wretched masses. She grabs her flak cloak and her pistols, just in case.

She steps out and starts heading towards the acolytes' quarters, walking down the middle of the corridor with her head held high. The small people scurry out of her way. Clearly, word had gotten around about who and what she was. Or perhaps of what she'd done to the man who hadn't moved.

She picks up the pace, going as fast as she can while remaining dignified, and hurries to her mistress' side.

Felyx awoke with less annoyance than one might have thought. Reactions were fine-tuned from two years of living on the Penal Colony. Urgent knocking meant quick waking, which objectively granted higher odds of survival in a life-threatening situation.

Felyx had done the calculations, but had no use bragging about such things.

He allows Damiel to answer the door, standing back to allow his new servitor aid, Second Serving, slam a pneumatic fist into any potential threat.

As Maud collapsed into Damiel's arms, the Tech Priest watched inquisitively but without alarm. He would have proudly told her that it was he who changed the code - obviously - had she not already been unconscious.

"So, this is probably not being goods, yes?" he says absently to Damiel while grabbing his medikit out of the pack attached to Second Serving's back. He started whistling while checking to see if he could help the Inquisitor physically in any way.

Philomena rounds the turn leading to the new acolytes quarters to see Inquisitor Maud Grimm totter and then fall forward through an open door.

++++++++++++++++

Felyx had been thrown into the deep end, the Inquisitors wounds seemed serious and intimidating so he wasn't sure where to start. Inquisitor Grimm had lacerations to left side torso, where blood leaked out and had severe damage to her face and one arm. From the smell of her the damage was burnt flesh.

"Inquisitor!" The cry flies out of Philomena's mouth before she can think better of it. A proper young Lady should never seem surprised, for All is as the Emperor ordained, her au pair used to say. Silently, she curses this awful place and prays for a swift arrival.

She picks up the pace, rushing towards the open door. She can feel two other minds with the Inquisitor Grimm, neither of them particularly alarmed. She comes to a stop in the doorway and struggles to maintain her composure. She was wrong, there were three other people.

One was still lying in bed, her indecently colored hair poking from under the blankets. Some sort of Tech-priest was hunched over the Inquisitor's prone form, examining her wounds. The third... Philomena had to suppress the urge to sneer... was a null. He is holding the Inquisitor, having evidently caught when she fell. Involuntarily, Philomena takes half a step back.

Chin up, never let them see your discomfort. As imperiously as she can, she clears her throat and asks: "What is her status? Have you called for a Medicae?"

The cry of 'inquisitor' causes Donna's snoring to stop and then her eyes snap open. It had been a vivid dream; the fat thug had her in another crushing embrace, his fat lips and his searching tongue caused her to grimace as she woke fully up.

Felyx eyed the newcomer, not responding to her question directly. Instead he held up the medicae bag and an expression on his lips that read just what in the warped fuck do you think this is?

He clicked his teeth and went back to work on the Inquisitor. "Left side - someones or things had to doing lacerations badly to there. To there. To there. And to there. Burning fleshes as well. Face. Left arms."

The odd tech priest was knelt over, shirtless. The newcomer could see that, unlike more typical tech priests, he was not completely covered in augmetics. In fact, most of him was quite human, save for the mechanicus implants down his spine and at the base of his skull. His body glowed a low blue with electoos that seemed to cover most of his skin in patterns like circuitry. His face, not altogether unpleasant to look at, was that of a man in his mid thirties.

Aside from the obvious left hand - a mechanical replacement for some specific function - and the black steal data-port at the base of his skull, Felyx was truly mostly human.

He clicked his teeth. Apparently a sign of frustration.

"Is it not being customaries to announce self to strangers where you are being from? You are stranger. We do not talking to strangers."

Philomena narrows her eyes, ever so slightly. She was annoyed at being rebuked, but she had to admit, the tech-priest had a point. She had forgotten her manners. "I apologize. I thought introductions could wait until after the emergency had passed. I am Philomena Beauparlant, Acolyte of Inquisitor Grim," she says formally and bows.

Inwardly, she winces. Being so formal was probably a faux-pas with this crowd. She walks into the quarters and kneels on the floor, next to Felyx. "Is there anything I can do to help? I'm no medicae, but I can apply pressure to stem the bleeding or fetch any other equipment you might need."

Damiel barely had time to set his Inquisitor down before cries started to ring out. He was going to assist Felyx with her injuries, but as the newcomer made her way toward them, he drew his pistol from a fold in his robe. She took a step back, which Damiel presumed was because he'd leveled a weapon at her. After she introduces herself, Damiel lowers the weapon. "Rosette?" Was all he barked out at her before he yelled back into the room. "Donna! Grab your gear! We're making this right. Philomena, if you want to help, get a medicae on the vox. Felyx, what does she need?" Trusting Philomena enough to take his eyes off her was a stretch for Damiel, but he took a moment to trace the blood splatters in the hallway, trying to see if Inquisitor Grim had come from the same direction their new "friend" had.

Philomena suppresses a frown, keeping her face impassive. She resents being ordered around by a... person... like this one. Being near him is like having one of one's senses impaired, like wearing ear plugs, or forgetting one's glasses. Truth be told, she resented being ordered at all, especially when the hierarchy was unclear. However, now was not the time to settle this matter.

She nods at the null and stands, moving to activate the vox panel near the door, careful to stand out of the doorway. "This is Inquisitorial Acolyte Philomena Beauparlant, reporting a medical emergency," she says, coloring her voice with a touch of panic to light a fire under the operator's bottom. She waits until she's patched through, then relates the deck and section. "Send a medicae team immediately." Her tone brooks no argument.

Felyx regarded Philomena with a simple nod. True to his awkward self, he made absolutely no introduction of his own. Instead, he turned to Damiel and shook his head.

"Being bad here. I did all the doing I could be doing. Not enoughs. I am no Magos Biologis. She is needing actual medicae. Oh, and clearly she is to be needing some fuckings protection? Are you seeing? Are you seeing? This shits is why I re-making door code. This. This shits."

Felyx stood calmly and walked over to the servitor unit. It was a tracked monstrosity - a utility model that Philomena had no doubt seen countless versions of before. But there was something about this one - the way it kept its eyes on her. The positioning of its pneumatic fist. She likely had no doubt that given the slightest unheard command, it could and would crush whatever the tech priest willed it to.

With extreme care, but not slowly, Felyx dons his shirt and flak cloak. It was so fluid and calm that he might as well have been listening. He checks a stub revolver and a single frag grenade before putting them in his pack which was attached to the back of the servitor unit. Finally he dons a shoulder harness which mounted a beautifully crafted hotshot las pistol over his right shoulder that clicked into a port on the back of his skull. It moved left and right of its own volition as he calibrated it.

Finally, he took hold of a long lance with a steel claw mechanism on one end before mounting the track section of the servitor as though he intended to ride it into battle... which he absolutely did intend to do.

"To calling for medicae - perhaps bringin fuckasses who doing this to us?"

He looked over at Donna without saying anything. The slight smile just screamed, Want to killing things?

Damiel looks to the right down the corridor, the direction Philomena had come from. There were no obvious blood traces and it was the direction Inquisitor Grimm had indicated her quarters were.

The left ultimately took you to the engines and everything that lay between that, your quarters and the bridge. Damiel notices a bloody hand print on the wall, perhaps Maud paused there to get her strength.

++++++++++++

To the back of your quarters where Kage sleeps you hear whimper and then a moaning "Noooo...Not again!" he shouts out.

Felyx looked at Kage.

Still sleeping. What a dick.

"Maybe this is being her 'thing'?" He shrugged and stayed on Second Serving. It wouldn't be wise to leave Maud here alone, especially if they couldn't be sure the medicae responding were friendly or not.

With a frustrated sigh, Felyx yelled at Kage to wake up. Going so far as to prod and poke him with the man-catcher rather than get off his servitor. If Kage ever arouses, Felyx catches him up and tells him to watch over Maud while they went to investigate.

If Kage doesn't wake, Felyx prods him harder, mumbling poorly executed profanities.

The vox panel crackles to life with a hiss and then a pop "Acknowledged, medicae team is enroute." comes the reply to Philomena. Knowing the vessel reasonably well Philomena knew it should only take about five minutes for somebody to arrive.

As Felyx jabs at Kage the pysker jerks awake, lets out a piercing scream and then scrambles up one end of his cot away from Felyx. His face is as white as a sheet, his eyes wide in terror. He rocks gently back and forwards clutching his bed sheets to him.

Damiel moves a short way down the corridor looking for more blood, but apart from a few spallters near the bloody hand print there is nothing immediately obvious.

Felyx stares at Kage's unexpected outburst. Those paying attention notice the shoulder-mounted hot shot aiming decidedly at Kage's center of mass. Felyx was far from a fool, regardless of how he presented himself socially. Kage was a psyker, and psyker's screaming and acting like this warranted a weapon pointed straight at them.

The claws on the man catcher also slowly moved into the open position.

"Are you needing the restraint, Kage?" The words were much more collected than previously.

Philomena opens her mouth to inform the other acolytes of the medicae team's ETA, but is interrupted by Kage's wail. She sees Felyx tense up, his shoulder-mounted weapon trained on the terrified man, the claws of his strange staff poised to seize him. She recognizes the fear, she had seen it many times before. Psyker.

She moves closer to stand behind the tech-priest, but not so close as to spook him. If Felyx provided the stick, she would be the carrot. She smiles reassuringly at the panicked man. "You're okay," she says, soothingly. "You're among friends. Focus on your breathing. Now, look around the room and find 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste."

Damiel took a short trip down the hallway, eyeing the blood trail as it moved down the hall. It wasn't long into his investigation that he heard the shouts began to ring out, he stowed his pistol and made his way back to the barrack with haste. He hadn't known Kage for long, but a scream like that from a psyker was a sound he'd heard too many times before.

Once inside the barrack, he entered his room and made his way to a tall locker. Inside, he found his armor: a set of black, interlocking ceramite plates fitted to his figure (thanks to a mechanicus friend). The armor was meant to be worn with an accompanying red jumpsuit underneath, but Damiel worried he didn't have enough time to strip down. The whole set was made to allow him more mobility while retaining it's protective ability, in truth, when used as defense against daemons, any attack is likely to kill. Damiel knew the armor was little more than a prayer, and would abandon it if push came to shove faster than he could prepare. He slid it all off its hooks, instead pulling a light grey flak cloak from a shelf above. He slipped it over his shoulders quickly.

As he pulled the carapace pieces from their hooks inside the locker, he got to the treasure beneath: a slab of plasteel with a double edge, which ran the entire length of the locker. He pulled the huge, two handed sword from the locker with his left hand and took his helmet under his right, before returning into the main room carefully.

He didn't want to frighten the psyker any further, so he crept along the wall until he was close to the doorway. "Hey Kage... I'm coming in, okay? Listen to Philomena." Damiel slid into the room behind the others, his large weapon over his shoulder. He moved to get closer to Kage, hoping his curse would soothe the troubled man's mind.

Donna woke when roused, but she was groggy and moving slow.

Seeing the wounded inquisitor, she rotates her head on her shoulders, letting all the stiffness out in a series of cracks and pops.

"'Ew did this shit?" She asks Felyx or Damiel, ignoring Philomena for the moment.

She streches her arms and cracks her knuckles.

"Oui bet is was that lump o'toadstool 'ew didn't want to taste moui boot."

Feeling a bit better, she moves to her wardrobe and begins puling her gear out.
The gear used to belong to the ship's stores, but she had liberated a beautiful chainaxe and carapace shell before heading to the bar the night before.

She turns as Kage was roused and begins to panic, she starts to insult him.
Calm down. Don get'cha panties awl in a bunch. Its jus sum blood from ou'ah newest pat'ron. We's gon pay her back for gettin us off that rok we is.."

Kage shrinks further back into his bunk as you crowd around him, his bed sheets clutched tighter to his chest. Each of you offering a different pose; his eyes darted from the man-catcher as its 'teeth' opened, to Donnas chainaxe, the blankness of the null to the strangers face of Philomena... "No... not again!" Kage screeched.

Philomena sighs. Another one lost. "Better restrain him," she whispers to Felyx, her voice heavy with regret. "I don't think we can get through to him."

She stands and moves back towards the door, giving the tech-priest room to work.

"Ah, goods. Goods. Donnas is givin thesis now: Yes, it was being the fat man who is ranking close to zeroes on this ship. In his furies he decided that because he couldn't have fighting you, he would go to fighting the Inquisitor. Truly, your mind is to being magnificent."

Felyx had also picked up sarcasm on the penal colony. Personally, he thought was getting quite good at it.

He turned his attention back to Kage and gently closed the man-catcher to restraining distance. He would give him one last chance, an attempt to appeal to the man's logic.

"Turning around. Hands behind the backs. For your safetys. You are knowing to what I means."

Donna talks to emphasize Felyx's point. It was an attemot to reassure him but to a sane man it was anything but.

"Yeah. Yew bettah calm down iffen yew know wot's good fo ya. If yew struggle we's gonna hafta scrap. While Oui like a good scrap oui don wants to urtcha."

Kage is uncooperative but easy to subdue, you make do by wrapping and tying him up in his bed sheets. He’s secure and seems content enough to rock back and forward, his eyes unfocused. With the last knot tied on his makeshift ‘straight jacket’ the biologist arrives with an adept and a medical servo skull. They immediately set to work starting with triage, while they work the biologist queries what happened but as its explained you know nothing she falls silent and starts to work on the bleeding lacerations across the abdomen.  

Philomena has met with the biologist before, Techpriest Des-Ray94 heads up the medical facilities on the vessel so Maud is in good hands.

With the bleeding stopped Des-Ray is about to continue her work when the inquisitor starts to moan, then her eyes flutter open. Maud seems to whisper something which only the biologist is close enough to hear. “If you’re sure.” She replies before administering a shot of something. Once done she stands and steps away “I’ve given the Inquisitor something to keep her awake for a short while, she wishes to speak. Approach if you wish to hear for she is weak."

Maud is clearly heavily sedated her pupils large as they flit from one face to another. She beckons you closer still before she speaks in a whisper, her speech is halting and strained...

"Fluctuation of warp field... deamonhost freed... caught me unawares. Capture... if can..." she looks again from face to face squinting as she does so "Where Kage?" after an explanation she continues.

"Des-Ray, sedate Kage... keep him under."

Mauds eye lids droop heavily she looks about to pass unconscious once again.

"Philomena... start in my labs. Get Lokar... he help." and with that she sleeps once again.

Philomena had met Lokar a few times; a barbarian shaman from a feral world he wasn't exactly an acolyte but more a slave. While he becomes acclimatised to his new life Maud had fitted him with an explosive collar. You could find him caged in the Inquisitors laboratory.

Philomena nods. "You can count on us, Inquisitor." She stands from where she was kneeling next to Maud, then looks at the rest of the acolytes. They'd been a rather prickly bunch so far, so she resolves not to antagonize them further. Especially, not with such a threat to deal with.

"I must return to my quarters. If we are to face a daemonhost, I would rather be wearing my armor." She smiles apologetically. "I think it would be best if we remain grouped. I hope you don't mind the detour."

Philomena waits while the others get ready, keeping an eye on the hallway, and then leads them back to her quarters, trusting in her psychic senses to warn her should the daemonhost draw near. Still, the short journey is tense. She hasn't earned the others' trust, and the feeling is mutual.

"Please wait here," she says when they reach the door to her quarters.

Inside, she hangs up her flak cloak, then slips out of her robe. She pulls on a simple tunic, matching pants, and combat boots. She opens her armory locker and begins putting on her armor. It was a simple, plain thing, little more than a guardsman's armor, but it could still mean the difference between life and death. Putting on the final touch, she clips her chameleonline cloak to her shoulders, then makes a face as she spots herself in her mirror. Unfortunate, but a utilitarian look was better than a disemboweled one.

When she steps back out, she nods at the other acolytes. "Thank you for indulging me. Let's go find Lokar. He is a... peculiar fellow, but quite capable." I'm sure he'll fit right in.

Finally all geared up, the acolytes make their way to the Inquisitor's laboratory. Philomena is more than happy to let someone else take point, preferring to stick to the middle of the group if she can, while staying alert for signs of the warp creature stalking the ship's decks.

As the group walks, Philomena observes the others, the practiced ease with which they advanced together. It spoke of trust, whether they would admit it to each other or not. She knew from the Inquisitor's briefings that they had been picked up from the same penal colony, but little else had been shared. This was an opportunity to learn more about her new colleagues. "Have you all worked together before? You seem to have a well-established rapport."

With Kage restrained, Damiel relaxes a bit. He waits for the biologis to sedate the man before he lets Kage leave his sight. Once medics seem to have the situation under control, Damiel retreats to his bunk momentarily to finish arming. He tossed the flak cloak on his bed and dressed in the blood red jumpsuit and carapace armor, taking his pistol, stummer, and chameleoline cloak with him as well. As he returned, he kept the massive sword in hand.

"Let's make our way." He says, nodding to Philomena. As they move to her room, Damiel takes point, looking cautiously at every turn and crevice. He didn't like any of this, and couldn't shake the feeling that he couldn't trust the person walking behind him as much as he couldn't trust the floor he walked on. He gripped his weapon tightly, prepared to be assaulted at any moment.

Damiel took every step silently, until they arrived at Philomena's chambers. He waited patiently outside and only remarked her with "Sure." as she returned.

He didn't open up until she asked about their history, which he kept very superficial. "It's been almost three years. We met before being dumped on a frozen moon with a bunch of Hereteks. They were corrupted by a daemon infesting a pure, functional STC. I couldn't banish the thing, so we ended up blowing the whole thing to bits. After that, our inquisitor took my rosette and sent the rest off to a hive world. They tell me what they found was beyond belief, and their failure to stop it there was what ultimately drew our inquisitor to imprison us. That was two years ago, we've been breaking rocks since." His voice is cold, callused, and devoid of interest. He seems to be answering the question more to get her to be quiet than through any desire to connect.

Philomena represses the urge to make a face as the Null answers her question. She had to admit her distaste for him didn't have a strong foundation. She should probably try to stop thinking of him as "the Null". Besides, he was the best spoken of the lot. Felyx and Donna both used different, strange patois. She probably would have only vaguely understood if they'd been the ones to speak up.

Damiel answered in a rude tone, something she'd grown accustomed to since her mutation had been discovered and she had lost her status. She listened attentively and the pieces started to fall into place.

"I see... Well, it sure looks like your luck is holding up," Philomena says, trying a bit of gallows humor.

These people had been through hell together, so to speak. No wonder their bond was so strong. Not having these shared experiences would make it difficult for her to integrate herself into their dynamic, she realized. She would have to prove her worth. People like them respected deeds, not words. Perhaps this hunt for a daemonhost could be her chance. If she survived it.

"There is being no 'luck.' There is only being preparations meeting with opportunities."

Felyx rode the back of Second Serving, as he had done previously with Servitor. The new unit performed well so far. Everything was in working order. Still, something seemed wrong, as though it wasn't in perfect tune or alignment. Something felt off.

He realized it was simply that he had grown so used to the subtle nuances of Servitor, that the new unit would not feel right. Not yet at least.

He rode behind Philomena. Middle of the group was the safest spot one could be, and he was not built for the point position.

"Chances are to all of us to die here now. Let us hoping for luck."

Iron and Metal wrote:

"There is being no 'luck.' There is only being preparations meeting with opportunities."

Diligence is the mother of good luck. The saying was much beloved by her mother and she would take every opportunity to hammer it into Philomena and her sibling's heads. But what amount of diligence could have kept Philomena from being born a psyker? None of her siblings had the mutation and neither did her parents. Wasn't that bad luck?

Her teachers had said that it was by the Emperor's Grace, to serve His works, but Philomena had seen enough of her fellows fail to know that surely it couldn't be under His control. No, it had to be chance. His teachings were the way to make the best of it. To turn that curse into a blessing.

Iron and Metal wrote:

"Chances are to all of us to die here now. Let us hoping for luck."

"Should we make any other preparations? Notify the ship's captain, perhaps? Maybe they can seal this section and keep our prey from escaping? Should we fail, at least it wouldn't threaten the rest of the ship."

Using a nearby vox panel Philomena summons Captain Bartholomew to the lower deck laboratory, the Inquisitors ‘lair’. He huffs and moans about the need for him to make the short journey but that is normal behaviour for the slovenly captain, he soon comes around at the mention of the urgency of the situation. A fat and gross individual the captain would likely arrive at least a few minutes after yourselves so you’ll have a bit of time to assess the situation.

With Damiel and Donna leading the way you make your way down through the decks. As you round the last corner you’re stuck by the smell of brimstone and chemicals, the laboratory main access door has been battered and bent from within, the metal twisted and pushed outwards leaving a gap that would allow an individual to pass through. Philomena knows the door in always locked, even when the Inquisitor is at home.  

The laboratory itself is in ruin; a work bench smoulders the work taking place in that area ruined with smashed test tubes and jars scattered about. Furniture for relaxation has been knocked over and broken, a leather chair still burns. A small library area has also suffered fire damage, one book case has been knocked over its books charred and burning. Fortunately the fires aren’t likely to catch and spread further due to the metal surrounds.

There are three doors within; the first Philomena knows houses Lokar, its his cell so can only be opened from your side. The second a particularly heavy looking door is closed and access has always been restricted. Finally the body of a servitor prevents the third door from closing as it lays across the threshold with the sliding doors juddering in place as it pushes against the body.

Lokar was growing impatient, he had spent far too long in this cell behind that thick metal door, not an easy task for a man used to running along river banks and howling at the mountains. His only relief was the occasional visit from his master where she instructed him in developing his magical talents but he hadn't seen her for days, this was getting ridiculous...

How am I to prove myself locked away to rot like this!?

He growled at the empty room as he started to pace up and down the cell like the caged animal he is.

Philomena scans the wreckage of the lab with mounting horror. Priceless books were on fire, dangerous chemicals spilled carelessly... you'd think a greenskin mob had rampaged through.

She carefully makes her way through mess, beelining for the door to Lokar's cell. Philomena had only met the man a few times, when Inquisitor Grimm had asked her to take notes during some of his "treatments". Maud had told her she had rescued to man from a feral world and that he had talents that were hard to come by in the Imperium. Philomena had understood and known better than to say it aloud. You never knew who was listening and plausible deniability was something she'd learned to value a long time ago.

Philomena raps her staff on the door to Lokar's cell. "Lokar? It's Mina. Inquisitor Grimm sent me to get you. I came with some other Acolytes." She reasoned it was best not to spook him, so Philomena wanted to make sure he knew what to expect when she opened the cell. "I'm going to open the door now, okay?"

She pushes the controls and the door slides open. She grasps her staff tighter, just in case.

As the door slides open Lokar steps forward just finishing zipping up his funnel neck to hide his explosive collar. You see a feral man with tribal tattoos and fetishes woven into his dread-locked hair, his clothing practical in a survival suit combat boots and flack coat.

His face screwed up as he smelt the burning, looked about the room then to Philomena.

Mina, what in the name of the Twisted happened here!?

He then strode over to an equipment locker and without permission began arm and armoring himself. The young man in him noticed he had an audience so couldn't help showing off, strapping on weapons and armor as dramatically as possible. When he got to his everyday autogun he presented the unremarkable weapon as if it was a valuable relic.

This was gifted to me by the great and powerful Inquisitor Grimm, it's so good I have retired my bow.

He had clearly gotten a little carried away in the Inquisitor's stash attaching every possible add-on and attachment that would fit the rifle.

Sparing a moment to eye the acolyte's firearms and seeing they all carryed pistols he smirked.

Mines the biggest, so if we are going to hunt down whoever trashed the place then perhaps you had all best stand behind me, we wouldn't want the Inquisitor's valued scribes and servants getting into trouble with their little pop guns now would we?.

Donna had already been strangely quiet. The others thought that something may have been bothering her and they were right. It was only a hangover though.
It had been 2 years since she had any king of acceptable amasec, and 4 bottles straight had overloaded her once-renowned ability to cope.

"Why is yew in 'ere inna cage?" She asks Lokar.

"Didja blow up an' STC thingamajig tew?"

Philomena takes a second to process Donna's strange speech pattern and parse out her meaning, then another to mentally compose a considerate response. "Lokar's training is incomplete. Due to his origins and the nature of his talents, it would be unwise to grant him free roam of the ship," her eyes flick to Damiel and back, "without a proper guide."

She turns to Lokar. "A possessed person has gotten loose, putting us all in grave danger. It assaulted the Inquisitor. She has sent us to get you so that you may help us capture it."

She looks down at the man's rifle, then back up at him and smiles. "If you want to take point, you'll get no objection from me. I would be grateful for your protection."

Looks to Donna.

Yes, I live here as Inquisitor Grimm's apprentice, it is my home and a great privilege to be here.

Lokar wasn't sure why he was saying this, the little box was no home to speak of and it felt in no way a privilege to be locked away in there. Still, best not think about it too much else the migraines will come back.

Looks to Philomena, his chest swelling with pride at her comment. This was it, what he had been waiting for, all he need do now was unleash his wild magical powers and simply thrash his axe about the place a bit, saving the day and earning the respect and admiration of all onlookers, perfect!.

Sounds like a Foul Spirit, I have dealt with its kind before. You will indeed be in need of my protection.

He then looked at the other acolytes nodding to each in turn ending with a double-take on Dramiel, fixing his gaze on him with a mild look of confusion and disgust on his face.

What in the seven pits is wrong with you man!? you look like you swallowed oblivion its self.

Philomena winces, then glances at Damiel. An unbidden feeling of revulsion wells up inside her, but also guilt for her instinctive reaction and the way she'd allowed it to show when she'd first met the man. Driven by culpability, she resolves to smooth things over before they can escalate.

"There's nothing 'wrong' with Damiel. He is just different. A balance to people like us, if you will."

She glances at the door. "The captain should be here soon. We should find out what we can before he arrives." She turns to look at the door blocked by the servitor's corpse. "This must be the cell where the daemonhost was kept. Should we start there?"

Felyx rolled into the room on Second Serving's back housing. The tracks of the servitor unit made easy work of any debris scattered around. His mind was already analyzing the scene while the others made ready to open the door.

He made no outward gestures, but Second Serving was primed to destroy the chest cavity of anything that came out of the room with bad intentions.

Lokar's boisterousness brought Felyx from his scan and back to the situation at hand.

"Perhaps where you are to coming froms allowing for rude behavior upon meeting rescuers?" Felyx was clearly indicating how Damiel had been responded to.

"Logic dictating then that rude behaviors must being returned as per custom is dictating then? Yes, shits-hair man?"

The questions came out without anger or malice. They were monotonous, as though Felyx were thinking a million different things at once and only giving this conversation the slightest bit of his intellect and attention. Truth be told, the conversation wouldn't be happening at all if he felt that Damiel's honor hadn't been insulted.

"On penal-colony, ettiquettes are to being much differents. Once seeing a man's skull crushed for sneezings without hand to cover face. But, all peoples are to having different customs. Felyx. Murder slut. Damiel. You taking point outside, shits hair. Working now."

Apparently that served as introductions.

Felyx gently hopped off the big servitor unit - the unit still gazing at Lokar - and began surveying the room. His electoos gently pulsed a light blue as his mind worked.

Lokar narrows his eyes at Felyx.

Insult? I made no insult, I was genuinely concerned for the man's health, but if Mina says it's normal then I suppose it's normal.

Seeing that he was alienating his new companions he decided to try and make Philomena an ally, accepting her word on the matter was his way of paying her the greatest of compliments.

However, if an insult for an insult is the custom here then it would appear I owe you two. So, you speak like my backward cousin who got kicked in the head by a donkey and you are the worst jockey I have ever seen in my life.

He gives a small mock bow of respect.

Lokar was rattled by Felyx insult, he was trying to hide it and failing to do so, he knew it was written all over his face so the young man got defensive and deflected by acting out and showing off.

So you want me to take point, looking into the cell the Foul Spirit has already escaped from?... Ok.

Lokar drops his guard, turns around, starts walking into the cell backward and, sarcastically says.

Oh no! I hope the big scary Spirit doesn't get me..

Felyx had long since stopped listening. From first impressions alone, if Egill and Alistair hadn't been able to survive their previous excursions, these two newcomers likely wouldn't survive this one. The math simply didn't add up.

Besides, there were far more important things at hand.

He had found Maud's cogitator and immediately plugged its cogitator jack into the data-port at the base of his skull. The machine-spirit inside was designed to not trust outsiders, but the rogue Magos Dominus-turned-Explorator made quick work of its wariness. Felyx's lack of social skills in the world of flesh were made up for by being the digital version of the Omnissiah's perfect ass: smooth, luscious, and powerful.

"Taking 30 minutes standard..." he blurted out as his eyes glazed over, hazel irises dancing back and forth rapidly.

Second Serving stood nearby like a centurion guard, allowing nothing to disturb its master.

+++

Felyx exited the machine with a sigh and stood, craning and cracking his back, neck, and arms in the process. He patted the cogitator gently a few times, even stroking the side. A blurt of binary accompanied it:

+++I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, my love+++

While he regarded the others holistically, he spoke directly to Damiel.

"Mauds was being busy. Acquiring Daemonhost year ago - strong powers, telekenetics, telepathies... mind fucking, yes? Need ship ecclesiarchy to blessing to our weapons - daemonhost weakness to psychic powers, but not also mind fuck powers. Currently, you are being our best defense against."

Felyx was referring to Damiel and his unusual, powerful gifts.

Philomena takes a deep breath and leaves the boys to their posturing. As Lokar goes to search the cell and Felyx plugs himself to the cogitator, she walks around the lab looking for anything out of place. Well, beyond the general disorderly state of things. Anything that might indicate where the daemonhost might have gone or what its intentions might be.

She sees a lot of fire damage. Clearly Inquisitor Grimm was able to fight back using her pyrokinetic powers. The material damage seems more extensive than could be explained by the two antagonists wrestling. Maybe the daemonhost threw the furniture at the Inquisitor? If she was forced to dodge incoming benches and tables, she couldn't have focused her powers on the beast.

As she goes around the room, Philomena eventually comes across blood splatter on the ground and floor, then a pool of blood with a void. This is where the creature caught up to the Inquistor and landed its blow. The Acolyte squats to get a better look. The lacerations were on the Inquisitor's abdomen. She must have fallen on her back. She remembered five parallel slashes. The creature must have claws. The Inquisitor also had burns on her face and neck. Maybe she had struck at the creature as it lay atop her? The proximity to the blast could account for the burns...

Philomena stands back up and looked around. The door to the cell didn't look forced. It had escaped when the door was open. The door to the lab was torn off its frame. The daemonhost had forced its way out.

"Why didn't it finish the job? Did it leave the Inquisitor for dead? Or was she still a threat?" Philomena mutters to herself.