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The White Pathpre:Stephano Doval Navigate (Surface) Base Intelligence 37 Navigating a maze purpose built to confuse -20 Hiver +20 Crude Rope Map +10 A Second Pair of Eyes (Drako) +10 Final Score: 57 Your Roll: 40 - 1 degree of success. Perhaps it still was, but, it seemed, one final task yet remained. If Stephano had not known it was impossible, he would have sworn they were not on a ship at all. He and Drako stood where the curving corridor ended, and before them stretched a seemingly endless plain of blue-white ice and cold. Fat clouds choked the sky beyond. A sharp gale cut like a frozen knife through their light uniforms, and snow flakes were already settling on their shoulders and hair. The air smelled clean, cleaner than any ship or hive air should, and the expanse seemed endless. Not empty, thought. Wisely, they had stopped, waited, and watched. More than once they saw movement through the falling snow, and heard howls on the wind. Stephano could not imagine a human throat uttering those sounds, and Drako had offered his own negative reassurance. "Definitely not human," the giant had said. He'd hefted his blood-crusted pipe almost triumphantly as he spoke. He'd even smiled. I apologize for the delay, I got caught up with last minute work and getting ready for the weekend. I will be on vacation, but I should still be able to post an update tomorrow and Sunday. I'll have to do it from my iPad, but it shouldn't be an issue. KJDavid fucked around with this message at 22:13 on Jan 25, 2014 |
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Jan 24, 2014 23:32
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Stephano Doval, Waste Wanderer Doval looked out over the vast open expanse of snow and ice with flat disbelief. "Nobody would have expected this," he agreed with his companion. This ship was a mystery, as was much of the Inquisition. It served a purpose though. An acolyte must question everything and never trust everything they see. The truth was an elusive thing, but that is exactly what the Inquisition strived for. Was it not? The truth of things were hard to grasp now though. Exactly how large was this ship? The ice plains seemed endless, and after spending seven hours walking through the curving corridor Drako and he must have already covered at least twenty miles of distance. Impossible. Those were thoughts for another time though. The Primus was not yet done. There was still a task ahead of him, and he would not fail. Stephano drew his long knife and hunkered low to the ground. "Nothing left to do now. Let's go. Keep your silhouette low, stay close so we don't lose each other in the snow, and keep your ears open." I guess there's nothing to do but go. If there is any sort of terrain at all, or even snow mounds, I would like to try and stick close to them for a little bit of cover. I'd also like to keep an eye open for any sort of shrubbery. Anything that could fit in the palm of a hand or larger.
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Jan 25, 2014 21:18
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Traversing the White Death The two registrants began their journey across the snowy plain. They were effectively lost after their first step. Creatures, likely apex predators of one species or another, shadowed them just beyond eyesight if not hearing. They lacked supplies, navigational aids, and warm clothing. And yet, the two moved with purpose. They kept low to the ground, their wits about them, and their weapons close to hand. After a while, maybe an hour or two, the shadowing howlers abandoned them. The loping forms were on the edge of the horizon one moment, then gone the next. Stephano and Drako kept moving. The creatures seeming disappearance could have been a good sign or bad; there was no way to know for sure. Moving forward was still the only reasonable course of action. By that time the cold was beginning to slow their pace. Snow coated their heads, ice started to form around the eyes, and every breath seemed heavier than the last. pre:Stephano Doval Toughness Test Base Toughness 24 Severe Cold Weather Conditions -30 Final Score -6 Your Roll: 1 - Seriously, I rolled a loving 1. I almost didn't bother, then I thought, "Well, there is a slight chance of success." In the distance, Stephano saw the answer: an idling shuttle with active running lamps and globes.
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Jan 25, 2014 22:51
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Stephano Doval, White Walker Ice had begun to crust beneath his nostrils and within the stubble at the corners of his mouth. It was freezing here, below freezing even, and Stephano was certain that if he allowed himself to think about it that his joints would lock and his heart would seize in his chest. He had to keep going. He fell back on the conviction of his task and his certainty that The Emperor was with him. He would not fail, could not fail, and so long as Drako could keep up with his pace then he would not fail either. He clutched the long shiv to his chest, if only because his fingers were too cold to let it go, but it seemed for naught. The predators around them had not harried them yet and in time they disappeared. Perhaps, Emperor willing, they were only strange protectors and not out for blood. Slowly the clouds rolled away though and stars twinkled far above. Doval would have passed it off as just another trick of the senses used to confuse the registrants...if not for the shuttle. A long, shuddering sigh escaped from Stephano and he looked back to see that Drako was still bulling on behind him. "I think we've reached the end," he said flatly, though with a rare smile. "But don't let your guard down just yet." Still clutching his shiv Doval trudged the last length through the snow up to shuttle, still wary for danger, but hoping to see a pilot ready to take them away from the Primus. Did I win?
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Jan 26, 2014 03:36
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Primus Complete Yeah, you won. I thought the Primus would be tougher, but the dice really went your way. The next update will transition back to the Schola Verus, and will be sorta lengthy. I don't want to write it on a pad, so it will have to wait for tomorrow. In the meantime, you deserve some xp. pre:XP Rewards +200 xp - Completing the Trial Primus +100 xp - Improvising a map out of primitive tools +50 xp - Excellent role-playing Total XP: +350 xp
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Jan 26, 2014 15:11
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Stephano Doval, One Small Step Doval was frozen, hungry, exhausted, and injured. He suspected that the Primus would be more difficult, despite how it had taxed him. Once he approached the shuttle everything blurred together. Pilots, medicaes, and adepts all in their Carmine uniforms swarmed about Drako and him. After trudging through the white wastes he had no fight left to give and just the sight of the ships interior left him completely supplicant. He was ushered into a seat, his wounds suffered by the Ulanti were addressed, as were those of his compatriot, and before long he sat swaddled in a thick blanket. He only hoped warm food would follow. "This may be the best I have ever felt, Drako," he droned in his flat inflection, making it impossible to determine whether he was serious or not. "We made it. This far at least."
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Jan 27, 2014 03:12
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Return to the Sanctuary of Truth The flight from a planet the adepts called Sirius IV to the Sanctuary of Truth took little less than twenty minutes. Stephano and Drako managed to consume three spice-roasted game hens, a half dozen honey cakes, a bowl of Glavian figs, a pile of boiled potatoes, two dozen crisped carrots and onions, and a hunk of braised grox large enough to choke a Fenrisian ice wyrm before the short jaunt was through. After the shuttle sat down inside the ship, Stephano walked down the ramp wiping his hands with a warm towel while Drako walked off with the other half of the braised grox in one hand and two honey cakes in the other. There was no one to greet them, and none of the shuttle crew followed them. For a moment, they stood at the bottom of the shuttle ramp while Hangar Deck Besh 44, one of many on the ship, buzzed with activity. Ratings dressed head-to-toe in ship greens and protective gear scurried around shuttles and lesser ships like insects feeding on overripe fruit. They swarmed over a nearby Aquila lander kitted out with hunter-killer missiles and a big troop transport of a pattern usually attached to Guard heavy assault regiments. Dirty, bloody, and bandaged Kommitzar troopers trudged down the transport landing ramp, and Stephano noticed that more than one of the indentured soldiers marched with empty bandoleers slung across their chests and dry magazines occupying ammo belt pouches. Drako grunted and swallowed a honey cake in one massive gulp. "They've got messy lately." Stephano nodded, but his eyes had already moved past the weary Kommitzari to their far fresher brothers marching in formation out of a nearby access way. The new arrivals wore clean, pressed uniforms and were festooned with enough submunitions and war material to please any crazed militant. "Registrants!" An armored stormtrooper with a brass =][= stamped on his battle-mask stalked across the hangar toward them. His breastplate was dented and a piece of shrapnel two fingers long was wedged in the interlocking sleeves on his right vambrace. "Your Trial Secundus is not here! Report to your praeceptor, and feth off my assault deck!" A more helpful senior rating with red chevrons on his sleeves directed the two off Besh 44, into an access way running parallel to the long hangar, and, eventually, onto a freight lift reaaching up to the decks where the rating mumbled, "You young lordlings are supposed to be at." Drako and Stephano took his advice without a word. Soon enough, they found themselves in the relatively familiar environs of the Gottshall, and they were not alone. Other registrants, some more battered from the Trial Primus than others, were filing into the Gottshall singly or in small groups. The scene reminded Stephano of his arrival, but, this time, there were far fewer registrants moving to the assembly, and they moved with none of their previous swagger. KJDavid fucked around with this message at 19:39 on Jan 28, 2014 |
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Jan 27, 2014 21:56
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Stephano Doval, Prodigal Son Drako had done a majority of the eating, though he had tried his best to keep up. Doval's life was one of strict discipline, but he understood the necessity of breaking out once in a while and if now wasn't the time there would never be a better one. It was also somewhat comforting to see that such a spread of succulence was available to them. The Inquisition did not hand out congratulations easily. If this rushed meal was their way of expressing a job well done then so be it. It was over quickly though and by the time that the shuttle doors opened Stephano was ready to return his focus on the Secundus. He folded the warm towel and packed it away into his pocket. Praeceptor Urguile had said that registrants would not have rooms nor beds while they were here. He needed every resource he could get. "They've got messy lately," Drako grunted. Stephano nodded in agreement. "But doing what? Look at the fresh formation there. Far too heavily armed to be taking any part in the Primus. The Inquisition must be running other endeavor's from this ship." He would have continued to speculate but the stormtrooper cut short his train of thought. Doval gathered that he and Drako were to move along, but he wasn't really listening. His steely eyes had locked onto troopers fine ceramite armor, the brass =][= in particular. In that moment he was quite envious. Oh how he wished to serve. At the urging of the senior rating Stephano allowed himself to be ushered along. A short walk later found them again in the Gottshall. This time it seemed less awe-inspiring though. Massive and beautiful, yes, but the room failed to feel so crushing in its emptiness. Stephano passed by the dais and made the sign of the Aquila, then began to look about for familiar faces. He hoped to see that Nero and June had completed the trial, though he also kept an eye out for Mamsel Hallow and the boy psyker Andre.
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Jan 28, 2014 18:06
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Son of the Shatters Stephano did not have to search the Gottshall long. Some registrants wandered about like shell-shocked conscripts, but most congregated in their assigned training groups with something like disciple. Folding cots were stacked at angles against one wall, and a pallet of foil-wrapped rations rested nearby. From the way some registrants tore into the corpse-starch, not everyone feasted on their flight back to the Sanctuary. Drako bumped Stephano on the shoulder, then gestured toward his wounds. Medicae on the shuttle had stitched them up after the two left the ice field, but one exposed cut on Drako's forearm was red and seeping fluid. "I'm going to find an apothecary," Drako said. "Be back shortly." Stephano nodded as the big man left, then made his way to where he recognized a few Probation Group 3378 acolytes were squatting. He recognized none of them, until he got closer and spied Nero dozing on a cot. The hive ganger had new boots, a red-stained machete strapped to one leg, and a few new cuts and bruises. All in all, he looked in good shape save for the sunburn.
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Jan 28, 2014 19:51
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Stephano Doval, Remora The foil corpse starch rations and how eagerly the other registrants tore into them made it painfully obvious that the delicious fair on the shuttle was not of the Inquisition's doing. My Liege-lord, Drako had said. His father. Stephano's full stomach suddenly sickened him. He had only been so lucky to eat well because he had saved the life of, what, a noble's son? Not even the halls of the Schola Verus and the most Holy Ordos were immune the the affluence of nobility. It urked at a jumped up dreg like him. Drako bumped him on the shoulder and indicated to his wound. Doval nodded, "I'll be at the cots." He could hate Drako's station, but not the man. They had survived together where separately they may have perished, and that made some sort of a lasting feeling of comradery. Doval made his way over to the area for Group 3378 and easily spotted Nero on his cot. He smirked, genuinely, and bumped the edge of the ganger's cot with his boot. "Hey there, Cutter. Get a little blooded up, did ya? Fresh kickers you got. Who'd you have to stick for 'em?"
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Jan 28, 2014 20:55
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Shattered Nero sat up, shaking his head wearily. "Too many, bruv, too many," he muttered. "There were some right hard breakers in that muck." Nero paused and scratched at one of the cuts on his arm. "Didn't think I'd make it for a bit, then that witch came out the trees wit' fire flowing out of his eyes. He broke a gang of twenty men what chased me half across the world. Vines and creepers and bugs. Nasty mire of a place."
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Jan 28, 2014 21:05
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Stephano Doval, Familiar Company "I'm with you there, bruv." Nero had to know by now that the thick ganger accent was something Stephano had left behind him long ago when he joined the Inquisition, but it did not stop some of his old diction from creeping into his inflection, even when he was not trying to impersonate his younger self. "Good dice to you that the witcher came along, though I'm sure you bled a few out yerself. Even better dice the witcher knew you from them bashers what were chasing you. Strange company though, there in the Tangle. Kept in mind that grox o' a bleeder who called us jumped up dregs? Ran aside him in the Deep. He and I did it in for a thumb-less of Ulanti and then through an' through some tundra. Not a bad sort it turns out, and good in a scrap. Guess we both kept some strange company."
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Jan 29, 2014 00:49
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Nero's Primus "Knew me?" Nero blinked, then shook his head. "No, bruv, you got it twisted. The witch t'weren't the boy, Andre. Was somethin' else. Not sure what." Nero looked ahead, eyes blank, as if he were watching the scene play out again in his mind's eye. "They jumped me off a shuttle neck deep in flies and water so hot it nearly scalded me. I went to ground. A day or so. Caught up with some other bruv, Saker, his name was. Me and him worked our way out that stinkin' place. "Had a scrap here and there. Nothing too nasty." Nero ran a hand through his hair. "I saw the shuttle to take us out. Fore we could make it some scrappers came running out the jungle. Saker yells at me to run, but I don't. Then, he came out the woods wearing tatters what once might'a been high hive, eyes blazin', and fire dancing round him like it was alive. "Them stormies what was watching the shuttle hadn't flipped a finger for the scrappers, but when that witch came out they got cold and cocked right quick. Witch tore up them scrappers. I ran thinking Saker'd be behind me." Nero grimaced. "Saker went for the witch with a sharpened bone." He chuckled mirthlessly. "A bleeding bone. Witch lit him up like a match. By then, I was up the ramp and them stormies were laying down fire like I'd never seen. A dozen of 'em emptied hellfire into the bastard, and he still killed two 'fore they knocked him off his feet. Still didn't die. Had to hack his head off with a bayonet."
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Jan 29, 2014 20:41
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Stephano Doval, Survivor Doval let out a long, drawn whistle after Nero recounted his story. "Sounds like bad times, bruv. You and Saker had yerselves a right blood fight on yer hands from top to bottom. Brave of 'im to go for the witcher with naught but a shiv an' his courage. Braver than most. Shame. Well, here's to Saker. I reckon he's up with Him on High now, fightin' back the gates o' hell. Not a bad place to be, says I." Doval made a quick Aquila over his chest and nodded his head down in a short bow. "I had myself a bit of luck down there. Came to in the Tangle. No different than being back in the Under, for truth. So I did like I do and tiptoed about. Came up on Drako," he nodded over his should in the direction the giant had gone, "the brute, and he were in a scrap with some Ulanti. Already crushed in one's think box with a bit o' pipe but the other three were making ready to gut him. I coulda snuck on by without a sound, but it don't seem right, so I gave him a boon. I got my belt around one bleeder's neck, did him with a quick yank," he said with a smirk and motioned with his hands like one might do to squeeze the last bit out of a ration tube. "Then one comes at me with the long shank, but Drako busts out his grey bits too. The last one tries to be a hero and stabs the lunk in the ribs. Just pissed him right off and got the Ulanti's self drown." "After that we had a bit of luck. Found a security picter and got a good path out the Tangle. Led us right into a Throne-damned blizzard though. Naught to do but just go through it. Nearly froze to death and had a pack of hungries out there ready to eat us when we did. Then we came up on the shuttle, and it were the most beautiful thing I ever did see. So, one to the next, way onto way, and here I am." Doval spread his hands and shrugged. "Anyhow, glad to see ya here, bruv. Knew you'd make it."
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Jan 30, 2014 23:28
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The House of Madread Nero scratched at one cheek with a long finger. "Drako, eh? Never would'a figured." "Drako?" Nero and Stephano looked up to see Registrant June Malversdottir standing over them. She looked crisp and clean, and better than ever in iron red armor of a kind Stephano had never seen before. It certainly wasn't Guard or Inquisition standard issue, and was strapped on with odd triangular buckles and matte leather flaps. He would have asked about it, but she had a strange look in her eye. "Drako, who?"
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Jan 31, 2014 14:46
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Stephano Doval, The Gang's All Here "Oh, Mamsel Malversdottir. Glad to see you made it too." And in such fashion. Nero and he had made due with battered uniforms and crude shivs. Somehow the Judge had acquired a full suit of armor. She was impressively resourceful. "Drako? Err, something that started with an M. Malfred? Mandreg? No, Madread. That was it." The look on June's face led Doval to believe she knew Drako from before the Primus, though he didn't see how, and that she did not hold him in particularly high regard. "Why? Is there something I should know?"
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Jan 31, 2014 22:57
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By Reputation Only "About Drako? Not as far as I know," June said. She slid the iron red helm under one arm, and squatted in front of the two former gangers. "I've only heard of him by reputation. Tough, belligerent, arrogant." June shrugged. "Nothing unusual." She fixed Stephano with a serious stare. "It's his father I've met in person, Berenger Madread. Excuse me, no, it would be Lord Inquisitor Berenger Madread. One of the most ruthless, and ambitious, inquisitors in the Calixis Sector. Man is barely over 150, and they say he's being groomed to succeed Lord Inquisitor Caidan as head of the sector conclave. If you've a taste for ordos politics, Drako might be your route. If not, I'd stay clear. People in the Lord Madread's long shadow have a tendency to get caught up in his plots for better or worse."
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Feb 1, 2014 00:09
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Stephano Doval, Friends in High Places Lord Inquisitor. Well, Doval had only suspected that Drako was a noble of some standing. He never would have imagined that the man's father was perhaps the next in line to become Lord Inquisitor of the entire Calixis Sector. He had mad a lofty ally indeed. Stephano was never much for politics, his will was only to serve, but the great and holy Ordos were nothing if not political. More than a few choices to save or drat entire planets came down to one Inquisitor's influence against an others. It was maddening to Doval that so much power rested out of the hands of the Imperium's populace, which he considered its real strength. He did not enjoy politics, but he understood that you cannot escape from them, whether you wish to participate or not. Stephano rubbed the stubble on his jaw and regarded June across from him. "Well, I can't say a man like myself has ever been much for politics. Gangers usually don't mingle with politicians unless they're robbing them," he said with a smirk and a nudge at Nero's shoulder. "But the House of Questions is a place of influence, and you don't much have a choice but to get political. Besides, Drako and I had each others back in the Primus. He's a good enough sort. Who his father is shouldn't keep me from honoring allegiances. So, Mamsel Malversdottir, grab a cot. Take a seat. Nero and I were just discussing the Primus. You seemed to have fared well."
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Feb 1, 2014 00:40
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Side Effects of Success Nero and Stephano shifted, so Malversdottir could join them on the cot. She put the iron red helm between her feet, and began the laborious process of unbuckling the complicated suit. "My primus started like many, I suppose. I woke up in an empty alley in the middle of an abandoned city. Either the ordos went to extremes to make it look real, or the place used to be lived in. The noble manse where I found this -." She rapped two knuckles on the crest of the helm, then dropped a gauntlet right next to it. "Certainly looked the part." With some effort, Malversdottir yanked one boot off. "Ran into some scum eventually. The armor helped." She peeled off a sock to reveal a nasty red and yellow rash all over her skin. "But, whatever chems they put on this stuff does not agree with me." She scratched furiously at her ankle. "Burns like fire. Goes from my neck to my heels." She cut an eye toward Stephano and Nero. "You two did well. I heard the psyker boy nearly died."
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Feb 1, 2014 16:10
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Stephano Doval, Concerned Citizen The rash evoked a concerned noise from Stephano while he inspected it. He was no healer, but it looked uncomfortable and angry. "Looks a little dodgy, June. I would take that to the medicae if you haven't already been. Be a shame to make it through the Primus so intact only to lose a foot to infection. I've seen it happen to less infected wounds." They had all made it though, and that was important. The future of the Ordos would rely on these new aspirants one day. Stephano was not surprised to hear about the boy psyker Andre though. That was the eventual fate of all psykers though, was it not? From the day of their sanctioning their fate was to be used by their masters until they eventually expired. "Well, just as well that he made it. For now at least. I don't envy any of them though. I've never known a psyker to survive into venerability. Their purpose seems to be to die for the Imperium. Emperor protect them."
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Feb 3, 2014 00:16
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The Trial Secundus Malversdottir smirked. "Concerned over me, hiver? I'll find a medicae soon enough." She looked like she was about to say more when she was interrupted by a a single chime. Two more followed, then another, and another. The chimes echoed all over the Gottshall, and confused registrants looked to one another for an explanation. Stephano knew what it was. Expensive uphive info-slates did more than their common counterparts. A quality slate could hold more information, collate it systematically, and, when properly engineered, automatically inform the owner of updates with a single chime. While Nero and Malversdottir looked around quizzically, Stephano pulled his info-slate out of a trouser pocket, and began cycling through the table of contents. There were a lot more than he remembered. In addition to the basic data on the ship and the schola, the info-slate now held a full schedule of instructional courses, combat training seminars, and security interviews Stephano was expected to attend. There was also a still downloading packet of information on standard Inquisitorial investigation procedures, one on standards and practices of the Conclave Calixis, and an encrypted packet entitled Admitted Enemies of the Imperium of Man. Nero arced an eyebrow. "What you go, bruv?"
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Feb 4, 2014 16:01
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Stephano Doval, Translator There was a lot of new information indeed. Most of it looked like what he would expect from the Secundus. The only part which really caught Doval's eye was the packet in transfer about the standard procedures of the Concave Calixis. Had selections for the acolytes already been made? He had heard of the Calixis Sector and thanks to June understood that Lord Inquisitor Madread may soon be in power there. He had never been there though. All he knew was that the sector was large, that the Inquisition had a very prominent presence there, and that there was never a lack of heresy to root out. It was also sure to be a political quagmire. But, he didn't want to place the cart before the grox yet. Nothing was final. Stepahno looked across to his companions and indicated the screen on his info-slate. "Our Secundus schedule. Seems like we'll be busy. Give yours here, Cutter. Lemme have a peek-through and see what the Inks got you queued up to. June, what about you? Does your schedule line up with either of ours?" I'd like to see if I can match up where all of our classes intersect. Nero can't read so I'm looking to see what times he shares with either June or myself so we can show him to the correct place. Any class he has on his own I'll just point out to him on the map. Also I want to see if either of them has info indication that they are bound for somewhere other than the Calixis Sector. Lastly, whatever time is left between now and the beginning of their training you can do narratively unless their is some other event you have in mind.
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Feb 4, 2014 21:12
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The Trial Secundus Finalitas Nero's schedule is nearly, but not quite, a carbon copy of Stephano's own. It will be pretty easy to direct Nero to the right place. June's schedule is quite different, and her slate has received a file entitled Ceremonies of the Black Ixan, Conclave of the Ixaniad Sector. With the Trial Primus finally complete, the next few months aboard the Sanctuary of Truth were a blur of classes, training, learning, and pain. Stephano applied himself dutifully, and helped Nero through the tough coursework where his inability to read truly took its toll. For his part, the scab-hiver worked hard, and by the second month could read basic phrases and even a few complete sentences. The two saw little of June Malversdottir, Mamsel Hallow, or the psyker boy, Andre. They saw more of Drako. It seemed the son of Lord Inquisitor Madread would be assigned to the same sector from which his powerful father held court. None, save Drako, seemed surprised by this. "Honestly," Drako once confided to Stephano, "I never thought he liked me very much." Aside from the intellectual stimulation, there were endless physique building regimes, sleepless nights, and hours spent stealing enough food to get by. Stephano and Nero took to the latter easily enough. It hit Drako hardest, but his new friends accommodated him. Besides, stealing food for Drako had its own benefits: no other registrant dared put a foot wrong where the slab-faced giant roamed. Finally, the registrants gathered one last time in the Gottshall. They stood fewer in number, but still numbered in their hundreds. Each wore a clean, crisp Inquisitorial uniform, so a sea of midnight black greeted First Praeceptor Elbert Yohn when he mounted the dais in the center of the chamber. His silver hair shone in the faint lumen light, and he did not quite glare at them through his tinted monocle. He even smiled after a moment. "I am pleased to greet you," Yohn said. "Welcome once more to the Gottshall, Interrogators of the Holy Ordos." The God-Emperor himself could not have stopped the exultant roar that followed. Even Stephano allowed himself a momentary smile that he subdued quickly enough. Eventually, the tumult faded away. "By now," Yohn went on,"each of you know where you will be tasked. Some will attend the Black Ixan, others the Scarus Conclave, and many shall walk Scintilla in service to the Calixis Conclave. Make no mistake. No matter where you serve, your life is imperiled from now until your death. The enemies of the God-Emperor and his Imperium are more numerous than the stars. Hunt them out, and cleanse them. All that remains to you is your gene-implant and the Trial Tertius. I doubt any of you will fail it. It is little more than formality." Yohn made the sign of the aquila across his chest and bowed slightly to the new interrogators. "Go forth now, and fear no darkness. Your info-slate will inform you when the medicae are ready to scribe your gene-implant." An Inquisitorial gene-implant is a subdermal identification technique that allows the Inquisition to identify its own without there being any obvious mark on the exterior body. To even detect the implant, a heretical cell would have to analyze the DNA of a subject, and know exactly what they were looking for. Very, very few organizations maintain the capability. When it is necessary, the implant can be removed, but, as might be expected, most Inquisitorial agents are reluctant to do this. pre:XP Rewards +50 xp - Completing the Trial Secundus & role-playing Total XP: +50 xp Also, add +2 to all Characteristics to represent the long months training at the Schola Verus.
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Feb 5, 2014 19:02
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Stephano Doval, Floating Through Time It was clear that Mamsel Malversdottir was on a far different path than Nero and Doval. They seldom saw her in the halls of the Sanctuary, but always tried to keep current on her progress. The ship became more and more sparse as aspirants dropped out, either unable to perform physically or focus mentally. Stephano excelled at both however and ensured that Nero did as well. It was certainly an extra burden to try and keep the scab-ganger up to speed, but in Doval's mind it was worth it. The Imperium needed every promising acolyte that it had. By ensuring that Nero passed the Secundus Stephano was helping the Empire, but also gaining a close ally. Two in fact. Drako was ever-present as well and balanced out the trio's little pack with some much needed intimidation. All things considered the three of them fared well and performed admirably. Studying with Nero "Th-theft...against...the Throne, or c...con-conspeer....frak all!" Nero tossed down his info-slate and sat back, sucking on his plat-gilt teeth. "Take a break," Stephano said flatly, and tossed the ganger a sliver of almost mealy fruit. "You're going better. Faster than I did." Nero quirked a brow and caught the fruit sliver then thoughtfully packed it into his mouth. "For true? You didn't know your letters neither?" Stephano shook his head and ate his third of the fruit, then tossed the rest to Drako. "Not for a long time. Not until I started trading secrets. I used to steal stacks of paper, having not the slightest of what they said, and then try to sell them for anything I could get. Started reading names first, knowing high-hivers would give good gilt for dirt on their rivals, and then did it, piece by piece, from there." Nero nodded and made a thoughtful, "Huh. Ya know, Cutter. Would be a might bit easier if them fraking letters didn't talk so fraking confusing-like." Stephano laughed. Confiding with Drako "Honestly," Drako once confided to Stephano, "I never thought he liked me very much." Stephano shrugged and ran the edge of his shiv against a tiny flake of ceramite he had stolen from a piece of broken armor. "Maybe he doesn't," he said flatly. "I don't think it much matters. I've never worried about whether people liked me. I'd much rather be respected." Doval put his sharpening aside and turned his steely grey eyes up to Drako's beady, dark ones. "You didn't much like Nero and I when we all got here. I assure you the feeling was mutual. But then in the Primus you and I got put into the thick of things and saw what we were really worth. We gained each others respect. Things have changed since then, ya?" Drako listened silently, but nodded along as he followed. "What I believe is that comradry only grows from the seed of respect. So I wouldn't worry about whether your father likes you or not. He respects you and your abilities enough that he is confident in you operating in his Sector. Take that as you want. Decide how much you care about him liking you later." Stephano went back to his shiv and a long silence fell between Drako and him. Eventually the slab-faced giant made something that resembled a smile. The Gottshall, Halfway There Stephano was proud. His stood tall and straight, looking resplendent with his peers all in their tailored black uniforms. It was a happy day. The majority of the Schola Verus was behind them all now. From this point they only had to sell themselves by merit to an Inquisitor. First Praeceptor Yohn's words were inspiring, raising cheers from everybody in the hall, but not entirely settling. Nothing at the Schola had been as it seemed, and when the venerable instructor assured the entire congregation that none of them should fail it only made Stephano think that this challenge would be much harder than he was letting on. He would be ready. He was sure Nero and Drako would be as well. His paranoia had rubbed off on them in the past few months. In fact the three of them had all learned from each other. Nero had made him a much more deadly fighter, Drako had schooled him in the various pitfalls of Ordos politics, and Doval his taught them both how not to be seen when they didn't wish to be. When the First Praeceptor released them Stephano made the Aquila back to him and slowly filed out of the crowd until he located Nero. He was already looked at his own info-slate to see when his gene-implant was due and whether there were any other instructions about whom he was meeting for the Tertius. He only paused to look up to Nero and nod towards his info-slate. "You good with that, Cutter?"
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Feb 7, 2014 01:10
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Urguile's Missive Stephano Doval did not wait long. The First Praeceptor had only just finished speaking when Stephano's info-slate chimed softly. He thumbed the service rune, and opened the waiting missive. pre:+++ HOLY ORDERS OF THE EMPEROR'S INQUISITION/RESTRICTED ACCESS +++ +++ INSTRUCTIONAL LOG/ORIGINATOR: PRAECEPTOR 3378/URGUILE, MICKEN +++ +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: HATE IS ITS OWN REWARD. +++ Interrogator Doval, report to Medicae Citadel 31-E to receive gene-implant prior to Trial Tertius. You're competent. You'll do fine. +++ END +++
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Feb 7, 2014 22:07
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Stephano Doval, Walking Softly You're competent. You'll do fine. That just about confirmed his suspicions. There would no doubt be some test between here and the medicae bay. He was ready though. Stephano had left his long shiv back in his secret stash, as it clashed with his pristine black uniform, but the short shiv was tucked tightly in the small of his back. Doval consulted his info-slate to find where medicae bay 31-E was and started off, but remained wary for trouble.
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Feb 7, 2014 23:55
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Medicae Citadel 31-E Clear flex-glass doors and white plaster floors dominated Medicae Citadel 31-E. According to the schematics on his info-slate, Citadel 31-E extended virtually the entire height of the Sanctuary of Truth. Orderlies in cream gowns and servitors shining with chrome dominated the interior corridors. Every so often a chirurgeon would emerge from surgery with crimson on his gloves and gown, surrounded by orderlies like vultures trying to get a taste. Stephano watched them while he moved up each labyrinthine deck toward Fornix West, a vast chamber on deck 19. If he hadn't had the map that downloaded with Urguile's message, finding Fornix West would have been as arduous as escaping the Tangle. And it wasn't like he could have asked for directions; the orderlies and chirurgeons never gave him a second glance. Not that they had much time for glances. Their hands were full with thousands and thousands of wounded and dying Kommitzar slave-soldiers. Each deck was packed with them. The crowding eased the higher Stephano went, but the lower decks had men, sometimes corpses, laying out in the halls. If the Kommitzari insignia was anything to go by, the wounded came from 3 different divisions. Still, the gene-implant and the Trial Tertius awaited, so Stephano did not linger on the lower decks. By the time he reached Fornix West, he was entirely alone, and it became obvious why. He walked through the crack between two iron gates which could have opened wider to accommodate a battle tank. Maybe one time they had, since the skull-cog insignia of the Adeptus Mechanicus leered down from the vaulting roof. Like the Gottshall now many decks below him, the interior of Fornix West beyond the massive doors was stark and empty save for the torch-cherubs dancing in the empty space above his head. The little unfortunates let him see, but made the light move in weird ways. Shadows creatures and half-seen shapes seemed to follow him as he walked across the plasteel deck. Intellectually, Stephano knew it had to be a trick of the light, but that logic did not stop him from checking the shiv at his back. That the torch-cherubs occasionally mewled something that sounded like a child laughing did not help. Stephano relaxed his grip on the shiv when he stepped through a normal sized door on the far end of the chamber, and into a dedicated workroom. Metal shelves lined each wall, and bizarre pieces of techno-arcana occupied every inch of space. There were boxes and crates and casks from a thousand different worlds crowded beneath the shelves, and fully half the floor space. A few were stacked to the ceiling. The rest was given over to a giant forge spitting molten heat, a work table with surgical tools, and a quaintly out of place medicae rest-bed a few paces from it. The workroom's only occupant, and Stephano suspected its owner, waited patiently nearby the medicae rest-bed. At least, Stephano supposed the thing was waiting patiently. It was hard to judge the emotions of something so obviously no longer human. That the creature was of high rank in the Adeptus Mechanicus, there was no doubt. Robes the bright red color of clean promethium hung from the creature's shoulders, and draped down to the floor. They did not cover its legs, because there were no legs. There was a torso, and arms, but no legs. Instead, a metal spine big enough to have come from of a bull grox extended out where the pelvis should have been, stretched around sinuously as a snake, then attached securely to a track in the ceiling. Stephano said nothing. The creature looked at him, and smiled. He thought so, anyway. The face was a mess of metal plates that shifted to form crude eyes and a mouth. It was something like a smile at least. "Greetings, Interrogator Stephano Doval of the Holy Orders of the Inquisitions. I am Magos Triogan," the creature said. The voice was like a room full of servitors trying to talk over one another. "I have been expecting you."
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Feb 8, 2014 16:00
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Stephano Doval, Alone in the Dark It never bothered Stephano to go unnoticed. In fact up until now he had almost forgotten how good it felt to just be another face in the crowd. Prior to coming to the Schola Verus, even while operating with other cells of acolytes, he had always been on the outside. Being forced to trust and live with Nero and Drako had taught him a lot about the close bond of loyalty, which he knew would be essential to his success outside of the Schola. Now though, slipping through the throngs of wounded Kommitzari and cream-clad medicaes he was just a shadow. Despite his vivid black uniform he slipped through the halls of the medicae citadel unnoticed, like a dark spectre. He wondered about the amount of Kommitzari though. The Sanctuary of Truth was a massive ship and certainly contained more than just the Schola Verus within it. What other sorts of missions did it endeavor to though? What were multiple divisions of deadly slave-soldiers doing aboard and what challenge did they face where so many of them had been injured or killed? The universe was a very deadly place it seemed. Pondering the possibilities of what such a large fighting force could be used for occupied Stephano until the clean, white, sterile walls of the surgical bays fell away, the lights dimmed low, and he found himself quite completely alone. This was a section of the ship that had now seen usage in a very long time. He slipped through the cracked gates and was looked down on by the massive Machina Opus above him--the leering cog and skull of the mechanicus. From the dimensions of the hall and size of the gate that he had passed through Stephano imagined that this section of the ship had once held the massive weapons of war: tanks, cannons, and aircraft. If it were not for the path laid out before him on his info-slate and the fluttering cherubs above him he would have thought that he was going in the wrong direction. His destination finally came into view and Doval let go of the shiv at his back. Danger may still lurk inside but from the roaring orange glow he imagined that he would be able to see it coming. What he saw when he entered the room was not entirely unexpected, though no less surprising. His medicae bed sat awkwardly off to the side in a room dominated by mechanical wonders, and above them was the master of this realm: the Magos. Stephano's face never slipped from it's impersonal, disconnected visage. With all of the baring of a man who had seen such oddities a thousand times the Interrogator simply nodded and made a passable, if unprecise symbol of the cog with his hands. "It's an honor, Magos. Your work space is impressive. You have quite a collection of treasures." Stephano had a passable knowledge of Imperial Tech, though knew very little of archeotech. He had sold a few items of ancient design back under Hive Cerberus, and could determine their age and worth with a scrutinizing eye, but could not divine how they worked. He could deduce though, from the location of the workshop within this ship and the empty space that surrounded it, that the Magos had not always served such a minor function within the ship. "Looking around I can presume that Biologis is not your primary realm of study. Fabrication, perhaps? Seems some time though since that hall was full with the war machines of the forge." To the Magos it probably only seemed a moment. It was impossible to tell how old the creature was. Once he had reached such a state of ascendancy his technological wonders could quite easily maintain the remainder of his biological portions almost indefinitely. By now, attached to this portion of the ship, he was hardly an individual at all. He was just a fraction of the Sanctuary's greater machine spirit and spoke with the weight of the Omnissiah's blessing.
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Feb 9, 2014 21:36
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Magos Triogan "Biologis?" Triogan's steel-wire spine twitched. "No. Not biologis. Alchemys. Thus my craft is varied and of use to secret powers." Triogan tilted his head to one side while spindle fingers with needle tips shifted rhythmically like the levers in an engine. "Once, long ago, the great Magos Zosimos lived and worked here. It is said he perfected the Alkahest, transmuted base materials into raw technetium, and sublimated pure magnesia." The metal face plates slid over one another to form a smile, and Triogan's shoulders twisted into an over-exaggerated shrug. It was like watching a metal support try on the emotion. "Zosimos is gone. Dead, it is said, at the feet of -." He broke off, and glanced at Stephano with glowing azure eyes. "The feet of one whose name it is ill tidings to speak aloud." Triogan turned away to begin rearranging the surgical tools laid out perfectly on the work table. "We shall begin when you are prepared."
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Feb 10, 2014 14:22
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Stephano Doval, In Faith's Hands All techpriests could be considered strange. Their religion was little understood and involved a great amount of secrecy. Those who rose to the ranks of Magos were even more strange, and who could blame them? The weight of such fantastical knowledge gleaned from communication with ancient machine spirits was more than a mortal mind was meant to bear. Magos Troigan was even stranger still. While most priests of mars delved into the logical mysteries of the machine he had chosen a path completely divergent, where science and magic became completely indistinguishable. Stephano looked at the surgical bed and wondered if he would rise from it nearly the same as when he lied down. He would be in the hands of a creature with uncommon faith and a mind as alien as a Xeno's. Stephano could not refuse though. This was part of his trials and there had to be a reason for Praeceptor Urguile sending him here. Alone. Doval removed his crisp black jacket and the sleeveless jerkin beneath it, leaving his thin torso bare to the heat of the furnace, then went to lie down on the medicae table. He took a single deep breathe and closed his eyes, retreating into his own thoughts. "You may begin."
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Feb 10, 2014 18:58
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Chirurgery Triogan lumbered forward, gears rattling and grinding like a battle tank with a loose track. He loomed large over Stephano, a mix of metal and crimson. The needles on Triogan's right hand twitched, perhaps in anticipation, and the tech-priest began. Five needles, each long as a scabber's knife, slid into the flesh around Stephano's heart. Stephaone could feel each one - a white hot lance radiating pain throughout his chest. Triogan twisted his wrist in a way no human should have been able, and the needle-fingers popped off. Each one was now a shunt into Stephano's body, and metal coils crawled like worms out of Triogan's sleeve. They connected to the needle-shunts, and various fluids began dribbling in. The pain disappeared quickly as a cool, entirely pleasant, sensation rippled away from one injection point. "Analgesic, antibiotic, anticoagulant, travatozine, and a neural inhibitor of my own creation." Triogan said. He dipped his head. "You will experience excruciating sensation, but the memory will not survive." Triogan reached with fresh needles toward Stephano's eyes, and then the agony truly began. *** Stephano awoke to a blinding pain between his eyes, and a chest so sore he could barely move his arms. Triogan was hunched nearby working on an archaeotech device Stephano did not recognize. It was obviously a weapon of some kind, and the magos handled it as if it might exploded if handled without care. Perhaps it might. "I apologize for waking you with pain," Triogan said. He did not look up from his work on the device. "Something is wrong. The ship-wide vox network is down, and the medicae staff I summoned to collect you has not arrived. I dispatched two cherubim 72 minutes ago to investigate. Their operational signals ceased 45 seconds before you awoke." Triogan straightened as much as his abused form allowed. He stared down at Stephano with glowing eyes. "I do not know what further trials the Inquisition intended for you. I do know this is no test."
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Feb 10, 2014 23:29
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Stephano Doval, Lone Operative It took a time to comprehend or remember anything but the pain in his body. Stephano groaned weakly, hurt even more by the passage of air out of his chest, and stiffly rolled up to a seated position. The room was dramatically lit by the inferno in the forge beside him and made the only other occupant, the Magos Troigan, appear like a massive mechanical leach gaining succor from the tracks above them. Doval focused through the pain between his eyes but the Magos' message only barely sunk in and rattled out the inside of his abused mind before if gained meaning. "Communications are down...cherubim gone...not a test." The words felt numb in his mouth, but repeating the message finally let Stephano understand what was happening. "The ship is...under attack?" He rubbed his temples for a moment and took another deep, painful breathe. "But who would be so...insane? The ship is brimming with Kommitazi, stormtroopers, and acolytes." No, Doval. Interrogators now, and trained killers all. Trained for a purpose just such as this. The Tersius was replaced in Stephano's mind by a new mission: located the threat, eliminate it, and retake the ship. Stephano stiffly pulled on his jerkin and jacket then replaced his shiv at the small of his back. He was woefully under armed. "Magos, can you outfit me? Arms, armor, or communications? A micro-bead would be ideal, but failing that you should be able to send messages to me through my info-slate." He rose from the bed with the intent of searching the various shelves full of mechanical wonders for anything of use, but quickly stumbled under the pain in his chest. "Argh! Feth all. Maybe you have something to dull the pain as well? Or perhaps..." The Magos studied a knowledge that was dark and strange even to the rest of the Machine Cult, but such secrets often brought uncommon power. It may be more than his mortal body could withstand, but any sacrifice was worth while in service to Him. "What about your alchemies? Can your magics help me defeat the enemies that may lie ahead?" In the service to Mankind anything was permitted.
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Feb 11, 2014 22:48
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Sufficiently Advanced Science "Magic?" Triogan's shifting-plate face swiveled toward Stephano, and his glowing eyes blinked. "Magic? I am no sorcerer consorting with aethereal powers. Alchemys is a sacred science, ancient before the first Man ever boarded a slow-ship toward Proxima Centauri." The shift-plate smile twisted. "And yet, as you imply, not wholly permitted." With surprising speed, Triogan rattled across the workroom to a shelf piled high with mysteries. Nimble fingers picked a device no bigger than a grape from the seeming mess, and a laspistol of unrecognizable provenance. He twisted back to Stephano. "I can provide you a vox node and weapon. I have no armor that you can wear, nor can I assuage your anguish. It is psychic as much as physical." He rattled back to Stephano, and held up the small tech. "This I will implant behind your ear. It will interface with your central nervous system, but, I will warn you, it is no more reliable than the vox systems I have already tried to make contact with." Triogan drove the micro-vox into the flesh behind Stephano's ear, and handed him the laspistol. The grip was completely foreign, and the weapon seemed to lack a las clip entirely. Triogan rolled backward a few feet. "When it comes to the mysteries of my art, and how they might aid you.... What are you prepared to sacrifice to find victory? I am no Zosimos. My mastery is more...crude."
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Feb 12, 2014 00:29
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Stephano Doval, The Lamb The pain from the micro-vox did not even register past the pain Doval already felt in his head. As well the laspistol in his hand felt like nothing he had ever experienced. He wasn't even certain he knew how to fire it. Las weapons had never been his forte. If was better than nothing he supposed. He always relied more on his wits than his weapons anyway. When it came to Triogan's alchemy and what he was willing to sacrifice there was much less to wonder about. "Anything," he answered immediate, stern and flat, but certain. "But time is the limiting factor. The longer I wait the harder this will be. I'm willing to give whatever is necessary to bring this ship back to the Emperor's grace, but it has to be done in hours, not days." Stephano tucked the pistol into the waist of his trousers and straightened to look fearlessly into the Magos' glowing eyes. "Let's not waste any time."
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Feb 12, 2014 03:00
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The Elixir of Life "There is only one thing," Triogan said. He parted his crimson cowling to reveal more metal and machine. He whistled a binary command, and, where a mortal would have ribs, metal panels peeled backward like the petals of a flower. They revealed a small syringe plated with shimmering gold and fashioned such that the stylized snakes twisting around the spline seemed to ripple and move. Triogan removed it with all the reverence of a priest handling the bones of a saint. "The Eyn Sof." Triogan yanked up Stephano's sleeve, and punched the thin needle into his forearm. "It is pure immortality." Stephano realized he had been wrong. The syringe was not plate with simmering gold; it was clear glass. As Triogan depressed the syringe the golden Eyn Sof slowly emptied to flowed into Stephano's veins. He could almost see the stuff trickling under the skin. "You will suffer no disease or infirmity. Injury will not kill you." Triogan yanked out the syringe, and returned it to his metal frame. A single drop of gold-tinged blood welled on the injection site. "But you can be injured. You can be cut, shot, and dismembered, but you will not die. For a time at least. Nothing is eternal. Not even this. It may be enough to see you victorious." Triogan blinked his glowing azure eyes. "And there are other side effects. My formulae is not yet perfect. No one retains their sanity for long while Eyn Sof flows through them. This latest incarnation should give you a week. Perhaps more."
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Feb 12, 2014 15:40
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Stephano Doval, The Ticking Clock Immortality. It was something that Doval had never coveted. Those who sought it often were led into the clutches of heresy or killed during their search. Those who come close to having it almost certainly went mad. It seemed, so would be. Stephano's mind had always been his greatest asset and the thought that it may leave him was a difficult one to reconcile. He had asked for this though, hadn't he? He'd told the Magos that any sacrifice was worth while in service to the Emperor, and that was true. Perhaps his madness would not ruin his ability to function within the Inquisition. However if it did maybe he could serve in some other way. Perhaps he would be one of the mad killers in the Trial Primus there to test other registrants, or maybe serve out his days as a servitor, no longer needing him mind at all. At least the immortality was not permanent, and should things go poorly he would eventually die and join the Emperor's spirit. Stephano watched the bead of gold-tinged blood roll down the side of his arm and dispassionately pulled his sleeve down. "Thank you Magos," was all he managed before turning away towards the door. No time to mince with pleasantries now, and the Magos would not care either way. He slipped out of the door and into the open darkness of the empty bay. Time to hunt. First target: those who had taken the control room. I'd like to stay hidden as much as possible and steer towards the communications section of the ship, if it is marked on my map. I'll try to avoid any large groups of possible enemies, but if I see any single ones I'm gonna shank a bitch and get their uniform. Also, sorry for the delay.
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Feb 15, 2014 18:47
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No worries. I'm out of town myself, so I'll update tomorrow.
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Feb 15, 2014 20:42
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Return to Medicae Citadel 31-E Leaving Fornix West and Magos Triogan, Stephano checked his info-slate to get his bearings. The ship was imperiled, but how and by whom? The best bet would be to head to the Tower of Missives where all communication, both astropathic and mundane, entered the ship. Someone there would be able to tell him what was going on, or he'd figure it out on the way and try to send a distress signal. It wasn't a great plan, but given his lack of information it was the best plan available. Stephano studied the bare bones schema on his info-slate only for a moment. As he suspected, to get to the Tower of Missives, he'd have to go back down through Medicae Citadel 31-E, then use the starboard transit passage to reach the Tower. It stood near the aft most section of the ship, and, as the ancient shipwrights likely intended, was very close to the command deck and the massive Enginarium housing. All three would be prime targets for any attacker, and major points for the Inquisition to hold. Decided on his course, Stephano slid the info-slate back into a jacket pocket, and got moving toward the infirmaria. At its most basic, each deck of Medicae Citdael toward 31-E resembled a flat cross - four separate corridors converging on a central nave. The corridors might access chirurgery theaters, recovery wards, storehouses, or any number of other functions. Regardless, the central naves almost always held an orderly post or servitor locus from which those menials could go about their duties. Stopping at the main entryway near Fornix West, Stephano stared through clear plex-glass doors straight down the corridor at Servitor Locus 38 in the central nave of Medicae Citdadel 31-E, Deck 38. The servitors stood in serried ranks of polished chrome and cold, dead flesh. Only their mechanical frames kept them erect. The orderlies and wounded Kommitzari choking the corridor between Stephano and Servitor Locus 38 were not so enabled. Their bodies were tangled and scattered as only agonizing death could arrange. It took no time at all for Stephano to figure out why - a wan yellow mist roiled above the white plaster floor tiles. He'd never seen it's like, but it didn't take a fully trained Mechanicus monk to recognize killing gas.
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Feb 17, 2014 15:13
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Stephano Doval, Immortal? The Tower of Missives was a long journey from here and there was no doubt that he would meet many challenges along the way. According to Magos Triogan he could not die while the Eyn Sof filled his body...but Stephano was unsure how much he trusted the machine priest. They were quite prone to madness, especially at such and age and level of augmentation of a Magos. Doval hoped that he would not have to test his deathlessness so soon, but when he was greeted by the pile of corpses on the other side of the plex-glass it appeared he wouldn't have a choice. Gas: a smart choice to use against a ship full of such highly trained operatives. It didn't give much of a clue as to whom was behind the attack. Xenos could use gas just as much as heretics. The challenge now was figuring out how to get passed the deadly clouds. If the Eyn Sof would in fact keep him from dying he could just walk through, but there was no telling what the gas would do to his body. If it scarred his lungs then as soon as the elixir wore off he would be a dead man. But then again...did he even have to breath? How long could he hold his breath before the lack of oxygen began to damage him? A minute? Five? Ten? Certainly he could do it long enough to get through the medicae bay. Stephano took in a deep breathe and held it. He would have to test his theory before he ventured out into the gas. And then again perhaps he could skip the gas entirely. It seemed to hug the floor in a thick mist. If he could access the ventilation system then perhaps he could travel above the threat. Stephano continued to hold his breathe, still testing the limits of hid immortality, but meanwhile began to search for a vent duct he might be able to access.
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Feb 18, 2014 18:00
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Stephano holds his breath without any discomfort until he actually forgets that he's holding his breath. It seems the Eyn Sof removed his need for blood oxygenation.
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Feb 18, 2014 19:49
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