#hive7

[a-40k-dad-showcase]

AZORIAN FLUFF MASTERPOST

FORGE WORLD AZORIA — Aϱ-LXXXV

Affiliation : Adeptus Mechanicus Geological Radius : 2250 km Surface area : 15,910,000 km² Surface gravity : 7,85 m/s² (0,8g) Population : 9 billion (estimated)

World Classification : ϕ-ϱ-η Alternate Class : Knight World (House Sarrokkæn) Household Grade : Secundus 

Tithe Grade : Aptus Non Aggregate : 1,000: Aestimare : B800-C1 Production Grade : IV-Secundi

FOR ALL THOSE WHO APPRECIATE HOMEBREW LORE, HEREUNDER YOU WILL FIND THE ONGOING AZORIAN LORE CuRRENTLY BEING COMPILED INTO A SINGLE POST.

Summary :

Azoria is a Forge World of the Adeptus Mechanicus located in the Segmentum Tempestus, roughly in the middle of the triangle formed by Bakka, V'Run and Solstice. Rediscovered late M32, Azoria was originally a feudal / knight world rich in materials needed for ship-building. At first ruled by Terra, it has been transfered to Martian control at the end of M33 after the discovery by archeological expeditions of a host of strategically minor STCs. Profoundly altered by the transformation into a Forge World, Azoria's ecosystem has been all but destroyed despite the negotiation of unique conditions for the Adepus Mechanicus' take-over. Although officially run by the Adeptus Mechanicus, Azoria enjoys an unique joint-governance status, with the Fabricator-General overseeing the vast industrial zones, and a Planetary Government overseeing civil affairs. A production tax as a form of planetary-rent allowed the civil government to elevate Azoria as a thriving commercial hub for the sector and beyond.

Azoria's civil government rules over a competent and well-equiped law enforcement force spread within all its hive cities. The Adeptus Mechanicus protects its industrial zones with their legions of Skitarii. In remote plains away from the hives, the Knights of House Sarrokkæn, in vassalage to the Adeptus Mechanicus, keep sovereignty over their historical territories, called “The Wastes” by most hivers. These barren lands are populated by the Free Folk of Azoria, a parallel society living under the feudal rule of House Sarrokkæn.

Azoria is an important planet in the sector in terms of production, commerce and military might. Though the dispersed nature of its governance, and the long and difficult negotiations that lead to this arrangement resulted in the reluctance of both Terra and Mars (and by extension, Segmentum Command) to call upon Azoria for military contributions.

At the beginning of M42, Azoria issued a distress call to Bakka. Sabotage on a massive scale had taken place within the industrial areas and several Hive cities either declared themselves in open rebellion or went dark altogether. If the Skitarii and the Knights of House Sarrokkæn could clear up the industrial areas on their own, pacifying the hives or gaining access to the hives that shut off, proved another task entirely. Under the pressure of the Fabricator-General, who required the return of workers to the production facilities, the civil government had no choice but to make the call.

Transported by Naval Battlegroup Bakka's Fury, several regiments of the newly formed Spectris Cadiae and one detachment of Tempestus Scions were dispatched, alongside a regiment of the Death Korps of Krieg sent by mistake. By the time the Imperial Guard regiments had established their command posts on the desolated Azorian plains between the western border of Sarrokkæn Territory and the outskirts of Hive7, almost 5 months after the initial attacks, a formal enemy still hadn't been identified by the local defense forces.

Without clear guidance, and in the absence of an unified planetary organisation, not to mention, having to manage the expectations of the Death Korps men who were eager to lay waste to the unresponsive Hive Cities, the General Staff of the Spectres of Cadia were at a loss. Engagement-wise, troops on the ground suffered daily, morale-sapping losses during their attempts at pacifying the Hives.

Specialised in hostile environment operations and sent to Azoria under the false assumption that their presence was requested to secure the production facilities, the Spectres of Cadia were ill equipped for their urban pacification mission. They are currently still fighting an uphill battle, though Azoria definitely isn't the worst affectation in these regiments' history warfare.

The Azorian landscape in the Hives region.

The outskirts of an industrial area, weeks after the reclaiming operations lead by the Skitarii.

Early history and governance negotiations :

After being hastily incorporated into the IoM at its rediscovery, Azoria had managed to remain more or less untouched by change for a millenium, until the end of M33, when the Adeptus Mechanicus negotiated with Terra the rights to Azoria, projecting to turn it into a Forge World dedicated to the building of commerce fleets and the manufacturing of the various STCs discovered there.

At the time, Azoria, while still governed by the feudal reign of its Knightly Houses, had elevated its population and technological status to that of the smallest Hive Worlds.

The arrival of the Adeptus Mechanicus wasn’t well received and multiple conflicts ensued. The Knightly Houses of Azoria banded together, lead by House Sarrokkæn and managed, by threatening to destroys the STCs, to force Imperial authorities and the AdMech into fairer negotiations.

Out of which came the following decisions : Azoria wouldn’t become a Forge World as the Adeptus Mechanicus would have made it had they had free rein. Instead, the Adeptus Mechanicus’ implantation would not be allowed to extend over 30% of the total surface of buildable land. However, to circumvent this inconvenience, the AdMech built both deep and high on their alloted territories.

The Knights while accepting the Adeptus’ official leadership, would retain a comfortable amount of sovereignty over the Azorian people.

The civilian planetary government created especially for the newer urban areas - or hives - would also be allowed to evolve naturally, and not fall under the immediate rule of the Fabricator-General. A marginal part of the Forges’ production would also have to be ceded to the Planetary Government, as an exploitation’s tax, allowing Azoria to develop its commerce with nearby worlds.

Over the next centuries, House Sarrokkæn effectively absorbed all smaller houses and became the sole Knightly House left on the planet, ranking in to the higher tier of Grade Secundus with approximatively 300 war machines in its care.

At the dawn of M42, House Sarrokkæn still rules over a portion of the population willingly staying in “the wastes” or the non-urbanised areas found in the vicinity* of the Obsidian Keep, their ancestral homestead.

*(ca. 1.000.000 sq. km surrounded by a few hive cities and an Adeptus Mechanicus production megastructure. The closest hive to the Obsidian Keep is Hive 7)

While the House’s rule might not have changed, the level of comfort and quality of life of all from serfs to masters had tremendously improved, only to be set back by the pollution and the contamination of the planet.

The Wastes are under the jurisdiction of House Sarrokkæn and these lands are protected and policed by the House’s own army, the Milites Gregarii.

Law and order in the urban areas and hives is under the planetary governor’s jurisdication, protected by the Azorian PDF and policed by various local enforcement agencies.

Azorian economy relies on planetary and space mining, ship-building and the manufacturing of unique goods thanks to the retrieved STCs, the commerce of which with nearby worlds plays a tremendous part in Azoria’s economical growth and thus, in maintaining its privileges and independence.

HOUSE SARROKKÆN

Current Full House Crest with the motto “Parva Sub Ingenti”

“The small under the great” ; denoting the duty of protection of not only the people of the Free Territories, but also of their general interest, which has been paramount to House Sarrokkæn for over seven millenia.

Coat of Arms until the end of M33 — though not official anymore, this design is still widely in use.

Coat of Arms M34 onwards

INSERT 1 : “ARMIGER”

With a chilling mechanical wheeze, Ruinstride is clamped down onto the elevating platform. As soon as the giant becomes immobilised, cloaked figures begin scurrying about, as if they appeared out of thin air.

They engage in a ballet danced back and forth between Ruinstride and the various control panels placed on the platform. The Sacristans — responsible for the maintaining of House Sarrokkæn’s war machines — are but shadows moving in the murky, dying light of the Azorian twilight.

From within the piloting post of the Knight, very little of what happens beyond its metal shell can be heard. Not the strong, poisonous winds roaring through the desolate plains, not the noise made by the Milites Gregarii vehicles guarding the area, nor the clanking done by the ground crew at work. The pilot couldn’t hear anything other than the gentle, yet disquieting hum of the Armiger’s active systems, further intensifying the pilot’s feeling of being safely nested into a cocoon. A terrible cocoon of immeasurable might.

Sitting deep into the belly of the beast, Liwa stares at her control monitors. She is now linked to the platform’s security network and flicks through the various video feeds. There is no specific purpose in her actions, she merely passes time, waiting for the Sacristans to finish the preparations for the long ride down.

Suddenly, one of the monitors displays a communication channel opening, showing the spectrogram of the inbound signal. 

“Mistress?” inquires the Sacristan supervising the re-entry procedures. —”Ready when you are, operator.” Liwa replies, in haste. The sacristan produces a few vowels trying to begin his sentence. He stops for a second to better verbalize his thoughts with the appropriate deference. —”I’m terribly sorry if I mislead you, Mistress, but I only wished to inform you that departure will be delayed for a little while longer : Battlebound is in sight and will be travelling down with us.”

Liwa smiles for Battlebound is steered by her twin brother Leto. “Understood, operator. —Ruinstride, out.” she replies before tuning into her brother’s vox channel.

With an ever growing smile locked on her face, the young woman takes a moment to prepare her opening remark : “They told me that we had to wait for another passenger on the ride down, but I would have hoped it wouldn’t be a lowlife such as yourself.

Her satisfaction hits a high as she finds the vox’s clics a fitting punctuation for her comment. The answer comes back into the audio feed without delay :

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d swear you were trying to hurt my feelings.”

Liwa chuckles as she taps into the distant surveillance feed, tracking Battlebound’s whereabouts.

—”Not in my wildest dreams, brother.” she says.

Leto’s Armiger arrives in visual range and soon walks onto the elevating platform, taking place in front of Ruinstride. The restraining mechanism bolts the war machine down and the Sacristans begin a new dance of preparing, checking and organising.

“Anyway, what have you been doing up here today?” she inquired.

—”I’ve been working on my short-range accuracy in the south-eastern ruins” he sighs. “I learned I wasn’t as good as I thought I was because the preceptor had me retake the drills over and over again. Truthfully, this was a bit of a painful day for me.” he concludes, a hint of frustration still stuck in his throat.

“But anyway, what about you?”

—”I simply went out for a long stroll. I needed a moment alone with Ruinstride, I feel like I need to focus on my synchronisation with the machine-spirit”

The voxcaster’s incoming transmission click interrupts their chit-chat :

“Mistress, Master, we are ready to depart. Today’s descent duration will approximate 30 minutes. Your respective maintenance crews have been notified and are ready for your arrival. I hope you’ll enjoy the ride. —Operator out.”

As the voxcaster clicks signal the end of the transmission, a faint rumble can be heard from within the metal carapaces that begin to vibrate.

The young pilots experience the shivering of the platform as it begins its journey downwards. Soon they disappear into darkness, swallowed by the seemingly endless vertical tunnels running deep beneath the surface of the Wastes.

Where those lead, very few surface-dweller actually know.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE I

PRINCEPS NEFO III SARROKKÆN

High-Monarchs of House Sarrokkæn are destined to pilot the infamous “Sovereign Fury” a Dominus-pattern Knight Suit of incredibly domineering nature. Sitting at the helm of Sovereign Fury is extremely demanding as the Machine Spirit has developped a hatred of weak-minded or less-than-stellar pilots.

However, with proper tutoring, it is possible for most pilots to learn how to stay in the good graces of their steed’s Machine Spirit, for a time. Although, when the first weaknesses of age make their appearance, the Machine Spirit will invariably begin to rebel and cause glitches and malfunctions. When this happens, it signifies that it requires a new pilot, one still in his or her prime.

Upon receiving confirmation of the Machine Spirit’s desires by the sacristans, the ruling Princeps will hold an abdication ceremony and his heir apparent (or pressumtive) will be crowned Princeps of House Sarrokkæn in his  or her stead.

Usually, it doesn’t end the former Princeps’ piloting career, as he or she will usually join the ranks of the precepts of House Sarrokkæn (or choose another role if they so desire).

If a High Monarch decides to ignore the signs however, Sovereign Fury’s malfunctions will become more frequent, and more serious. If the Monarch persists and refuses to abdicate and pass on the suit to their heir, the Machine Spirit will take hold of its pilot’s mind and seriously compromise their sanity, with impairments as varied as apathy, amnesia, catatonia, dementia, coma and even, death.

Therefore, the reign of a Monarch of House Sarrokkæn is expected to end somewhere between his mid 50ies and mid 60ies. To ensure that Princeps are mature enough for their duties, if the heir to the throne is less than 25 years of age on his or her coronation day, the household is placed under regency, elected by the previous Monarch and their High Court.

Nefo II Sarrokkæn, father of the current Princeps managed to hold the reins of Sovereign Fury into his early 70ies before the first signs of the Machine Spirit’s discontentment appeared. This is definitely a rarity within the household’s long recorded history of High Monarchs.

FORMER PRINCEPS : NEFO-THE-ELDER

INSERT 2 : “Reins of Fury”

Blood pounding under the temples, the Princeps’ limbs twitched as his steed murmured directly into his mind. Not in words, but rather in a slow, continuous and menacing hum, an unnerving cybernetic growl of which he somehow could make sense.

RELEASE. ME. NOW.

The lift carrying his lance to the eastern borders of Sarrokkæn territory still was a good ten minutes away from its destination.

MAKE. US. KILL. RELEASE. THE. FURY.

Nefo tried to concentrate on his breathing, to let go of the tension in his body. His head tilted forwards has he tried to relax his tense neck. As much as he tried, he couldn’t get rid of the stiffness between his shoulder blades. An unpleasant sense of unease began to grow within his guts. Those remaining minutes promised to feel excruciatingly long.

I. AM. FIRE

The Princeps spoke softly to himself within the silence of his Knight Valiant’s cockpit. “Inhale. Hold. Exhale.” He tried to distanciate his conscious mind from the overwhelming will of the Valiant’s Machine Spirit.

I. AM. FURY.

“Just two more minutes. Just two. Two short minutes” Nefo said, those words intended as a way to keep himself focused rather than meant as an answer to the machine-voices gushing into his brain.

I. AM. SOVEREIGN.

Energy discharges started flowing from the Throne Mechanicum’s electroencephalic connectors into the Princep’s brain. A chorus of unintelligible voices faded in, seemingly creeping out from the back of his mind.

YOU. WILL. BRING. ME. TO. OUR. ENEMIES.

His Knight was unrelenting but the newly appeared chorus had become gradually clearer. Amidst their whispers, Nefo heard ghostly yet familiar voices softly speaking in unisson.

“Tune Him out”

-I know, I know! Nefo replied in the apparent loneliness of his cockpit. WE. SHALL. INCINERATE.

He is angrier than usual. WE. SHALL. OBLITERATE.

Many individual voices talked over each other for a short moment but Nefo managed to make out a few sentences out of the ghostly chaos : “You call that angry?” “You haven’t seen angry, lad.” “I’d call that eager, at most?” Nefo could swear he also heard some manic laughter in the background. Probably the ghosts of the pilots turned mad by the machine spirit, or those responsible for the machine’s spirit ill temper, depending on which part of the family lore one is enclined to believe.

“Focus on me now.” said the voice of his grandfather, who had also been his preceptor when he was but a squire in waiting of his becoming ritual.

“Tune Him out.” the spectral voice repeated.

INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCINERATE. OBLITERATE.

Nefo weakly grabbed the motion-control sticks and exhaled loudly.

“We’ve done this countless of times.”

added the memory imprint belonging to his father.

-I know.

INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCINERATE. OBLITERATE.

Nefo closed his eyes and consciously slowed down his breathing. From within his own mentalscape, he pictured a door opening. The door was so small, it could hardly let an insect through. The door flung open and brought a light into the darkness of his mind. He pictured channeling everything the Throne was feeding him through that narrow passage. As he focused on this point within his mind, the overhelming input of Sovereign Fury’s Machin Spirit trying to dominate Nefo’s brain was being slowly filtered out.

INCINERATE. OBLITERATE. INCIRATE. OBLIRATE. INRTE. OBLTRTE.

He kept his eyes closed and his mind focused on the bright dot within until the knight’s voice became but a constant hum.

INSSSS. BLLLL. IUHMMMM. BHMMMMM. MMMMM.

It is done. He is within me. I feel his needs, his desires. I will heed them, feed them : we will incinerate, we will obliterate, but it is I who holds the reigns of our Sovereign Fury once more.

The Sarrokkæn Family Branches

Each branch is lead by a Baron (or Baroness) Prime who is also part of the Princep's Exalted Court. Traditionally, the role of a Baron(ess) Prime received in court stays within the same branch. Some changes may occur, but some roles are inherently linked to certain families, for instance, the role of Forgemaster has been within the Highgate branch since time immemorial, while the Princeps of House Sarrokkæn has been stemming from Deepgarden for at least 6 millenia.

Deepgarden (Baroness Prime Gesunna, Lady of Deepgarden — Mistress of Justice)

Dimwall (Baron Prime Rikken, Lord of Dimwall — Broadhailer)

Downspire (Baron Prime Nidar, Lord of Downspire — Master Tactician)

Highgate (Baron Prime Weralt, Lord of Highgate — Forgemaster)

Tornash (Baron Prime Agleizo, Lord of Tornash — Loremaster)

Outwark* (Baron Prime Hagus, Lord of Outwark — Gatekeeper)

*The Knights of Outwark are currently on deploiment off-world, fighting wars for the Imperium, bringing glory to themselves and to House Sarrokkæn.

Breakdown of Sarrokkæn Knight numbers by pattern.

There are roughly 300 full-fledged Knights within the household, making it a high-tier Secundus-grade house. In these numbers, the smaller Armiger chassis reserved for Squires and Vindices (veteran/retired milites employed as bodyguards) are not counted. They amount for roughly an additional hundred war machines.

Traces of House Sarrokkæn history can be found in its organisation. Azoria originally counted several Knightly Houses of which The Sarrokkæn were the most influential. This influence ultimately lead to their absorbing the other smaller houses.

This was done through an alliance which fought for a better treatment by the newly-arrived planetary ruler, the Adeptus Mechanicus. Arrangements and compromises were made between the houses, among which was the construction of a fortress-city and the abandonment of all previous titles in favour of a “branch-name” to honour the memory of incorporated Households.

The names of the original noble families never were passed down in records. If they were through oral tradition, these names never were uttered again. Similarily, which branch had stemmed from the first Sarrokkæns was never disclosed.

There are however hints, that can, if not point to the right branch, at least help winnow the branches to a few plausible candidates.

One of these hints lies in the repartition of Knights through the branches. Open-records state that after the Communion of the Houses, the Warmachines were more fairly distributed among the branches. But if the rearrangement was made to be fairer, it wasn’t done equitably in the strictest sense of the term.

Some postulate that the repartition might be indication of a particular House’s original strength and influence over Azoria’s pre-Adeptus Mechanicus past. If the theory seems to hold water, there is actually no way of knowing if the Sarrokkæn, first of their name, hadn’t forseen this eventuality and chosen to forsake their former strength in an effort to make the past harder to decipher for further-away generations.

Hereunder you will find a breakdown of the Knights of House Sarrokkæn by family-branch and chasis type (including additional Armiger counts for the sake of thoroughness). It is important to note that House Sarrokkæn also possess three Acastus suits (two Porphyrion and one Asterius) which are kept deep within The Obsidian Keep's vaults. These suits are not assigned to any particular branch of the Sarrokkæn House and do not have designated pilots. The Acastus suits are considered a collective heirloom and would only be fielded under the most dire of situations.

Deepgarden (branch of Princeps Nefo and Mistress of Justice Gesunna) Questoris-Pattern : 62 Dominus-Pattern : 8 Cerastus-Pattern : 5 Armiger-Pattern : 36 Total : 75 (+36)

Dimwall (Baron Prime Rikken, Lord of Dimwall — Broadhailer) Questoris-Pattern : 26 Dominus-Pattern : 4 Cerastus-Pattern : 2 Armiger-Pattern : 16 Total : 32(+16)

Downspire (Baron Prime Nidar, Lord of Downspire — Master Tactician) Questoris-Pattern : 44 Dominus-Pattern : 6 Cerastus-Pattern : 0 Armiger-Pattern : 26 Total : 50(+26)

Highgate (Baron Prime Weralt, Lord of Highgate — Forgemaster) Questoris-Pattern : 57 Dominus-Pattern : 8 Cerastus-Pattern : 6 Armiger-Pattern : 32 Total : 71 (+32)

Tornash (Baron Prime Agleizo, Lord of Tornash — Loremaster) Questoris-Pattern : 38 Dominus-Pattern : 4 Cerastus-Pattern : 0 Armiger-Pattern : 24 Total : 42 (+24)

Outwark* (Baron Prime Hagus, Lord of Outwark — Gatekeeper) Questoris-Pattern : 32 Dominus-Pattern : 3 Cerastus-Pattern : 0 Armiger-Pattern : 16 Total : 35 (+16)

This breakdown shows that the Highgate and Deepgarden branches both hold the largest pools of Knight armours while the Outwark and Dimwall branches currently hold the smallest amount of Knights.

It is however hard to come to definitive conclusions as historically, the Knights of Highgate have been affected to the protection of the Principality and the Free Territories, as the Highgate branch can be traced to the families most invested in the design and construction of the Obsidian Keep and its subterranean network of tunnels and caves know as The Burrows.

As for Deepgarden, it is the branch of the current Princeps and a fluctuation of the number of Knights into the service of the ruling branch is a known phenomenon.

Moreover, the recent records of each branch show a slower, natural fluctuation of their strength according to inter-branch betrothal, births, number of members actually being knighted, etc.

[a-40k-dad]

“Stay on your guard, Colonel,” Evjen told the young woman as the giant blast gate closed behind the last armored vehicle of their convoy. He continued, “we have now entered the Free Territories, also know as ‘The Wastes’”.

Evjen took a moment to consider the stark landscape through the narrow band of bulletproof glass. His mind wandered, trying to imagine the harshness of life out here. In principle, it was understood that the Freefolk were better off than the men, women and children striving to survive in the underhives around the planet, but he came to doubt that, and it had been a doubt that grew stronger with each trip through the outer domain of House Sarrokkæn. After sighing slowly, Evjen switched his attention back to his guest. His shoulders tensed as he noticed his hands had been clenching his knees while he was looking outside the window.

With a hint of solemnity he announced : “We have now become a high profile target for the next 250 kilometres”. Colonel Varstark remained perfectly calm as she sat in the seat in front of him. She had come to visit him at Praxcorp HQ, high in the spires of Hive7. Varstark had made a flamboyant entrance with a full wing of Valkyries. It had amused Evjen, who always had been appreciative of good showmanship. The colonel had been his guest ever since she arrived 6 days prior. The colonel spent time in Praxcorp’s tech archives, copying registeries, manuals, blueprints, basically trying to gather all the useful intel she could muster. Whenever he could spare the time, he would drop by her quarters, invite her to share a meal, or take some refreshments, during which he would answer her many questions.

Evjen could not recall the particular line of questioning that led them to The Wastes, but he remembered wanting to help the struggling outworlder navigate the intricacies of Azorian diplomatic protocols. Since House Sarrokkæn had left all her pleas unanswered, he also couldn’t resist showing off how easily he could have the big Black Gates of the Obsidian Keep open up for her. Evjen knew that vanity had a play in his course of actions and though he had learned to live with it, he had a hard time brushing off the tickling presence of guilt from his mind.

The guardswoman absently observed the landscape shifting from the more or less functional industrial grid maintenance highways to the barren realms of corroded stone and grey dirt. Surprised by the absence of reaction to his previous statement, Evjen scratched his chin. He realised soldiers of the Imperium probably didn’t care much for raiders, senior officers least of them. His eyes lingered on the Colonel’s facial scars. He noticed the fairness of her complexion under them. He snapped out of this examination when he met her green eyes coldly staring through him.

“Are you sure we couldn’t just fly there?” she asked in thinly veiled irritation.

Evjen shrugged “Unfortunately, if the Astra Militarum desire to achieve any kind of entente with the Knights of House Sarrokkæn, you’ll have to take the long way in” Evjen said. “To enter the Obsidian Keep from the low roads is a required display of humility.” he explained. “This is why they wouldn’t grant you an audience even when you agitated your mandate as Planetary Operations Commander.”

“I’ve seen whole worlds brought to heel for less of an obstruction to His Will” She retorted, nostrils flaring.

Evjen clicked his tongue “It’s not that simple, colonel,” he said, his face taking on the glow of inconvenience. “Don’t forget that we are technically on a world run by the Adeptus Mechanicus, though they only care about their industrial zones and leave the Hive Cities to their own devices,” the man frowned and squinted as he weighed the words still in his head. After a moment he warily enunciated : “as such, for better or worse, on this world, the Emperor of Mankind is not as revered, or feared, as he might be elsewhere”.

The colonel crossed her arms, her face shut like barracks well after lights out. “I know, mister Praxi” she snapped in disdain. “I’ve been stationed here long enough to understand that Azorians enjoy a level of leniency that I never thought possible”.

“Do you envy that?” Evjen asked.

Her eyes widened through vexation. Her breath, temporarily suspended. She swallowed the knot forming at the back of her throat and resumed her breathing. After a few long seconds, she muttered tentatively “Perhaps”. The armored truck rumbled over the accidented terrain, the muffled sound of the engine almost covering her excessively honest answer. “It might be a luxury I would be inclined to tolerate for civilians”. She said. “But from the members of a Knightly House, I expect no less than devotion”.

Evjen chuckled. “Soon enough you’ll realise that what they lack in orthodoxy, they make up for with their integrity and honourable conduct upon the fields of battle,” Evjen assured. “After all, Segmentum Command deemed House Sarrokkæn worthy enough for a deployment alongside the Lord Commander of the Imperium Himself”.

The Colonel could see through the self-reassuring bravado.

“I’m not the Inquisition, mister Praxi” she said with a soft smile. “I do not condemn those who simply seek to lead a life in peace”. The truck’s imposing wheels bounced on a few big rocks on the road. The passengers shifted their bodies to absorb the unexpected bump. Evjen smiled

“It’s Evjen. Please call me Evjen.” “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep things professional” she said. “It’s cultural, colonel Varstark ; last names are of little value on Azoria, unless it is Sarrokkæn, of course. But even among them, a given name holds more importance than the names marking lineage.” Evjen declared.

“So what, I’m expected to address them by their given names?” she asked, irritated.

“Yes,” Evjen chuckled. “preceded by the proper title, but yes.”

The colonel remained silent, arms crossed once more. She held her nose high, pointed towards the window pane. For a moment her face seemed to be the theatre of operations of a large battle between different emotional states : disdain, resentment and disgust seemed to vie for control, but when out of nowhere, reluctance appeared, Evjen felt surrender wasn’t far away.

“Kuh-rina” she sighed. “It is spelled K-R-I-N-A” she added, tight lipped.

With a joyful smirk, Evjen extended his hand across the gap between their two seats. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Krina” he laughed. She shook his hand without much conviction. She found the exchange awkward but if it had been the price to pay to open up a communications channel with House Sarrokkæn, she was willing to oblige. 

The Guard needed the support of the Knights in the coming battles.

[a-40k-dad]

Deeper analysis of the Milites Gregarii :

Conscripts : every able citizen of the free territories between 16 and 70 years of age, who is able and has received basic training may be called upon to defend their land. This represents tens of millions that can be drawn from the ranks of serfs, merchants, artisans... The use of conscripts is however extremely rare although when the Milites Gregarii needs to bolster its ranks to replace casualties of a recent battle for instance, young citizens who recently completed basic-training may be offered a paid, renewable 5 year contract. Few refuse the opportunity to become part of the warrior class as it yields many advantages to themselves and to their families.

Pedites : professional army trained to serve alongside the different branches of House Sarrokkæn, composed by circa 120.000 men-at-arms, it is organised in different units assigned to High Barons. The pedites cover various roles (reconnaissance, mobile infantry, heavy weapons units, line infantry, etc).

Vigiles : After at least 10 years of service in the Pedites, a Miles can apply for a transfer into the Vigiles, the urban peace-keeping branch of the Milites Gregarii operating within the cities of the Free Territories. The Vigiles also take on a fair amount of other responsibilities, usually administrative. Given their experience as soldiers, the militant part of the Vigiles is also expected to be an efficient reaction force to any type of invasion or attack. (ca. 150.000 men-at-arm, including less-abled veterans)

Reeves and Rangers : Outside the walls of the boroughs, life can be tough. The smaller settlements of the territories that have developped around remote knight-deployment gates or around farming cave systems are prey to more agressive criminals, rejects of society, or worse still, gangers from the nearby hives venturing into the wasteland to pillage and terrorise the people of the Free Territories.

To ensure their safety, a body of voluntary troopers has been created. These men-at-arms are drawn from the ranks of experienced pedites and vigiles. Aside from their peace-keeping missions in the settlements within their respective jurisdictions, each Ranger unit has the mandate to hunt and eliminate threats as they see fit. Thanks to accords with the Planetary Governor’s Office, they are also allowed to hunt down wanted perpetrators outside of the Free Territories and into the Hive Cities if they so decide.

Rangers rely on fast and manoeuvrable vehicles to patrol between the different settlements within their jurisdiction and make full use of their military training to fulfil their peace-keeping mission in the remote, frontier parts of the Free Territories. In case of a full-scale invasion, they are expected to act as LRRPs.

The Rangers of each district are lead by an appointed Reeve who acts like an administrative officer for a grouping of settlements.

(ca 30.000 troopers)

Milites Nobiles : These are not members of the Milites Gregarii intrinsincally, as they are non-pilot nobles of the various Sarrokkæn branches. However they often can be  seen occupying various key-roles, either because they take-up command of individual squads or regiments during times of need or because they fancy themselves as officers of the Milites in a more permanent manner.

The position of Reeve for instance, is one often filled by these Nobles-at-arms.

Milites Nobiles are recogniseable by their wearing of any variation of the coat of arms of House Sarrokkæn. Their personal bodyguards also wear the coat of arms, albeit in a simplified scheme.

[a-40k-dad]

Malevolent #2 pt1

(the following is maybe 1/3rd of what I have imagined for this new chapter)

“The big one, at one o’clock high. Do you see it?”

Aerin takes a quick look towards the asteroid field.

“Yes.“ “That’s where we are going”.

“Understood”.

Evjen allows his back to rest into his seat. “They are hidden on the other side, waiting for us” he utters, before exhaling sharply through the nose. “Their ship has a ventral docking bay, big enough for us to land”.

While focused on her approach, Aerin can’t help twitching her eyes to the side, in an attempt to try and gauge the situation by the look on Evjen’s face. He never was too big on dispensing the details but this time he is being particularly ungenerous.

“Dock while maintaining vox-silence. I don’t want any stray signals” he orders.

As they pass on to the other side of this huge space rock, the target ship appears on the Mally’s scopes. To the naked eye, it is still but a dot easily mistaken for one of the smaller asteroids in the background.

Aerin inhales slowly as she builds up the courage to speak.

“Would you care to tell me what we are doing here? Who are these people, you — one of the most powerful man on the whole Emperor-damned planet — have to meet behind a rock the size of a hive city?”

Evjen stares into the monitors as he tries to bring the necessary order to his thoughts in order to formulate an answer. “They’re pirates” he mumbles after a moment of silence. “Thieves, criminals, debased scum, sure, but yet resourceful.”

“They do have a voidship” Aerins comments.

“Yes. But they also have contacts with certain, special people outside of our system. People who, they claim, can find anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.” Evjen continued without pause : “I wanted something very special and they asked around for me. Naturally they asked those special people I mentionned. Turns out one of them quickly found what I needed and the friendly pirates have arranged a meeting between me — or rather, us — and this, shall I call, artefact finder.”

“Who are these special people?”

“I have my suspicions but I don’t like it. Not one bit.” he declares. “Anyway, I have brought payment for the pirates, but I haven’t been told what this finder requires for his or her troubles. This might be tricky. This is why I needed you. Because I know I can count on your discretion and, if my dealings with this person fail miserably, I also know I can count on your sizeable set of other abilities”

Aerin knows better than to push this line of questioning any further, for now at least. Instead, she contemplates the story she’s just been told while observing the pirates’ ship which is now much bigger through the cockpit’s window. It was a modified freighter, similar ships can be found in countless amount in the system : bringing supplies, shipping off cargo to the sub-sector’s commercial hubs, they are so common that she can’t help but approve this choice for a ship engaging in illegal activities.

It is in a state of disrepair, but nothing out of the ordinary. Captains push their crews and their ships to the last limits and accidents are rather frequent. The modifications however, those, she feels, are too obvious. Heavy ordnance and laser turrets slapped onto a cargo ship, it isn’t very discreet nor elegant. Then again, they didn’t have the limitless budget of her passenger and benefactor. 

The Malevolent slows down as Aerin steers it towards the ventral docking bay of the Pirate’s freighter. She manoeuvres the Mally backwards into the landing area. An uncommon procedure, especially since there is barely any room for Evjen’s Guncutter, but she manages to land it smoothly. Evjen frowns at her intricate piloting. “Much easier to get out of here this way” she explained. Evjen’s frown leaves the way to a conniving smile. As Aerin turns off the engines, she notices armed men running onto the docking area.

“Don’t worry about it” reassures Evjen as he lifts one of the bags he brought with him. “They’re probably here to escort us to the bridge” he wheezes. The bag must be heavier than she thought.

They both stand in front of the Mally’s rear airlock, ready to disembark. As the pressure equalises, Evjen checks his side arm, Sagitta Tenebris, a custom-made beauty of a needle-gun. Aerin looks at him, still waiting on more instructions. Having finished his weapon’s inspection, he holsters it. As the hatch starts opening, Evjen stares right into Aerin’s awaiting eyes. “Whatever happens” he insists, “you follow my lead out there.”

[a-40k-dad]

How do your OCs fight?

I’ve got plenty so I’m making a lone post with several of them. (all from the Azorian setting)

Evjen Praxi :

"I didn’t do it, nobody saw me do it, there’s no way you can prove anything.”

Colonel Krina Varstark :

Seasoned professional badass.

General J.T. Zorn

Goes planet-side at least once before ordering exterminatus, just to see for himself. But never on the field without a proper escort.

Aerin “Red” Lakx

“Touch me and that hand will never touch anything again.”

[a-40k-dad]

Weralt : We can’t reach the Fabricator-General. Reports of unrest have been pouring in from the neighbouring Hive Cities for a couple hours now. Some have gone dark.

Nefo the Third : Are we being invaded?

Weralt : It’s unclear at this point. Avalaible information suggests organised uprising.

Gesunna : Impossible on such a scale!

Nefo the Third : They might be receiving help from an outside force.

Gesunna : What about Hive7?

Weralt : Under control for now. Evjen Praxi has convinced the governor to appoint him as security coordinator. I’ve ordered our garrisoned Milites there to follow his instructions for the time being.

Assistant : My Liege!

Nefo the Third : What is it?

Assistant : Explosions reported in the wastefields! Many explosions. No direct feeds of any kind available, our signals are being scrambled.

Weralt : Seal the city gates at once, man the walls, mobilise the reservists. Their duty calls.

Assistant : Yes My Lord.

Nefo the Third : Your thoughts, Weralt?

Weralt : My Princeps, I feel that you are right, this does not sound like a mere uprising. We should have the sacristans ready the knights and brace ourselves for the worst.

Nefo the Third : Agreed. We’ll defend our people and our homestead first and re-evaluate the situation once communications are restored. Get the knights of High-Gate into the Burrows, ready to emerge where and when needed.

Weralt : It will be done.

Nefo the Third : Gesunna, follow me, we are making a sortie at Cavalcade Plaza to assess the situation.

Gesunna : and reassure the populace by letting them know that their Monarch himself is out on the field?

Nefo the Third : Of course. It is important.

Gesunna : *looks at Nefo in silence, but can't prevent Nefo from noticing the thinly veiled expression of disapproval on her face*

Nefo the Third : I know what you are thinking sister : "How cowardly for a Monarch to hide on the highest perch of his domain", but don't worry, we will join the Knights of High-Gate into the burrows once we've done our little stroll. We'll take King's Highway from the plaza down to the commerce district and get into the elevators on Markets Square, does this suit you?

Gesunna : I didn't mean t–

Nefo the Third : Please, my dear sister, you can't hide your thoughts from me. Know that I don't blame you to think about the safeguard of my honour and reputation but I must confess it hurts my feelings that you could believe for even a second that I wouldn't welcome the opportunity of going into battle.

[a-40k-dad]

While I was packing the minis before we left, I looked at my Eldar and oh boy did they seem plain and boring compared to my Hive7 project.

In just a handful of minis I’ve made so much progress, it is weird. But I can see this new way of painting has actually started in the last few of my Eldar... The incubi for instance, they are really well-painted.

I hope I can get motivation from kill team to finish the year as I’ve started. I’ve been on a quasi-hiatus for a couple of months now and it’s a bit worrying...

[a-40k-dad]

Seen from this gloomy private docking area of Hive7′s upper section, the night is as usual : dark above and made of a terrible green mist down below, where the lights of the innumerable spires dim and vanish.

The air is as cold as it is rare outside, above the clouds. Yet, Evjen has made the choice of waiting there, in the relative seclusion of the anchoring platform. Only the revving engines of passing-by ships and the distant hum of power generators can be heard through the sharp wind of the hours of darkness.

Leaning against the railing, Evjen is focusing on his senses, when he begins to hear a faint metallic tapping coming from behind, slowly gaining in intensity. Without moving he raises his voice “Aerin“ he says, “I’m glad you could make the time”. If it weren’t the person he had been waiting for, he would still have been able to recognise the assured yet dignified gait from sound only.

As he turns, he discovers the young woman, clad from head to toe in thermoregulative gear. “Why do we always have to meet up here?” she says, abrasively. “Why don’t you come down to me for a change? It would be just as safe for you as any of your beloved freezing perch.“

-“You know I can’t be seen in the lower levels, Aerin” Evjen scoffs. “Besides” he lightly punctuates while checking her out, “you don’t look like you need to be any warmer right now”.

Aerin instinctively looks down at her feet, trying to understand what could be wrong with her current attire. “Well, Evjen” she utters, slightly offended, “I am not one of you nobs or other well-offs.” as she positions herself to lean against the nearby structural pillar, she continues “I’m used to the warmth of the underbelly of this gigantic beast” she says, in a nod that refers to Hive7.

Evjen starts laughing. Aerin laughs too, but only to get it over with.

[a-40k-dad]

Hive7 : Malevolent

The constantly updated post that might become a draft.

The story of Evjen Praxi, moneyed socialite and influent businessman of Hive7 The story of his army of underhiver agents and spies. And of course, the story of the eponymous Malevolent, his Guncutter shuttle custom built around the remains of a derelict Inquisition attack-ship.

P1

From orbit, Azoria shines in a blend of grey continents, small patches of dark and fouled toxic seas and a gargantuous, ever-shifting green mist, through which the spires of its hive cities and forges are clearly visible.

Elevated from Knight World to Forge World, Azoria is now one of the many industrious jewels within the great Imperium of Man. It is indeed a jewel, but one made of rust, dust, and toxic wastes.

A world with a slowly decaying magnetic field that jas allowed small amounts of its sun's deadly radiation to seep into the atmosphere. To remain anywhere outside of the shielded Hive Cities or industrial areas would be ill advised to say the least.

Although the radioactivity doesn’t render life impossible — yet — visitors and other guests are still advised to apply for medical treatments that will bolster their rad-resistance. Whether the purpose of those goes beyond bringing peace of mind to the outworld-travelers, remains unknown.

Most of the inhabitants of this world have developed over the millennia an uncanny resistance to their sun’s adverse effects but still, mutations, sickness and untimely deaths are all but too common for the indigent underhivers or wasterlanders.

Unlike those poor souls, Evjen Praxi did not lack the means to survive, for he has had the privilege of being born in a family of absurd wealth, leading a life of opulence and display thereof.

One's natural defenses could be engineered and bought with credits and Evjen always had more credits than he could care to count. The middle-aged man has been at the head of his parent’s legacy : Praxcorp, the single most powerful privately owned industrial group in the system with many ventures in the sub-sector’s commerce.

Evjen had seen his parents act unreservedly around nobles and have had government officials act obsequiously around them. During his youth, Evjen did not know of the misery reigning down below. Although he’s been born in a social sphere far removed from the suffering of the common people, when Evjen Praxi came of age, he made the choice to open his eyes wide and look upon the truth in humility.

A dour intention locked on his face, the green fires of the faraway furnaces reflecting in his deep grey and yellow iris, Evjen awaits a friend in the night. Seen from one of the gloomy private docking area of Hive7′s upper section, Azorian nights remain the same : made of dark above and of its terrible radioactive green mist down below, where the lights of the innumerable spires dim and vanish. 

The air is as cold as it is rare outside above the clouds. Yet Evjen has made the choice of waiting there, in the relative seclusion of the anchoring platform. Only the revving engines of passing-by ships and the distant hum of power generators can be heard through the sharp wind that blows during the hours of darkness. 

Leaning against the railing, Evjen is focusing on his senses, when he begins to hear a faint metallic tapping coming from behind, slowly gaining in intensity. Without moving he raises his voice : “Aerin“ he says, “I’m glad you could make the time”.

As he turns, he discovers the young woman, clad from head to toe in thermoregulative gear. “Why do we always have to meet up here?” she says, abrasively. “Why don’t you come down to me for a change? It would be just as safe for you as any of your beloved freezing perch”.

-“You know I can’t be seen in the lower levels, Aerin” Evjen scoffs. “Besides” he lightly punctuates while checking her out, “you don’t look like you need to be any warmer right now”. 

Aerin instinctively looks down at her feet, trying to understand what could be wrong with her current attire. “Well, Evjen” she utters, insisting on his name to let him know that she had been slightly offended, “I am not one of you nobs or other well-offs.” as she positions herself to lean against the nearby structural pillar, she continues “I’m used to the warmth of the underbelly of this gigantic beast” she says, while tapping her hand on the pillar, referring to Hive7. 

Evjen starts laughing.

Aerin laughs too, but only to get it over with.

The cold chills her down to her bones despite the thermosuit. She feels it all through her face which is left unprotected. Most underhivers like their climate hot and preferably a little humid too. She had been trembling since the moment she had stepped onto the platform. 

“Aerin,” the middle-aged man says, “I need you.” the young woman forgets the cold for a moment, as the tone of Evjen piques her interest. “Not your reaction cell, just you” he added.

–“What’s the catch Ev?” she asks. 

Evjen takes a breath and gulps “I need someone I can trust” he almost whispered. “and I need the best copilot in the system”.

Aerin isn’t immune to flattery, but even she knows that his assessment of her skills is not at all misguided. She tries to deflect the gravity of the request : 

“Taking Mally out for a spin boss?” she asks.

–”Don’t call me that.” he replies, without animosity.

Aerin takes a few steps and switches from leaning against the pillar to joining Evjen at the railing. She considers the height of the potential fall while she produces a soft and indistinct utterance marking her considering his request. She had never been one to ask for much but in this case, she needs details.

“I’m not saying yes just yet, Ev. But why just me?” she asks. – “I would go on my own if I didn’t have the option to ask you, Aerin,” Evjen confesses. “and before anything else, let me make this one thing clear ; feel free to say no.” he delivers, caught in a moment of self-confidence. “but, hear me out first”.

—”Alright.” she answers, with a hint of curiosity showing through.

–“You and I, Aerin, we are freedom fighters at heart. You understand the game we are playing here, you get the sort of position I’m in” he mumbles, with a defeated look.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always stuck with my little operation out of conviction”. Evjen stands straight and looks over Aerin’s shoulder towards the airlock. He turns his gaze towards the other pier, on the other side of the gap of the empty anchorage area of the docking tower.

“I don’t trust anyone on my payroll”. he continues, in a serious tone. “There is no amount of credits or valuables that could keep the many dishonorable types from stabbing me in the back.” he hypothesises.

Aerin stands a moment in silence before responding : –”Why not trust my cell?” she asked. “They are every bit as loyal to our cause as I am.” 

“They’re loyal to you, Aerin” Evjen replies. “It wouldn’t be fair to implicate them into this.”

Aerin reflects on Evjen’s opinion and as he was about to give some of the information she requested, she interrupted him :

“You know what, Ev? I don't want to know. I’ve got your back, like always.” she says. Evjen lets a sign of relief escape from the back of his eyes. “Whatever it is you need help with, I'll do it for the usual fee” she adds.

“Deal!” he says, while they shake hands on it. “Two levels up, opposite bay, you’ll find Mally. She’s ready. I’ll be right there”.

”You got it” she cheers, while walking away.

The fact is that the underhiver had already been picturing herself piloting Evjen’s Guncutter, which entailed the promise of thrilling sensations and possible mayhem on some unworthy, profiteering souls of this Imperial System. Aerin smiles in disbelief at her own excitement taking the decisions for her. 

The airlock’s door at the end of the platform can be heard very faintly over the ever stronger winds of the night. The business man turns and stares into the dark corners of the docking bay. 

He feels observed.

In the elevator, Aerin reflects on her impulsive consent. “Oh, shit!” she utters in resignation. She doesn’t even know the basic information of when, where, and why, let alone the details she had been meaning to ask.

“Fucking Mally” she mumbles. “You manipulative old bitch”.

The docking bay indicated by Evjen is plunged into darkness, Aerin heads for the control booth near the entrance, activates a console, which sparks life into the hangar. A low hum fills the room, its pitch slowly shifting towards a higher tone. The generators are warming up. Suddenly a loud noise can be heard as power gets redirected to the bright docking bay spotlights, revealing the Malevolent, affectionately nicknamed “Mally” by its owner.

Aerin takes a moment to look at the Malevolent which looks rusty. The bulky old lady looked like nothing really, an old dropship perhaps. It is however part of its camouflage. A ship that looks in poor shape seems much less of a threat after all. 

The Malevolent being in fact an inquisition ship that Evjen had found derelict a few star systems across the void also warranted for a more subdued appearance. It was therefore also heavily modified to avoid immediate visual class-recognition. 

Aerin had heard Mally’s story a few times too many : Evjen had dismantled the damned thing completely before stowing the parts away in a dozen of his company’s freighters in order to discretely smuggle it back planet-side. 

Reassembly, repairs and customisation had been much more of a pain, apparently. Not only the costs of custom-made or salvaged parts but most exorbitant of all was the price of secrecy ; the paying-offs, the unending amount of favours, the machinations, the oft violent silencing of loud-mouths, and their corpses to recycle, all of it probably still weighs heavily on Evjen’s conscience.

For all the disgust the man has for servitors, they at least, wouldn’t betray him. Unless someone hacked into them, that is. Aerin understands her benefactor’s words fully when he says he can’t trust anyone but kindred spirit.

Aerin sighs in satisfaction. For an underhiver, simply seeing a void-capable ship from up-close is already remarkable. Boarding one would be far-fetched to say the least, but piloting one? That is well-nigh inconceivable.

But there she is, ready to make the old lady sing her song of grace and mechanical fury, with harmonics of metal and fuel, hurled supersonic into the darkness of space. 

Maybe Aerin will get to hear the loud beating of the ammo drums being emptied at some pirate or whatever type of sucker who thinks they can get away with double-crossing Evjen Praxi.

Mally, deadly old lady with tricks up her sleeve that even Astartes would envy. How could Aerin ever refuse such an opportunity?

Evjen enters the cockpit and notices Aerin already seated. “The pilot seat, uh?” he observes in feigned irritation. “That bad of an itch?” Aerin turns her seat around towards Evjen as he stows a couple of toolkits and datapads away.

The underhiver nods, breathes in deeply, holds the air in for a moment, then delivers solemnly : —“I’m in love, Ev”. The man lets his bag slide off from his shoulder and it falls heavily onto the deck. Visibly taken aback, he looks at Aerin for a moment, not understanding what she means.

—“Your ship, Ev, your ship!” she specifies, “your graceful, powerful, agile, and deadly Mally!” she adds as her hands grip the stick and the throttle.

—“Uh-huh” Evjen utters as he throws himself in the copilot’s seat.

“Very well” he sighs. “Would you kindly take your fling to the skies, then?”

—“Oh, she’s much more than a fling, Ev” Aerin corrects. “At this point she’s my significant other”.

Evjen giggles in amusement as he straps himself in :

—“Just, take her out, Aerin”.

Aerin quickly wraps up the lift-off procedure checks before powering-up the Malevolent’s plasma engines. The hull starts vibrating in a deep rumble which fills the soul of the voidcraft’s pilot with an incommensurable sensation of triumph. She reaches for the panel overhead and tunes into the local traffic control’s communications.

—“FC Eta-Seven, this is voidbound shuttle PeeCee-Alpha-Niner — Malevolent” she says, as if she had been a comms-op her entire life. “Requesting clearance for manually operated flight from Praxcorp docks to orbit, over”. The voxcasting system makes a clicking sound as she stops broadcasting. After a few seconds, another clicking occurs, covering the murmur of the idle engines —“PC-Alpha-9 please specify cargo and destination” the flight operator asks.

Evjen who had started slouching again, straightens up and reaches for one of the data pads he has brought with him.

—“Feed them that” he says, handing the pad over to Aerin.

The underhiver takes the pad and looks towards the console next to her, searching for the right connecting slot. Before inserting the metallic capsule into the slot, she dusts it off to ensure the reading heads are clean. The pad fits into the console with in a snapping mechanical noise. Aerin hits a few buttons before opening the comm’s channel once more :

—“Transmitting, flight control” she utters, in the same appropriately monotonous voice.

The tower acknowledges the reception of the data and asks for them to wait for a pending approval of their flight path. After a few moments, Aerin covers the soft roaring of the plasma drive :

—“What’s on there?” she asks, pointing at the datapad.

The casual tone of her voice can’t conceal the curiosity gnawing at her as well as she would like.

Evjen inhales loudly, as if he wanted to convey his boredom :

—“A detailed route we won’t follow” he answers. Taking another breath, Evjen continues : “along with the specs of a bogus inspection mission on some of my astral ore mining facilities”.

Aerin looks disappointed, but nods nonetheless. The business man, feeling he wasn’t precise enough to satiate his sidekick’s interest explains that the resources his corporation gathers from the void is vital to this world’s production of Imperial machines of war, and surely, they wouldn’t mess with the daily affairs of the biggest purveyor of raw materials in the system. It still isn't what she wanted to hear. She is waiting for him to tell her who has to die and why. She likes a good story and loves to get involved in them. Sensing she won't get it out of him just yet, Aerin simply goes for “makes sense”. A good follow-up-killing pair of words.

They spend a moment in silence, their senses lulled by the sound of the engines. Finally, the clicking of the final transmission is heard, along with the awaited sanction of their flight path. Aerin reaches for the docking clamps’ release and lets Mally gently drift out of the mooring bay, along the suspended observation pier. As the Guncutter clears the docks, the pilot starts allocating more power to the drive’s capacitors, which can be heard revving all the way from engineering. Soon it seems like the whole craft is pulsing with tremendous potential energy from within its core, energy ready to be unleashed into the propulsion systems. For Aerin, this moment is as overwhelming as it pleasurable.

Clinging to his seat’s armrests, Evjen comments in feigned tranquility :

—“Easy now.” he says, his entire body as stiff as a support beam.

Aerin, slowly tilting the Malevolent towards the skies, turns her head and meets the screaming apprehension in Evjen’s eyes. She lets the ship sally forth and smiles as the Malevolent’s hull quivers and resonates under the mighty roar of its engines, now hurling the two of them into the void.  

P2

“The big one, at one o’clock high. Do you see it?”

Aerin takes a quick look towards the asteroid field.

“Yes.“ “That’s where we are going”.

“Understood”.

Evjen allows his back to rest into his seat. “They are hidden on the other side, waiting for us” he utters, before exhaling sharply through the nose. “Their ship has a ventral docking bay, big enough for us to land”.

While focused on her approach, Aerin can’t help twitching her eyes to the side, in an attempt to try and gauge the situation by the look on Evjen’s face. He never was too big on dispensing the details but this time he is being particularly ungenerous.

“Dock while maintaining vox-silence. I don’t want any stray signals” he orders.

As they pass on to the other side of this huge space rock, the target ship appears on Mally’s scopes. To the naked eye, it is still but a dot easily mistaken for one of the smaller asteroids in the background.

Aerin inhales slowly as she builds up the courage to speak.

“Would you care to tell me what we are doing here? Who are these people, you — one of the most powerful man on the whole Emperor-damned planet — have to meet behind a rock the size of a hive city?”

Evjen stares into the monitors as he tries to bring the necessary order to his thoughts to formulate an answer. “They’re pirates” he mumbles after a moment of silence. “Thieves, criminals, debased scum, sure, but yet resourceful.” he adds, more clearly.

“They do have a voidship” Aerins comments.

“Yes. But they also have contacts with certain, special people outside of our system. People who, they claim, can find anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.” Evjen continued without pause : “I wanted something very special and they asked around for me. Naturally they asked those special people I mentioned. Turns out one of them quickly found what I needed and our friendly pirates arranged a meeting between me — or rather, us — and this, shall I call, artifact finder.”

“Who are these special people?”

“I have my suspicions but I don’t like it. Not one bit.” he declares. “Anyway, I have brought payment for the pirates, but I haven’t been told what this finder requires for his or her troubles. This might be tricky. This is why I needed you. Because I know I can count on your discretion and, if my dealings with this person fail miserably, I also know I can count on your sizeable set of other abilities”

Aerin knows better than to push this line of questioning any further. Evjen expects things to get messy and it is information enough for her, for now at least. Instead, she contemplates the story she’s just been told while observing the pirates’ ship which now appears much bigger through the cockpit’s window.

It was a modified freighter, similar ships can be found in countless amount in the system : bringing supplies, shipping off cargo to the sub-sector’s commercial hubs, they are so common that she can’t help but approve this choice for a ship engaging in illegal activities.

It is in a state of disrepair, but nothing out of the ordinary. Captains push their crews and their ships to the last limits and accidents are rather frequent. The modifications however, those, she feels, are too obvious. Heavy ordnance and laser turrets slapped onto a cargo ship, it isn’t very discreet nor elegant. Then again, they didn’t have the limitless budget of her passenger and benefactor. Mally here, Aerin thought, had concealed weaponry. She might look like a defenseless void shuttle but underneath the facade, she is armed to the teeth ; she could beat squadron of interceptors on her own and perhaps she could hold her own against light scout corvettes. She’d definitely chew up the piece of garbage freighter Aerin is going to make her metal steed land in, she has no doubt that.

As the Malevolent gets into its final approach, Aerin decides to steer it towards the ventral docking bay, but using a backwards manoeuvre. An uncommon procedure, especially since there is barely any room for Evjen’s prized Guncutter there, but she manages to land it smoothly. Evjen frowns at her intricate piloting.

—“Much easier to get out of here this way” she explained.

Evjen’s frown leaves the way to a conniving smile. As Aerin turns off the engines, she notices armed men running onto the docking area.

—“Don’t worry about it” reassures Evjen as he lifts one of the bags he brought with him. “They’re probably here to escort us to the bridge” he wheezes. The bag must be heavier than she thought.

They both stand in front of Mally’s rear airlock, ready to disembark. As the pressure equalises, Evjen checks his side arm, Sagitta Tenebris, a custom-made beauty of a needle-gun. Aerin looks at him, still waiting on more instructions. Having finished his weapon’s inspection, he holsters it. As the hatch starts opening, Evjen stares right into Aerin’s awaiting eyes.

—“Whatever happens” he insists, “you follow my lead out there.”

[a-40k-dad]

House Sarrokkæn — Full House Crest