@Vlayden @GobMaw_HellSmasha @Casavay @High_Adept_Zeth As the blessed figure thankfully strode onwards towards his own affairs, Kooru would feel his shoulders sag, releasing a breath of relief. He'd once again managed to survive a meeting with such a divine being, and would thank his good fortune for such things, moving to rub the side of his head with a hand. Swiftly, his fingers would begin to scratch at the tangled mess that was his hair, it's length flowing down his back, as he was momentarily lost in the bliss of getting at a good itch. By the time the doors closed to the elevator compartment, Kooru would have forgotten the Astartes, his eyes closed, his mind at peace with itself. Yet, this would soon end, as a thought popped into his mind, reminding him as to why he'd come here in the first place. Eyes shooting open, he'd realize it had been some time since the announcement for summons had gone out, and that he should be making his way to their bridge, where he could make his usefulness plain for all to see. Knowing he'd need to find this bridge, he swiftly would press the button for the floor he was currently on, watching the doors open, before disembarking from the machine, setting off at a brisk pace, almost bumping into a menial servant in the hall. Swiftly catching himself, he'd manage to hear direction to his destination from the hushed whispers of the man before him, giving his course a heading. Kooru, knowing he was not the smartest man, would swiftly ask the being to guide him there himself. Though at first hesitant, once Kooru mentioned he was part of the special meeting thing with the Vindicators, the menial's attitude changed immediately. The being's eyes would flash with a mixture of fear and confusion, it's mind clearly trying to comprehend if this ragged man was joking, before giving a shrug, and figuring better safe than sorry. The menial promised to bring Kooru to the doorway to the bridge, but not a step further, secretly knowing that if this mortal was lying about his status, he'd perish on his own, and he could simply return to his duties. With that the duo set off, the bridge coming closer with every step. _____ Upon the bridge itself, as the graceful form of The Silver Baron made itself known to the occupants of the dreary chamber, another would soon follow. The astartes, capturing the gaze of all who touched upon his splendor, allowed for Kooru to enter without being noticed immediately, the disheveled man, head low, walking into the room. His eyes, immediately taking in the scene, would first lock down upon the strange beast creature thing, whom reminded him of the farm back home, and brought up a strange desire to pet it like the animals he'd cared for in his youth. Following this, beating back the nostalgia of his past life, he'd keep his gaze averted from the angel that was Lanius, and would instead hone in on the big box, a sense of curiosity overtaking him. As it was, while the Slaaneshi Champion basked in the awe of those mortals around him, Kooru would shamble over towards the container, keen to figure out what lay inside. He could only wonder at the kinds of surprises the company of angels kept among them.
@Casavay Rotticus couldn't help but chuckle at the beastmen's curiosity toward his condition. One such as herself was probably not around those entombed in the sarcophagi of Dreadnoughts. As his laughter subsided his booming voice answered her "in some ways, this metal shell could be considered a bit of both. Though it also acts as my prison." Rotticus paused for an uncomfortable amount of time, stirring in his own frustrations, but then he continued speaking, his voice calmer then before "but as to who is inside this metal box, I am merely a humble servant of the Plaguefather. And as such I merely wish to spread his infectious affection to those around me. I am merely here to share such joys to the worshippers of the delectably decaying corpse god." @BruticusTheGoreHound It seemed as if another was equally as curious with him. Although this one seemed to be wordless with his questioning compared to the beastmen's vocalization. Though from what he could see of the individual they seemed more disheveled then the usual champions of Chaos. As if an Underhiver somehow found their way onto the warship. Almost as curious as the one viewing him, Rotticus's voice boomed from the sarcophagus. "Is there something you wish of me?" he asked from within his entombment.
Heros approached the doors, which slid in a metallic groan causing the two cultists talking outside his room to be startled and jumped back. Heros stared at them, his helmet's visor locking onto their autogun and lasgun. His inhumane stillness comparable to that of a corpse and his never-blinking stare bore onto the two cultists who grumbled and made their way to somewhere else. Their sense of fear for Heros disappeared a bit as he wasn't the most intimidating of Astartes, he wasn't quite as tall, or emit that sense of dread, but that didn't make him less deadlier. He was chosen. Heros wandered around the hallways, he never really got to explore the ship.
Entering the bridge, Lanius was once more impressed by the multi-tiered vista that span infront of him.To the far right, wide surface of crystalflex was the only barrier between them and the cold depth of space.Displayed before it was the gargantuan starship construct in all its mauled gothic glory,spaning few kilometers infront of them.It would be breathtaking if he haven't experienced it for a thousandt time.However, the narcotics helped as much to the vividness of the experience and as to balance his metabolism.As a particulary painful poison wormed its way from the abdomen into his left arm, Lanius clenched his jaw and his eyes widen behind his lavish helmet. @Vlayden His presence however was noted, and high from the raised command throne Captain Leanna, her voice level and calm yet infused with silent authority uttered to him:" "Ah. You've returned; is there something else you'd wish to discuss before the Sorcerer returns?" She asked, tilting her chin up ever so slightly out of courtesy. Tearing his eyes from the vista, noticing a few more individuals gathered around some crate, Lanius turned to her. "Ah...My Lady Leanna, i shant bandy words too much.I came here to await the Sorcerer` arrival." he spoke, the helmet augmenting his voice to a typical transhuman level of command, probably influenced by his sudden pain.He did not like it.Returning her slight gesture, Lanius drew his right hand from beneath his sideway runed cloak, inclined at his waist and bowed slightly, proceeding to the gathering. @BruticusTheGoreHound @GobMaw_HellSmasha @Casavay The gathering was most unusually, if the unusual had any meaning in a warband, a beast-mutant, what he thought that was a plain crate was actually a sarcophagus and a the shaggy mortal from the elevator.For a moment Lanius could only muse as to the Sorcerer` goal with company such as this in mind. Looking the two, he paid some attention to the sarcophagus between them, lest his mutilated cousin feels abandoned, noticing strange, unknown, yet painful-for-eyes glyphs and various markings etched across its metal surface. Noticing the view-port on it, he came closer but did not obstruct the occupants view of the throne.A sense of unease settled on the Baron, and for a moment Lanius wondered if the occupant of this shell was mad from bloodshed and claustrophobia as so many of his kindred that suffered the same faith. "An Ancient!" he exclaimed, yet the tone escaping his helmet was flat and monotone, "There may yet be some glory in this endevour with force fighting beside us!Lanius, Silver Baron of a faraway planet.Tell me Ancient, what made you wake up for a mere meeting?Was it the promise of glory?"Lanius queried, as he crouched next to the sarcophagus on one knee, peering into the view-port as if to find any semblance of face or at least reflection of its own.
@High_Adept_Zeth And yet another seems boundlessly curious about his presence, which again was quite odd for Rotticus to experience. As usually the most one outside of the Death Guard would react toward him was revulsion as they would try to vacate the premise as fast as possible. Either this warband was more close knit then he'd previously believe was possible out of a gang of unaligned renegades, or they were truly desperate enough to try to placate him with platitudes. This one was a bit more unnerving to be around however. Even though the disheveled one tried looking through his viewport out of innocent curiosity, this man's approach was anything but. Though highly formal in his actions, it seemed...in genuine. As if trying to pay respects because he felt he needed too, not because he wanted to. The disheveled individual only looked to see what there was inside without any prior knowledge to who or what he was. This man however clearly understood what he was viewing, to even refer to him as an Ancient. Rotticus couldn't help but feel he had an ulterior motive with every word he spoke He paid those thoughts no heed however, as he merely answered the man's question before him. "As I said before when I addressed this warrior of the dark gods, I am here to spread the bountiful joys of the Plaguefather, Papa Nurgle. And I am merely a humble servant in his charge. Though you do not need to concern yourself with receiving his gifts on accident from my presence alone. The glyphs you see on my metallic shell have been placed as to keep his gifts to me and me alone." Rotticus sounded a bit despondent toward the end of his response, truly sad about his inability to spread Nurgle's loving embrace to others at this time. "But I'm sure you have more exciting reasons to be here then this old man within his tomb."
"Ya seem to be lost Skywarrior" said a man next to him, his voice was coarse but respectful. Heros turned to see the man, his eyes focusing on the man he noticed the man but never paid attention to the man. The man seemed startled as a momentary flash of fear appeared in the man's eyes but then quickly he regained his composure. The man was leaning back on one of the walls, he wore dirty combat fatigues with torn rags that patched up most of the holes, most, a damaged flak armor hangs on his torso with scorch marks decorating the lower portion, a lasgun hang from his shoulder. The man himself was a middle-aged man in his 30's or so, with salt and pepper hair on his battle-scarred face, he was lean with his left arm replaced with a crude implant. The man pointed to the elevator "Ya best answer the summon, take the lift and head for the bridge". Heros didn't know how to feel with a mortal instructing him on what to do, his first feeling was rage, a temptation to pull out his gladius and sever the man's head, and his actions showed it. His right hand inched for the gladius locked to his thigh. The cultist noticed this, his eyes widening and he stopped dead silent. Heros then realized the man was guiding him. Heros bit his lip inside his helmet but heeded the man's guidance and headed into the lift. As he approached the lift doors he heard the man's sigh of relief through his transhuman hearing. The lift itself was pretty basic for turned ships and quite neat for Chaos ships, the only thing to be considered heretical were the numerous Chaos symbols lining the lift walls. He pressed one of the runes and then for a moment his lift started to ascend.
Once he was finished with his meal, Ishmael swiftly made his way for the elevator and hurries up towards the bridge.
@GobMaw_HellSmasha @dx144 @Vulpas @Casavay @High_Adept_Zeth @Azathoth @BruticusTheGoreHound @Jammysod @Colapse The sudden noise of the elevator opening, surprisingly, caused the entire crew to go deathly quiet - all the chatter amongst the crew(wo)men disappearing in an instant. The Captain wasted very little time in getting to her feet and stepping beside the Throne with both hands behind her back and her gaze dead ahead. The doors to the Bridge slid open with a loud 'hiss', and from it, came the Sorcerer in question. Tall, his face hidden by a Helm and his Sapphire-blue armour covered by white robes. The helm itself seemed to be of MK III design, though the rest of the armour was.... Unique, and quite asymmetrical. The boots had little different from most aside from ending in a point, whilst the left greave was shined and smooth, ending with a jeweled kneeplate, the right greave was scaled and disheveled, where the jewel would lay instead having a bird's skull carved into it. What little could be seen of the chestplate showed that it was akin to a MK III as well, perhaps signifying that this man was older than most, if not all, of those on board the Ship; its smooth chestpiece had numerous amounts of etched words along its edges all going towards the center - thereof which was a flawless Ruby, perfectly symmetrical and with the size of a child's fist that seemed to both reflect light as usual, yet also absorb it - the words in question were... Of an unknown language. The pauldrons themselves were also quite different, the right being a smooth shoulderplate with gold trimmings and a blue 'background', the draconic ouroboros symbol of the Thousand Sons, whilst the right was a magnificently made pauldron that jutted out, the eagle's head made of beautiful brass colouration, its eyes both being of twin sapphires. Its 'feathers' swept downwards into the pauldron itself, where it descended to the scaled right gauntlet. Talons ended upon each of the fingers, and while they certainly were no lightning claws, they most definitely still were able to damage lesser beings. He held aloft with him a Force Staff, the weapon itself pulsating with power; numerous crewmen seemed to groan as the staff came into view, a wave of discomfort coming over all from its Warp presence, whilst the other rested at his belt. A single chuckle came from the Sorcerer, almost sounding more like air escaping through a vent than any actual noise. His voice was very much the same - akin to 'solid air', like the words were coming from everywhere rather than specifically him; all heard his voice like he was beside them, as calm as he was, without the need to elevate his voice. "Ah, Captain, you flatter me. You have brought them here without instructions, I see." He spoke out, looking to the group. Mild distaste was felt as he eyed the box, but he didn't speak anything of it. "So, you are those of whom the... 'Emissary' has spoken of. Then I greet you; for I am Sorcerer-Lord Pherosh. And I shall wish you all to keep your questions for later, for I am here to explain the situation." "You see; you are, scum, in comparison to the Chaos Lords. That is how they see it. Nobodies, Weaklings, rabble - as such, we must dispose of you, loudly." He said. "However; the Emissary spoke highly of you all, and I know that if the Lord himself is to ask me to bring you to him... Then I must. And as such, I shall need to act deceitful. You are all going to be brought to the Hangar and set within a Thunderhawk transport, the one of three that we have upon this ship. From there, you will be sent to a.... Nearby, ship." "The Imperials are scouting us, and we know it. They however, do not know that we aren't oblivious to their existance. So, we will send you as our cherished scouting party. These thunderhawks are fitted with plating and sorcery that will let them slip by any Imperial auspex scans, meaning that you will be undetectable to them until it is too late; by then, you will capture this scout ship for us." "The sole thing we shall ask of you, is that you do not destroy the Warp drive, and try not to cause overblown amounts of damage, for we will need this ship ourselves." The Sorcerer slowly sat himself down upon the throne, leaning forward with his staff in hand as he eyed each of the 'Champions' brought before him. A Slaaneshi - merely by his... 'Perfection' it was obvious. A man who was perhaps destined for greatness, should his chase for it not lead him astray. An ex-Loyalist, as well; a true Renegade. He had little idea of this man, and the Emissary said little... But he at least seemed to have heart, and most of all he was here. Perhaps the Vindicators shall find a use... A Helbrute however, set him on edge; what was it, he did not know. The Nurglite stench was of course almost an insult but he was used to these things, as fate had a funny way of tormenting him. No, it was... Something else. The jovial nature, perhaps, an attitude that was far too akin to the Plague God himself. No, perhaps it was.... It did not matter. Pherosh knew he had time to think on it. A Beastma-- Woman? To say the least, he was amused to see how she'd survive even a month within this. Though she seemed far craftier than most of her kin, and from what he was told, she certainly was capable despite the primitive background she had. The Imperials would be in for a harsh surprise once she was set loose with the proper equipment. A Night Lord, ahhh... here was where he knew that the entertainment shall come thoroughly. And an apothecary, no less; while most would find it bizarre, he knew that Apothecaries were highly sought after by Chaos, if only for their use in collecting Gene-seed. Naturally, this one will gain favour amongst the Vindicators if he does not push his luck. And the torment that he'll unleash.... Oh, cities tremble with the mere mention of setting these monsters loose upon them. He has seen the Vindicators bring such a threat to the fold a few times, with the leash being pulled too loosely (on purpose) when the planets finally surrender; solely to add more reason to fear. A Khornate? Pherosh thought, mild surprise coming through him. The very idea was almost unnerving, if only for the fact that he knew that without his Rubrics he would have difficulty dealing with this. The hatred between Tzeentch and Khorne was unbearable, and he knew how the Berzerkers were far too keen on being set loose at the mere thought of bloodshed. Still... He was here for the Vindicators, and for carnage. He should at the least, being old enough to have a mind under his own control, see that the Sorcerer can lead him to more bloodshed. Now it's only to hope that he heeds by that. And the~... Cultist. It was amusing; none here knew how this man had cut his way into their fold, and while by all rights killing another Chosen who was brought here should have his head off... He was the one that the Emissary spoke of. He knew that with some proper grooming, and perhaps some... Rituals, teachings, and the proper timing, this shall be far more than a mere bandit. Here's hoping his idiocy does not get him killed before that. And~, the Cultmaster... A surprise, to say the least. To think that one would bring themselves under the fold of another, with a reputation for starting their own warbands; alas, in some regard it could make sense, to decide upon some form of security for their own 'world'... It's just a matter of time before the Cultmaster seeks new knowledge, or teaches this to others. Most amusing was the 'Weapons master'. By all accounts there wasn't very much that set him apart from others; and yet, the whispers amongst the Immaterium seemed to say that great events shall occur from his actions and perhaps in his name. Of course, he'll need actual training, and from there equipment, but~... Perhaps he can become a leader in due time, if the typical Cultist sense of suicidal zeal that most have does not latch onto him. And~... The Legionnaire. For the most part, there was little the Warp spoke of this one; in fact, there is nothing that may happen because of him at all, but... They all speak of his name and others; in true Alpha Legion fashion, as per their reputation, this one would be at the forefront and working alongside great names both amongst the Vindicators and of other Warbands in his own ways. Whether as an infiltrator, a combatant or something else. He may not become a legend in the typical fashion; but for the Alpha Legion... Not being known, is their greatest weapon. This certainly isn't the group he was expecting, with most being mere humans. Of course, perhaps more shall come in the future, but for now, Pherosh shall be content with this. Let the games, begin. He thought to himself. "Now, are there any questions before I send you on your way?"
Ishmael had no questions. Beneath the featureless, obsidion mask, he smiled. Serving a sorcerer alongside a Helbrute and Astartes! What an honor! He thought sarcastically to himself. It almost makes me care about their pathetic legions and legacies. Almost. Oh, I can just see the slave-girls and the tomes of daemonic lore now, all waiting for me to earn them! Slaanesh and Tzeentch, how they both satisfy!
And this must be the sorceror the good captain had spoke of previously, the same one that initially insisted on having his Rubric's lining the walls of this meeting. Such an insistence spoke volumes of his own insecurities, his own fears and doubts. All such things that have been removed from Rotticus long ago, and replaced with the blessings and affection of Papa Nurgle. As such, Rotticus merely had a jolly laugh with regards to being called weak from one that needed trickery and power gifted to him to come out on top. Upon being asked if they had any questions for him his jovial laughter increased two fold, as laughter bellowed from the box. He eventually stopped with his bout of laughter to respond to the Tzeentchian. "Hwahahaha! Well yes, my brother...I do have a question. What use is there to ask one such as yourself a question? In the end, our query will be met by nothing but lies, deceit and...if we are fortunate enough, perhaps...a half truth. Gwfahahahahaha!" Rotticus continued laughing for a tad bit till he eventually spoke up once more. "I can see why you wished to have your enslaved brothers here alongside us. I do not need to see your face to know of the fascade you try to pass off as genuine confidence in yourself. Is it perhaps you've ran from your fate for so long that you fear it will eventually catch up with you? If you are as powerful as you perceive yourself to be why dictate such a task with us rabble? Where you can no doubt sweep the servants of the corpse god aside like...piles of dust...Gwfahahaha"
