The change of enviroment had a substantial effect on both Sobek`s health and ambition. The very sight of Nightfall as one of their companions called it, was breath-taking. Never before had he even imagined that something so magnificent, so gargantuan in size could swim in the banal simplicity of the cold void. Such godlike beasts of metal, Sobek thought he could only find among the Empyrean.

Its master was an entirely different thing and from its demenour what Sobek could gleam between gouts of fear and terror was that it was not an entirely pathethic creature, but one that only appeared so as if an deception to fool someone. To lure someone into guessing. Like a predator its prey.

It was madness. Yet somehown he felt it to be a test, and with a deep sigh of relif, it seems they all passed.

Viator was a healthy change, and as the silver haired champion spoke, Sobek listened and obeyed. There was not much thinking related to it. Everything he did once he came onboard this huge maze of a starship was reflexive. Even when Corbulus suprisingly kneeled infront of the towering monster that trapped them onto the bridge, so did Sobek. Out of pure reflex he did so, the creature`s pressence was so strong that one was impossible to fight it, only to submit.

In the company of the rust-robed person he met planetside he descended down the stratas of the ship (but not too low). Down in the sweaty, greasy cavernous halls of gear and piston, where only grunts of exertion and holler of overseers echoed, Sobek lurked in search of the Forge Master.

With a tingling numbness that snaked from his shoulder and up the neck, he felt the combat drugs receeding. Combat drugs that kept him moving, and he was no use to anyone wounded and not working.

"Sobek. New arrival. Viator sent me to report for work." he said to the person who had the looks of a Forge Master.

OOC: @WanderingJester will reply to you once GM gets me over this bit

<right after>
As people walked out of the audience with the ships *gracius* master and Viator had given his speech, and everyone where talking a bit and making ready to disperse and do their things, an Ungor aproached Ghorzska with a drinking horn surely made out of minotour given its size, and as a *thanks* Ghorzska accepted the horn, before floring the Ungor with a kracking blow to its head.
Ghorzkha spit on the floor infront of it before saying something in beastongue, then just before everyone dispersed he said " a cull of centigors has been cursed with life, we drink to that at the herdstone." He said still clearly not very comfgerble with speaking gothic "all on Nightfall can come. Most Gors dont talk Gothek" Ghorskha then bowed to Viator before moving towards the part of the ship that beastmen under his lead called home.

<Herdstone party>
And indeed there was a beastman *celebration* tribal drums and horns where being played, the very few minotours, locked in the own cage in the corner, where ungors still tried to hand them alchohold despite the danger of the manflesh starved beasts.
Several fights and other things centered around the Herdstone, and Ghorzska himself seated upon a chiefstans throne, drinking, barking orders, demands patronising defeated pretenders, some whos horns he had added to his throne.

The Prosperan saw to his own room now - it was... Well; it was adequate, he supposed. As much as the Sorcerer may wish to simply lay back and relax, he could not just yet, instead moving out into the halls once more and getting himself moving through the ship - for the most part, he just wandered. There was little of interest to him thus far, and even socializing was not of much priority.
Still; at seeing the mortal come to speak, he raised a brow under the helm out of sight, a bit intrigued; for one to so 'casually' come up to one such as him, even if he did keep his demeanour away from being purposefully intimidating like the rest of his ilk, was a surprise.

"Ausarius, of the Thousand Sons." He replied somewhat tiredly, "I have many titles, upon many different worlds; but that is irrelevant."

"I'd joined because I was promised... Relics, that I was searching for; Prosperan artifacts and trinkets, Sorcerous knowledge and grimoires from a time few remember- I, had come as well, first and foremost, because my companions had decided to. And now they are dead, and I live. We'll see how long it takes until I find a new reason to join a warband, and if I see anything else of 'interest' in these travels."

"So then. Why did you come to search for me?"

@Vulpas ​

<Nightfall's Forge> @High_Adept_Zeth @Maleth

The Forge where the two hereteks were sent too spread on couple of floors, its size was somewhat big but they definitely saw bigger ones than this, most likely due to the fact ancient ships like these had multiple forges and this one was only one of many, possibly the only one that was purged and ready for use. Rows and rows of various machines and stacks of different kinds of material greeted them, at first the place like the entire ship for that matter looked kinda deserted but further in the back they could hear the familiar sound of metalworking. Approaching it the pair could see a Land Rider tank in the colors of the VIII Legion torn apart and getting repaired piece by piece by a monstrous figure clad in grey suit of Terminator armor. An array of mechandrites swirled around and seemingly independently went about its business while the Chaos Marine himself tried to fix a sponson flamestorm cannon onto its chassis.

Turning at the sound of the newcomers, the warrior revealed the symbol of the Iron Warriors painted on his shoulder as well as an ugly face half made out of bionics, and not of good kind. He also had couple of additional upgrades on his armor such as a small power field, an advanced teleporter beacon and an integrated compact las-cannon mounted on one of his shoulders. He most likely had couple of added bionic upgrades below it inside of his body but at the moment those were hidden. "Viator told me he'll send some guests down here," his tone was, pretty much like his looks, ugly and guttural, as if a Greenskin was talking and not an Astartes, "Good, I could use some help."

Stepping away from his task he pointed in two separate directions with his hands, while the mechandrites behind him continued working undisturbed. "That way is the local armory. I got dozens of power suits as well as enough bolters and chainswords not functioning that I'll need to spend a month just fixing it. One of you will have the honor of starting with that. The other way is our servitor line, we expect more newcomers to arrive and we'll need more of those lobotomized fucks to do some tasks the local beastmen are too stupid to comprehend," the Warpsmith explained. "I don't care who of you does what, as long as its done. So get going," he ordered and turned around, once again completely focused on what he was doing up until then.

Satharn had not known what to expect. How could he? He had understood his Primarch to be dead. Yet here he was. And he had feared that he might be slain. He had hoped for recognition. Not even in his nightmares had he dreamed that his Lord would not even know him.

For a moment he remained, stunned, on his knees. But he shook himself and rose, staring blankly into the darkness where Lord Curze had gone. Then he turned, a little unsteady on his feet, and marched off out of the room with the rest. At least the IIIrd Legion Marine hadn't witnessed what had transpired. His mind was racing. He listened to Viator only as long as the Emperor's Children Astartes was speaking. Then he walked with him. Well, that is, the other Marine wasn't getting away until Satharn had spoken to him.

"My Lord requires wine," he said, "tell me where I can find some. He will need a robe. And if there is anything worthy of a King to eat on this ship, send ..." He paused. "As you can tell I am new to this and you are the obvious man of culture." It wasn't flattery, but a flat statement of the truth. Satharn was too shaken internally to be fancy. "Look. He's a starved skeleton. I've seen him in his - fugue states, before. He is consumed by the visions." He paused. It felt heartbreakingly disloyal to mention his Primarch's pains, but it would be unthinkable to leave him like this. "Let me bring him wine and we'll see if I'm luckier than that damned servitor."

Whatever response he could get from Viator, the Night Lord needed to find his own quarters. After speaking with him, he went to look for some. For some reason (perfectly clear to the cynical - and survival-minded - Legionary Tem), the rooms around those of the Night Haunter were empty. He chose one, not immediately nearby, but close enough to be able to reach it swiftly. It was almost bare, once an officer's room no doubt, but still contained an Astartes-sized bed and a few items of furniture. The Nostraman aesthetic gave him a momentary reminder of home. But he had things to do. Melancholia would help neither him nor his Primarch.

Could he even do that? Satharn was a killer. He wasn't tutored in how to take care of anyone. He wasn't even sure if that was what his Lord needed, for that might imply weakness and the Night Haunter was not weak. But Primarch or not he was a ragged starveling and that would not do.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and Satharn growled, not one hundred percent upset to be distracted in truth. He opened to door to find Fera.

"Ah good to see you again Satharn, I needed to ask you something I have a few question about your.. Gene father I wanted to know if I could ask you?" Fera asked looking to him.

"Well you'd better come in for that story," he said, looking down. His skull-faced helmet was on a table next to the bed. Satharn was not a particularly handsome Astartes, nor was he scarred to kingdom come like some of his brothers, and his black eyes looked tired and his features drawn. "What do you want to know?" He left why for later.


@Vulpas

A Medic to Mend the Flesh @Vulpas @Colapse [Sometimes after Underground Exploring; #Timelines]

Valu at some point of course made his way to the Med-bay, where surprisingly he found Fera already waiting. "Oh hello there." He said in sincere surprise, the white paper bag over his face a bit muffling his voice.

"Do you need me to look at some of your wounds? I haven't introduced myself properly yet to the chief resident. So I suppose we should do that first. Also have you seen Lord Satharn yet? I had not yet the time to meet up with him again. Besides, I do not want to bother our master while having an apparent time of remembrance. After all, would we not all be happy to see our family and homeworld once more?" Valu said with nostalgia and false hope. Then he shook his head and walked towards the door.

"I mean. Of course to have more allies on our sides to spill blood in the name of the dark gods and bring the Imperium of Mankind to their downfall." He spoke with false hatred, yet he had to at least make an attempt to keep this disguise of a khornate cultist up. Yet he could not help but being to a big degree jealous towards Satharn, starting to understand the importance of the Night Haunter to his new lord . He was his father in some way he had yet to understand. A father... What would his own think of him now? At least they were in a better place now, beyond despair, darkness and blood spilling. Having simply died with the detonation of Lacrus.

With those heavy thoughts, he at last put a foot in the med-bay. "Hello? Is the chief resident present? I'm a field medic by the name Valu, I wondered if I could lend an aiding hand?"

<Medbay> @Uriel1339 @Vulpas

Like the rest of the ship, the insides of the Medbay were quiet. However the place was also kept quite clean, all the instruments were in their place, the drawers well supplied. It was a real guess when was the last time this place was used, beastmen and the marines aboard probably using gods know what exact way to heal their wounds.

There was also another figure inside besides Valu and his guest, big form of Ukris, the Death Guard marine they met on the planet below and the same one who tried to kill them just couple of hours ago, was now being quite docile, friendly even, going though the supplies and after finding a spare narthecium unit, was now busying himself fixing it to his one normal arm while humming some nice tune.


<Depths of Nightfall> @Uriel1339

Valu, with his distinctive set of "skills" was quite possibly the only person who could've went on exploring the place such as Nightfall and remain in one piece, or at least during the initial sweep. Using the various vent shafts and small corridors made by vermin that was a part of pretty much every void-faring vessel, the shapeshifter slithered down past the guarded decks and into the unknown. At first, the decks looked pretty much the same, all covered in darkness and dust, like the rest of the ship they looked quite old. However fifteen minutes in and it started to get weird.

Valu started hearing strange screams echoing down the corridors and every so often he heard whispers behind him mentioning his name, but when he turned around nothing was there. It was pretty much the classic stuff but it didn't make it less scary, most likely due to this very ship. There was something like an aura spread throughout it all, as if the very air breathed fear, every shadow looked to have a hidden assassin within, just waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting traveler when he was least expecting.

And as if that wasn't enough to unnerve you, Valu came across another disturbing sight. He entered a tall chamber with open ceiling on top of which there was some kind of a railing, a bridge leading into darkness. Hanging from that bridge attached to a number of chains were eleven Space Marine corpses. Their skin was completely white and they were definitely dead, but how long it was impossible to say. Each one was still inside of his armor which was black and had a tattered robe hanging from it. Markings on their armor told Valu they belonged to the "first" (there was a high gothic number "I" on each of the dead marine's shoulder) or whatever that meant, but outside of that they had no other gear on them. However looking more closely, the Lacrymole could see two things - first, each of them had a wound on their back, a stabbing wound of some kind that went through the armor and straight into their twin hearts, perfectly piercing the rib cage. Second thing was that inside of that wound he saw what looked like to be stale blood...perhaps something he might use? Although for that to happen he would have to slither up on the bridge and then use the chains to get to the corpse he wanted and not get too much disturbed by the fact somebody just casually left these bodies to hang around in the middle of nowhere...


<Viator & Satharn> @Jorimel

Scion of Slaanesh didn't look all that glad that Satharn stopped him and interrupted him from his next assignment (even if it might've been just taking a bath and doing nothing in particular). Listening Satharn, he theatrically yawned couple of times, didn't even attempt to feign interest in the Night Lord's story.

"What your dad needs is purpose, not wine. I have no idea about visions but ever since I got here, he's been acting like that, sometimes he's totally crazy, rambling about some things that happened ten thousand years ago or arguing with himself, the other times he's ordering me find him some worlds where he could punish the wicked. So on and so forth. Bo'kar, our Warpsmith, and me have even found his old armor and claws and repaired them. At first, he refused to put it on and nearly skinned me alive for suggesting it only that couple of days later I see him in his full panoply of war, hunting through the lower decks like the Night Haunter of old."

"Point is, I also heard he died but whatever happened there broke him. Or maybe not, maybe he was always crazy, I'm not expert on you people, but I know that he had nothing to do with getting all of you aboard. That is all me," he said with some passion, arrogance even, "It was I who came up with the plan to maybe try and bring him out of stupor and now that you are all here, we'll see just how good my plan was!"

"Now, as for the wine or food...we don't have anything good. Bo'kar mixed some booze from the machines down in the forge and we give him to drink that, while as for the food he gets the same classic infantry rations like the rest of us, nutrition pastes and that sort of stuff, plenty of those around if you are not into what those filthy mutant beastmen are eating. Clothes...maybe you can find something in his chambers back where you left him, however enter it on your own risk. But if you are really going through with this, you can find the wine inside one of those rooms over there, we keep a barrel ready and send the occasional servitor to give him the drink. I'd like to warn you though that we used to send beastmen but since he kept on slaughtering them, we started sending servitors. Not a single one returned from that duty either. But hey, you must be different right? Good luck with that."

"So is there anything else, I'd like to go and relax now, not much time for it before we reach our next destination?"

<Medbay> @Colapse @Vulpas
Valu was not surprised to see a man playing medic if he just brought moments ago the dead back to life. The ultimate healing. Even though they did seem a bit brainless.

"Lord Astartes." Valu tried to garner the Nurglites attention, approaching him - while keeping a healthy distance. Luckily the paper bag on his face might prevent at least breathing too many bacteria and other unhealthy things in.

"It seems you are learned in the science of medicine? I might not know too much myself but I was a student to medicine once, been a field medic ever since. Not really formal, more of a survival talent. So. Anyway I can make myself useful around here? Although I must admit I do not understand much of Astartes physiology and might need some tutelage in that field. Oh excuse me. This is Fera and I am Valu. We met earlier... On the battlefield." He tried to make it as little awkward as possible, scanning the area if anyone might be around except the three of them. Having grown quite paranoid. The whispers promising death not just quite having left him. At least the presence of Fera eased him a bit.


<Depths of Nightfall> @Colapse
Valu was panicking and every single healthy cell in him screamed 'get out'. But he pushed on. Always further onward. It was terror tactics, for sure. It must had been. Millions of little vox-beads that were motion-triggered, yes certainly. On low volumes to make the recordings sound like creepy whispers. In fact they were so low that his mind made up that they were whispering his mind. That must be it. This Night Haunter must have driven people crazy with that. And the shadows weren't moving... Right? Right.

Viator said Curze might course through here. Non-sense. Why would a lord of this vessel traverse in shitholes like this without anyone to worship him? Bring him wine or otherwise show servitude? Unless he in fact was a mad man... Valu suddenly jerked, having felt a breath just after the insult sent towards the master of this vessel. Was he there? No. No, nobody was here. Just Valu the snake. Panting, mind twisting, just continuing his way through the tight confinements of vents and tunnels he made his way until he found what he was looking for. Victims. Bleeding victims. They would make a great addition to his genepool.

He gulped on the prospect of having to access the bridge of pure darkness. His instincts screaming louder than ever, but he just bit his lips and went forward. He found his prize... And he won't be denied it. And if he was to die here in this shithole. Then perhaps the dark gods indeed had a cruel humor, and Viator might have not been half the liar that Valu imagined him to be. It mattered little, the chance of becoming an Astartes was worth it, right? Right. That is why he found them here. It was fate, destiny. The first step on the road to damnation for the Imperium.

"So get going!" ordered the Forge Master, and Sobek wordlessly complied with a nod. With a wordless agreement with rust-red robed Techpriestess, Mystic went to the opposite part of the Forge, where once in a while an unconcious human came ready for improvement (brain surgery) or servitor for repairs. Its not that he knew how to do the job, but it was a purpose to keep him alive, and after a few tryouts he was sure he would master the machines of flesh.

The chamber was mostly seperated from the main Forge chamber, oppresive heat and loud hubhub of machinery lessened by a virtue of a paper-thin walls made of what Sobek could deduce was soldered together scraped iron plates and other residue metals. The interior wall, one facing to the inner part of the Forge was actually a parapet, but its top half was made of tranparent, dirty crystalflex. Tapping the hybrid material with his knuckles as to make sure, Sobek puzzled over as to the reasoning behind it? Obviously not much thought was put into assembling this chamber, but why place an outdoor material, one used to make windows, observation galleries and portholes on starships as an indoor window?

Upon entry to his newly made post, he realized why. The stench of unwashed blood replaced that of smoke, corrosion and sweat. The walls were so red that for a moment he suspected it was not the apperance of an oxydized iron, but of blood that seeped into the walls itself. Small scratches covered the walls, especially the window, as if the subjects within wanted release. Sobek did not realize such behaviour, and as he approached the window looking outside at the bulk of busy Forge Master, he mused at the thought. The mortals that came and will come to the attention of his scalpel and laser, were convicts or slaves. Of which both path ended only with death. By transforming, improving them to servitors of various kinds he gave them half-life without suffer or regret, a life of continued purposes at the end of which, they had a glimmer of possibility to become something more. A battle-automata or a luxury servitor. A change. And considering their hapless circumstances, probably a beneficial one. Escaping from it, was quite unreasonable.

The half-breed would never understand that. Sobek thought as he looked at the back of the Forge Master in his massive battle-plate. Only war is on its mind.

Dedicating himself to some work before Forge Master Bo`kar could see him lazying around, Sobek attended to his wounds and damaged inner working. Luckily the laboratory, as Sobek started thinking of it, had all the tools he required for the moment. He could always go to the shipboard apotecharion for treatment of his wounds but he neither trusted these people nor if he did, would it be a viable option to him. The moment a medicae attempted to take away mask of a Cyrabor, even one that has stopped following the Cult`s path, madness would overtake him.

Upon one of the cold, suprisingly clean surgical slabs, Sobek worked on himself with a help of a mirror and his unnatural senses. Most of his wounds regenerated but his throat continued to give him pains of frustration.
Hurrying to get his voices operational before Corbulus or fresh batch of subjects came, Sobek croaked and whined a few times, his flesh and mechical voice rising and falling in pitch and tone, sometimes merging, sometimes refusing to work at all.

@WanderingJester

"Heretek. My armor and weapons require your attention, as does Nero's." Alpha Wolf uttered from the doorway, Sobek did not realized were open.
For a moment, he looked around himself as if to accent the purpose of given laboratory. Then again the differences between filfhy apotecharion and an armory. Prehaps the fascilities of that Techpriestess would be more apt for his requests. But then again he would not commit himself to explain Corbulus the nuances between the two. He`d rather hold to his life and limbs, thank you very much. At least for long enough to escape this charnel house and a place of madness and ruin.

Gesturing to one of the unoccupied slabs designed to probably perform surgery upon heavier classes of servitoria, Sobek prepared his tools, recollection at repairing similiar marks of power armor coming to him vividly. Maybe he did not had the precise schematas of Corbulus`s wildly varried armor, but at least he spent a lot of time repairing them.

With a flash of soldering torch and ever present buzz of hyperspanner, he worked on Corbulus`s armor, avoiding to look at the tropy heads of the Black Legionnaires hanging at his waist or Alpha Wolf`s eyes, though he did notice a deep X shaped scar on his left cheek. Other marking of workship and allegiance were absent, which told Sobek enough without asking. Ambition without giving anyone blind service.

As he preached a litany of requests, of which some of them Sobek did not even know how to fulfill, Mystic noticed Nero in the corner fiddling with his weapon.

"What is it? I am not foolish to make an attempt on Corbulus`s life." uttered Sobek with mild annoyance at being treated as a hostage, his beaked mask gesturing at Nero`s bolter in hand. His higher tones of flesh voice mixing into machine-speak, giving a sensation of a juddering mechanism, stopping where it should be well-oiled to go on.

Sparing a moment to get a better look at Nero and his worn, artificer armor, he remembered him kneeling, for a moment confusing him with Corbulus. He did not know why he confused them, probably because Corbulus`s bearing and arrogance spoke of a lord or at least one aspiring to be one. The kneeling, even if before such a ruinous monster as their shipmaster, was still somewhat regal. He did not expect such behaviour of Nero. Most of the half-breeds were crude brutes, no taste for subtle and sublime.

Finishing his work upon Alpha Wolf`s armor, he gestured to Nero.
"Put your weapons away on that pile." Sobek gestured to the table where Corbulus left his chainaxe, bolt-pistol and knife. "They are not of any use to you jammed or broken."

Standing aside to make way for Corbulus to stand up he added as he patted his ochre robe:
"I am...not sure what you are doing but, some of the requests you have made I..."...tilting his head as he trailed on, pondering on the most wisest answer "...will need special resources to complete them with satisfactory levels of quality."he added with an eager nods of his beaked mask, his slim medicae mechadendrite that ended with a boxy attachment, mirroring the motion above Sobek`s head with considerable delay.

"Besides...from whom these orders stem from? Our new master or..?" Sobek added as he rubbed his fingerless gloves nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the subject that may cost him his life.

If Corbulus had been bothered or even noticed the suitable dedication to Khorne this servitor preparation room had been, he hadn't shown it. Allowing the heretek to work upon his work, he growled as Sobek spoke to Nero. "Heretek, you are new to the warband, and thus I will make an exception this once. However, in the future, you will address me either as lord or master. Nero may attest to what happens when others presume to be to be my equal." At that moment, the young chaos space marine turned his head, revealing a healing but still large bruise to the side of his face, where his slip of tongue had resulted in a swift backhand from the Alpha Wolf. Yet, with a wave of a hand, Nero placed his weapons down along with his master's, upon his silent orders.

As Sobek finished up the work on Corbulus' armor, the aspiring champion narrowed his eyes at the heretek. "I've just told you: these things are for the shrines dedicated to the dark gods, specifically the Prince of Pleasure and the Lord of Change. As for the resources, search for what you need, and take them when you find them. Should you encounter any resistance, inform me and," he flexed his fingers, the newly refurbished gauntlets making a sound not dissimilar from that of popping knuckles, "I shall rectify the problem." Despite his support and thinly veiled threats, the Alpha Wolf actually made no motion outside of the heretek's instruction, that was until he had spoken his last line.

Reaching out, Corbulus seized the nervous heretek by the collar, though his hands were large enough that they grabbed more of a hold around the mystic's throat. Lifting the mystic up off of his feet and pulling his head inches from his, he bore into the heretek's bronze mask with his orange eyes, allowing him to truly understand the seriousness of the situation, as well as the place where his words had begun to tread. "Listen well heretek, for I will not repeat myself: I have no master aside from the dark gods. So unless Lord Khorne, Queen Slaanesh, Father Nurgle or Master Tzeentch speaks to you directly with an order, your only concerns are of my directives and this warband's. Mayhaps this might be different had Lupercal lived, but now I serve no one but the four deities. Not the arch failure that styles himself as 'warmaster.' Not the pretension that calls himself Viator. Not even Konrad Curze. Any instructions you follow from Curze or his band are merely an extension of your service to me, and thus the dark gods. Is that understood?" With the question, the fingers tightened slightly, truly allowing the mystic to feel the grasp the Alpha Wolf had around his throat.

Once an adequate answer had been received, Corbulus would merely release his grip from the heretek, allowing him to drop straight to the floor. Walking over to where his helmet sat on a counter, he donned it on again, as he expected the mystic to collect himself once more, and begin work on Nero's equipment. Reaching into his pack, the Alpha Wolf pulled out two cans of paint: one gold, the other black. He turned and looked to the heretek once more, gesturing at his ochre robes then to his own power armor as well as Nero's and their gold decor with the black trim. "And take up the colors of the warband. Your allegiance is to the Wolves of Horus now, not to the fools of Mars, or Abaddon. About time you look the part as well." With that, he stood to the side, observing the work that continued with Nero's armor, and both of their equipment.


@High_Adept_Zeth