For the emperor ! (IC thread - always recruiting )

[DrZombie]

A mutlitude of servitors and quite a few tech-priests are tending to the huge engine ulling the train. The wagons are grand, each decorated from bottom to top with embellished holy tekst and gilded carvings of the saints. You can see the miners and workers pushing and shoving to get in the tree-decked carrages behind you. The doors of the carriage in front of you open with a hiss, and a small, chime-like voice of a servitor offers praise to the emperor, its silver mask not quite covering its dessicated lips.

The huge carriage offers place to about two hundred travellers in moderate comfort. They are renowned for their detailed paintings and statues and are a favorite transport for the more wealthy pilgrims on their route from the spaceport to the temple and tomb and back again. They are arranged in units of ten seats, two rows of five facing each other with a small table inbetween with a wide walkway inbetween the two rows of ten units.
There is a group of thirty pelgrims allready near the back of the carriage, occupying two rows. They are silently praying. You can see a few clergy more to the front of the carriage, dozing off slighly.
There are a fair number of people waiting to get in. You have a seat in the last unit to the left.

[sblock=OOC]awareness roll, note number of successes[/sblock]

 

[jkason]

Harrigan sticks close to Kestrel. Her deadly presence, oddly enough, was starting to grant him a modicum more focus. With the whispers quiet for now, he turns his attention to the train carriage.

OOC: One success

 

[Jemal]

McClane motions rat forwards, following close behind him as his well-honed senses scan his surroundings.

OOC: 35-9=26. Three degrees, I believe, though I can never remember whether it's every full 10 or part thereof (I pesume the latter, as 1-9 would still be one success).

 

[Shayuri]

As they step onto the train carriage, Kestrel releases Zhent's arm. The danger was not now that he might be swept away in a sea of stinking flesh. Yet even here, there was room for caution...and in any event, her training prevented Kestrel from ever simply assuming a location was safe. Were she in the nave of the Great Cathedral itself, she would scan the corners, walls and ceilings for explosive packs, or one-shot concealed lasguns or similar assassin's work.

The curse of knowing, in precise detail, how to kill was to know too how easily one could die.

(OOC - *looks at roll* *...long pause...*)

(...I think I found something.)

 

[Ruiktheforgotten]

kelly moves to her seat and begins to close her eyes. these train rides always seem to put her to sleep some how.

OOC: -2

 

[jackslate45]

Rat takes a look around before climbing onto the platform.

 

[DrZombie]

[sblock=rat] Damned. An arbitrator. Sitting right next to you. You feel the package burning in your pocket. Are they on to you already? She appears to have dozed off, but you think you can see a glint between her eyelashes. She’s probably spying on you. You try to appear unconcerned, and look around, but you don’t really see anything at all. [/sblock]

[sblock=Kelly Kinkade] You doze off, lulled by the movement of the carriage and the droning prayers of the pilgrims. Every few minutes you open your eyes a bit to check your surroundings, but you’re losing the battle against the stalking foe called sleep [/sblock]

[sblock=Harrigan Zhent]The paranoia of your lethal companion seems infective. The people in your compartiment are an odd bunch. There’s an arbites officer who seems to be dozing off, and a generally suspicious looking individual, badly dressed but well-armed, who seems to be nervous for one reason or another. The thuggish looking merc sitting across him looks to be a bodyguard of some sort, although you cannot imagine how a ganger would end up with a protector.[/sblock]

[sblock=BruceMcLane] Your ratty companion is nervous, probably because there’s an arbitrator dozing off next to him. Unless the package he’s carrying is containing something that is against imperial law you should be safe. Another odd couple is sitting next to you. An imperial psyker, of all things. Voidborn, although he tries to hide it beneath his robe. You recognize the signs, the awkwardness, the way he furtively looks outside as if frightened by the mountain vista gently rolling by. His companion is something else. Body glove, combat training. The way her eyes keep darting around. Assassin, that one. Servant or safety valve?
Unfortunately they’re not the most dangerous persons in the carriage. There’s a pair of passengers near the entrance of the train. One appears to be a minor noble of some sorts. Overdressed, over-groomed, armed with what looks like a gilded gun. But his bodyguard... A cold killer gaze and the movements of a panther. He’s dressed in loose-fitting but finely tailored clothing, and is armed with a sword. His eyes never rest on a single spot more then an instant, even if he’s distracted by the incessant talking of his companion.[/sblock]

[sblock=Kestrel] You glance at the people in your compartment. There’s an arbitrator nearly dozing off. Next to her is a rat-faced individual. A ganger, most likely. You can see the bulges of two handguns under his jacket. It’s almost funny how he tries not to show his anxiety of sitting next to an arbitrator. He’s shielding something from her, looks to be a small package. His companion is more alert. A merc. Feral-worlder, probably Catachan or something very close. Well-armed. Looks like he can use his weapons. He’s alert, scoping out the dangers in the carriage, you included.
Unfortunately they’re not the most dangerous persons in the carriage. There’s a pair of passengers near the entrance of the train. One appears to be a minor noble of some sorts. Overdressed, over-groomed, armed with what looks like a gilded gun. But his bodyguard... A cold killer gaze and the movements of a panther. He’s dressed in loose-fitting but finely tailored clothing, and is armed with a sword. His eyes never rest on a single spot more then an instant, even if he’s distracted by the incessant talking of his companion.
You surreptitiously try to get a better look, but the throng of pilgrims is partially blocking him from view. And then, in the group of pilgrims, you see a movement, just for an instant, that you recognize. The chal’brae, rite of preparation, as practiced by the officio assassinorum. The physical movement for mental preparation proceeding imminent violence.[/sblock]

You see a group of pilgrims getting up and heading towards the front of the carriage.

 

[Jemal]

'Aw hell, what're the odds?' McClane thinks to himself, trying to split his attention between the near danger of the Assassin sitting across from him, and the further but greater danger near the train exit. The hairs on his arms stand up as the pilgrims cross nearby, but he can't tell whether it's from the presence of the psyker nearby or some imminent bad about to go down. Regardless, his posture shifts so that he can be on his feet and armed at a moments notice should something happen. 'Easy job my foot, shoulda known there aint no such thing in this life..'

 

[Ruiktheforgotten]

gumble......should stay awake......so tired.......zzzzzz

 

[jkason]

Harrigan Zhent, Imperial Psyker

Harrigan's brow furrows under his hood as he notes the odd seating arrangement of his nearby passengers.

"How does that happen?" he mutters, indicating the merc and the ganger. "Do you suppose they're a couple? Seems more likely than co-workers, yes?"

He doesn't really expect Kestrel to answer, but takes a momentary relief in the mundaneness of the idle gossip.