To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Ancient_Sobek]

S’ynek’s golden eyes peered out from the darkness of his hood. They took in the space before him. The devastation of the room spoke to the brutal execution of the kill team’s mission. He was not surprised. Varn was a megalomaniac, but he had an eye for talent. He would have to watch them carefully.

 

As the team entered the room he looked each one over trying to determine how they could serve his own needs. The leader had the look of one on the bloody path of vengeance. He understood this need, his own past cried out for the blood of his enemies. An apothecary, definitely useful. There was also a spirit-caller among them. This was surprising, he was not sure if this was a good omen or an ill one. He would have to ruminate on it.

 

He noticed a fellow blade fighter enter with them. His weapon was not one he had seen before but his mind instantly understood how to use its unique design to deadly advantage. The marine approached the figure studying the rubble in the middle of the room. Interesting, by their interaction there was obviously a past connection. Radago didn’t know the robed figure, but recognized him as being part of the raid on the machine worshipers. 
 

It was too early to decide who was a threat and who was useful...

Edited September 8, 2021 by Ancient_Sobek

[Necronaut]

So, Orphiel yet numbered among the living. His reappearance seemed a strange omen, but Vesalius smiled to himself behind his pointed helm regardless. He turned to take in the newcomers. Another heavy weapons expert, another assault specialist and his counterpart from the machine-cult, though the latter seemed to be wearing the cult's heraldry and devices as much as the remains of its members. Very interesting; perhaps a kindred spirit?

 

He turned back to regard Orphiel and Svelk, exchanging greetings in the way of distrustful warriors. Trust was a commodity in short supply amongst these scoundrels. But they were now the only thing approaching a brotherhood he could hope to claim: a confederacy of villains and outcasts.

 

The presence of Orphiel and the others could only mean one thing: their erstwhile master was nearby and would soon reveal himself.

Edited September 6, 2021 by Necronaut

[Xin Ceithan]

Ithan let his gaze wander around the room. Sharing such a small space with other warriors hailing from the Adeptus  Astartes again after such a long time was both invigorating and unsettling.  

Outside the recent Assault on the Mechanicus Templum, most of the other warriors he had encountered thus far had been alone or in rather small groups that had closed ranks, wary of the approaching outsider.
Here, almost a full  squad was assembled and the humming of their armour resonated through the slivers of broken glass and furniture. There was an exchanges of cautious nods and glances between them and Ithan felt a sting of …something … when he noticed  the more casual interaction between the brothers of the Killteam that had taken Elysium.  While still obviously wary, here was the beginning of a  bond forming from the  forges of  their  recent battle and the Techmarine envied them for that. Even if was far from the easy camaraderie he remembered.

The tension was there, almost physical. The spacing, each one of them aware of the other, attempting to cover blind spots, weapons within easy reach.  Some hid it  better  than others. Some seemed to itch for an excuse. And some..

 

Another crunch of glass sent an angry buzz of activating servos through the room. Hands tightened on weapons. Helmet lenses whirred. 
 

The whole situation suddenly reminded Ithan of a flock of mountain rocs circling each other around the carcass of something that had perished in the vastness of the desserts, all stilted legs and blustering feathers,  disdainful looks and craning necks, all of them hungry but equally wary of the sharp beak of the one next to them…

 

Ithan could not help it and let out a laugh. 
 

“It does look like you had some fun in here  for sure.. Now, is this how you lot celebrate your victories?” 

Edited September 7, 2021 by Xin Ceithan

[Machine God]

Draak strode across the meeting hall and headed towards Decimus. As they met Draak backhanded Decimus across the face with his Heavy Bolter, knocking him to the floor. Covering the prone and angry Decimus, 
Draak: "This won't be covered in my efficiency report. Coming to a meeting without a weapon shows bravery, but coming without armour is just plain stupid!"

(Edit: typo)

Edited September 6, 2021 by Machine God

[Black Cohort]

Decimus waved off anyone looking to assist him, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then spit some blood flecked phlegm onto this strange marine.

 

"I too was once an insecure whelp who had to use violence to try to impress my betters.  Are we not among friends?  Is it not a sign of respect that I do not feel the need to appear armoured at times, as if expecting betrayal at any moment.  And are we not of limited resources; where it makes no sense to unnecessarily tax our wargear?  Now apologize, not to me, but to our master, for you have distracted all from the purpose he brought us here for.  And if there is still a problem, I will be happy to settle it later, in the training cages like proper warriors."

[Lysimachus]

The members of Kill-Team Cutlass close ranks around Decimus, who is already rising angrily to his feet. Whatever you might say or think about one another in the privacy of your minds, the instinct of an Astartes to protect a squadmate, one you have fought and bled alongside, is too strong to be ignored. A few weapons are half raised towards the encroaching Devastator and others are readied should either of the other Astartes on the right also make any aggressive move. But Decimus answers the challenge with remarkable restraint, and words rather than fists.

 

His rebuke hangs in the air, but it is at this very moment that the tyrant Lord of the Solios Nebula appears from the side passage. He shows no sign of being aware of the tension in the room. Or maybe he simply does not care, such jostling for position within a squad being beneath his concern. Silently he goes to stand before the huge window that looks out across the stars. He pauses there for a moment, just as Elysium's former master did. But no one could mistake Talek Varn for his predecessor. As before, the air of lethality that surrounds his Terminator-clad frame is palpable.

 

Following Varn is another Marine, who likewise carries an aura of deadly power, though of an entirely different kind. He wears above his grey and crimson armour a high ceramite collar and arching hood, connected by a multitude of wires and cables, and carries a tall staff with a haloed skull at its tip. Even for those who have not encountered him previously, his identity is obvious. This must be Degier, Varn's personal psyker. He does look around the Stateroom, with lip curled in contempt, taking in the combat-ready stances of those gathered. Then he looks from where Decimus rests on one knee over to where Draak stands.

 

"Help your brother to his feet," he orders coldly.

 

As the Devastator moves to do so, Degier's eyes pass over the room's occupants again, less scornfully this time. To Odysseus he even offers a nod of mutual respect.

 

Finally, with order restored, Varn turns to face you. As though nothing has happened, he raises his arms to gesture at the unmended chaos all around and speaks in his usual bass rumble, with a wry grin that only fleetingly touches his eyes.

 

"I prefer this place like this. It is an excellent reminder of the folly of human pride."

 

He now looks around at the gathered Astartes. Six of you were responsible for this destruction and it is to you he speaks first.

 

"I regret that I have not been able to summon you sooner, my brothers. But Captain Achard and Mister Holger have both told me of your squad's exploits since we last met. Intelligent, decisive, focussed and forceful. I am impressed. You have fulfilled my trust in you."

 

Then he turns to the other group, including Orphiel in his gaze.

 

"You have likewise proven your ability. This I have seen with my own eyes during the raid at Cynarae Dormus. The Iron Gods have won great victories, victories that are vital steps on our path to final glory."

 

Varn pauses for a moment.

 

"But it seems I must require more from you." He shrugs, servos lifting the massive shoulder plates in harmony with his movements . "Such is the privilege and burden of we Astartes. An... opportunity... has arisen, and we cannot afford to let it pass us by. Those of you who conquered this station have already heard something of the prize that could be in our grasp. For the rest, I will tell you of the Pride of Kings."

 

***

[Commissar Molotov]

At the sudden outbreak of violence, the Traveller's gauntleted fingers brush against the activation rune of his alien blade. Six against one: it would be simplicity itself to end the impetuous fool's life. Incidents such as this only served to underscore just how far the Iron Gods had fallen from the tight-knit brotherhood offered by a Chapter. It showed the Iron Gods for what they were - a bickering gaggle of dogs snarling and snatching at one another, jostling for position closer to the kill.

 

As Decimus rose, the Traveller's helm likewise inclined, the blood-red stripe running along its snouted length gleaming. The Devastator had acted with remarkable restraint, defusing a situation that had threatened to descend into violence. Whether Draak realised it or not, the older Marine had saved his life.

 

Varn's entrance and feigned ignorance of what had transpired were as theatrical as the Traveller had expected. Even now he withheld the information on this so-called prize, trying to tantalise his warriors by appealing to avarice and greed. A feeling of bitter inevitability began to settle upon him like the shroud he wore. Varn was a dissembler; he would hold onto the truth if doing so gave him power. Such behaviour did not bode well.

Edited September 10, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Trokair]

Battle conditioning took over at the unprovoked assault on brother Decimus, shield raised and positioned to step in even before the blow had fully connected with the devastator, but to slow to intercept it. Decimus had bleed for them, for him, remnants of conditioning and instinct as well as honour and debt of blood called to come to downed marines aid.

 

Decimus however waved them aside, this was his concern, and he was up to the task in dealing with it, as his words proved moments later.  Nonetheless Brynjarr would remain ready to defend.

 

The entrance of the Tyrant was timely, for while Decmius had remained calm, others had not. Svelk for one had been ready to attack in retribution instead of defend, though such offence would have bought time for the others to firm up around their squad member.

 

Still somewhat distracted Brynjarr listened to the Tyrants words. They had passed the test then, or at least enough to be thrown once more into the fray, chasing myths and rumors. He hoped that there was some truth to this and that it would not be a folly to sate the Tyrants thirst for power and glory.

Edited September 6, 2021 by Trokair

[Beren]

Svelk's bolt pistol is in his left hand, raised towards Draak, and his axe rake slid into a firmer grip in the other when Varn enters the chamber. At the same time he has taken several steps back, keeping all the newcomers in his sights. Even Orphiel.

 

With the situation diffused, he lowers his weapons, but does not mag-lock them to his armour.

 

Trust was once the only commodity he had to spare. It had to be, there was no room for doubt. Either the others did their parts, or they all died together. Here, trust was spread thin, like air in a ship that had been half vented to the void before the breach could be sealed. In the second before the stranger had revealed his blow to be one of arrogance rather than genuine hostility, Svelk had in an instant entertained the possibility that the squad was under attack. He could see from the reactions of several others that they had made similar considerations.

 

Svelk could not say the newcomer was entirely wrong, he spent as little time as possible out of armour himself. The void was always hungry after all. However, in this instance, the void was not involved. Nor did he appreciate yet another space marine belting out commands, or backing them up with violence.

 

---

 

"-my trust in you..."

 

These are the words that pull Svelk out of reverie, his hands tightening around his weapons.

 

Their overlord had dispatched a spy among them, perhaps now a second, if the newcomer's words were any indicatior. He cocks his head and takes a half-step forwards, waiting for Tarek Varn to finish. When the other Astartes does, he raises his axe rake to sweep across the ruined room.

 

+++You said pride was folly. I hope this 'Pride of Kings' is a less fragile thing than what we broke here.+++

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel watched the odd scene develop - all theatre, all bizarre posturing pantomime.

 

He stood unmoving, with threat reticules locking about the assembled company, chimes pinging and dying in the wake of the Pirate Lord's proclamation.

 

At Svelk's words, Orphiel stirred only to push at the pile of broken glass at his feet with the toecap of his sabaton, before looking across at the assault marine.

 

+Maybe not,+ he told the chamber, speaking to no-one in particular.  +Pride goeth before a fall.+

[Necronaut]

Without realizing it, Vesalius had half drawn his blade from its sheath at the sudden display of violence. Decimus was bloodied but otherwise no worse for wear, but the assault by the newcomer had come entirely unexpected. He had assumed, perhaps naively, that even amongst would-be corsairs such aggression would be nominally held in check as a matter of courtesy, not to mention the shared threat of bloodshed. He counted himself lucky to have been sorted with such a group of seeming professionals, all things considered. Vesalius did not resheathe his blade until Decimus was on his feet again and the newcomer had backed away. He was somewhat surprised by his response, moving to Decimus's defense, but better the devil you knew, so the saying went.

 

+++

 

There it was again, "the Pride of Kings," the meaningless phrase first uttered by the self-styled prince they had captured. It would seem that Von Caeryd had seen fit to enlighten the lord of the Iron Gods as to its meaning. He waited patiently for Varn to continue, while keeping a wary eye on the three strangers adjacent to Kill-Team Cutlass.

Edited September 6, 2021 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Draak obeyed Degier's command and assisted Decimus to his feet. Draak then backed away cautiously and as silently as he could across the broken glass.

 

Draak was impressed by Decimus' response to his riposte, he was also impressed too by Kill-team Cutlass' cohesion and threat response. Draak would have to conduct an appraisal of the warning icon's and their response timings that Eisen had registered. < Position and hold must be firm enough to support the weapon > 

 

Draak moved his finger off of the trigger and over the trigger guard. Draak then brought his full attention to Talek Varn's brief.

[A.T.]

Odysseus returns the nod as he remained impassive to the events unfolding. Though he stood amongst them he placed himself above their squabbles and posturing for none could aspire to his post.

 

Others gripped their weapons too quick to seek vengeance against perceived slight to the order of things and it was perhaps best that they lacked restraint, it would not do to have their fire support distracted by too many eyes on his back in the coming days.

 

He turned his eyes back to Varn and Degier. The blackstone that Von Caeryd had amassed here hid many things but also revealed that which was hidden, a rare opportunity for such an appraisal of those that stood above him.

[Lysimachus]

Varn smiles at Svelk and Orphiel's words and answers mysteriously.

 

"If this Pride is everything I hope, then no. No, it is not fragile at all."

 

Then he pauses and turns to another of the Stateroom's occupants, suddenly businesslike in his manner.

 

"But before I speak further, there is another matter that must be brought to completion. Traveller, the mission is successfully concluded. You have played your part to the letter, and I am a man who keeps his word. If you wish it, I will give you your reward, the name of the one who can aid you in your quest for vengeance, and you may depart as soon as you will. No man here is a slave.

 

But… I do believe it would be to both our advantages for you to continue your association with the Iron Gods a little longer. If you will allow me a few moments to complete this briefing, I will explain?"

 

Varn smiles again, with seeming affability.

 

"It is your choice."

 

***

[Commissar Molotov]

As the attention of the assembled Astartes focuses upon him, the Traveller stands unmoved. In the silence of the shattered stateroom, there is an musical ting... ting... ting... as the Ecclesiarchal charms and rosettes strewn across his armoured form clash and jangle. It is an almost metronomic beat, counting down to an uncertain end.

 

Stay?

 

Leave?

 

Of course he would leave. This was agreed, pre-ordained. The arrangement with these cut-throats and thieves was at and end. There was little more that would be garnered here - no discipline, no unity; only a reminder of the brotherhood he had lost.

 

But even as he prepared to leave, to strike out once more on his own, something seemed to catch. Something as soft and tenuous and yet stubbornly resilient as a trailing spider's web. He had no interest in gold or jewels. Such trifles were the province of fools.

 

What was it? What could possibly compel him to stay?

 

"You will give me what we agreed," the Traveller's voice grates. "But I will remain to hear what you have to say."

[Machine God]

So thought Draak, the Traveller was in charge of Kill-Team Cutlass. He who bears a red stripe down the middle of his Corvid Helm, how very... Codex!

 

So a deal had been struck and now this hunter might leave? What are the odds on that Draak wondered.

 

Noting the passage of words back, Draak thought that no he couldn't be that lucky.

 

This game of Regicide would be a long one...

 

But what is this Pride of Kings? Probably a starship, hopefully its not a space hulk. Although there is always sport on hulks.

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel was used to Talek Varn now, or as much as his experience let him.  He paid the armour-clad giant heed only in that he listened to the exchange.  As all eyes turned back and forth, or regarded with interest the play of words between Kai and the Pirate Lord, he did not.

 

The most interesting revelations came when no-one thought they were being watched.  Even as keenly aware as Astartes could be, this was a conversation worth investing in - especially for self-centred cutthroats.  Without turning his head, Orphiel moved his eyes, his position in the middle of the room enough to grant him a panorama of observation.  It was the reason he'd chosen the spot - apart from the odd trinkets and leavings of Von Caeryd.  The room was so opulent in form, that Varn's idea to keep the room in ruins was amusing and satisfying in equal measure.

 

Treasures reduced to junk, just like the ragged honour of the company he stood in.  All standing in a ruin of hubris.

 

Oh, Throne, the irony of that.

 

Varn's speech gave him time to think about the tableau in front of him.

 

The Techmarine, 'Redcloak' was it?  He recalled the moniker used about him en-route from the forgeworld raid.  Yes.  He was intriguing, throughout the audience looking like he just wanted it over so he could drown in drink.  Mjod perhaps?  Like the wolf-cousins of the Fang?  Orphiel smiled under his helm, thankful for the room provided by the Maximus faceplate, unlike the close confines of an Aquila rebreather and vox unit.

 

On reflection, he was impressed with Decimus, whose self-control was enviable.  The others of his immediate cadre shuffling or jousting protectively around him.  S'ynek, the other assault marine, seemed unperturbed by the display, but like everyone he followed the Traveller's journey to his decision.  Even Draak craned his neck, and the subconscious movement was enough to provoke Orphiel's notice.

 

Scrutiny Test to observe Draak:

Perception 69 (Halved, untrained) 35 (round up) +3 (Seeker's Robe) = 38

D100: 24 PASS, plus 1 DoS

 

Orphiel didn't like the body language he read.  Something was brewing there, which meant Draak would need to be watched a tad closer.

 

Deliberately turning his head to face Talek Varn, he waited for the next puzzle piece.

[Trokair]

Kai potentially leaving could be problematic, but that would hardly be his concern at this juncture, and nor should it be theirs, as they would have no say in the matter from the sound of it. Unlike most of them the Traveler and the Tyrant had their own arrangement, and not one of lord and subject, but more akin rough trader and mercenary.

 

 

If he stayed would it affect the rest of them, could they follow a leader who might veer of on his personal vendetta, or would a leader not beholden to the tyrant in the same way as them mean that spiteful or suicidal orders would be strategically not heard.

 

 

Hearing the Travelers response Brynjarr continued up all the implications, and on balance… on balance it was an unknown.

Edited September 7, 2021 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

"More than fair." Varn nods graciously, then turns his attention back to the room at large.

 

"So, I will tell you first of the Pride of Kings. Or, to be accurate, I am going to allow Elysium's former master to tell you."

 

He gives an order and a pair of tech-adepts rush in, pulling between them a large mobile pict-viewer display. After some minutes of hurried work, it begins to play a piece of rather grainy picter footage. It shows a small, dark chamber where Von Caeryd slumps in a corner, bruised and bloody, his long hair hanging lank around his shoulders. A chronometer in the corner of the image suggests that the footage was shot just a matter of hours after Cutlass' victory. Though the picture is far from perfect, the sound is crisp and clear. Holger enters the cell and Elysium's former Prince looks up.

 

<<Playback>>

 

"Who in the God-Emperor's name are you? And do you ignorant savages seriously mean to say you've never heard of the Pride of Kings?!"

 

Holger looks down at the captive. He smiles his lop-sided, suddenly somehow fear-inspiring, smile.

 

"Why don't you just tell the story, 'Your Highness'?"

 

The pirate 'Prince' looks up in haughty anger at the little man's mockery, then seems to remember how he and his burgeoning little empire have been utterly crushed. After a moment he nods glumly, knowing he has no other option.

 

"You have rarely sailed the Kharidys Sector, then?"

 

(OOC: As you will likely remember, the tendril of the Solios Nebula known as the Arotil Salient - where you are now - forms part of the border between the Arotil Sector to the north and the Kharidys Sector to the south. But none of you have visited this particular part of the Imperium, either in your old lives or since joining Talek Varn.)

 

Holger shrugs non-committally and Von Caeryd continues.

 

"Very well, very well. The Pride of Kings... It is a local legend across Kharidys, one of those stories such as most parts of the galaxy seem to have. A fable to entertain children and archeotech hunters, I always believed. But perhaps not! And surely it would have value to your masters?" Arian asks desperately, suddenly reaching up to paw at Holger's leg. The Remembrancer pushes him back and he desists, taking in a deep breath.

 

"I suppose I must begin at the beginning. Around... four... perhaps five?... thousand years ago, a man named Vespucci supposedly found a prize beyond imaging in the Kharidys Sector. Some of the legends call Vespucci a Chartist Captain or a Rogue Trader, but I suspect in truth he was nothing more than a common profiteer… much like your 'lords'. Whatever he was, he claimed to have found an abandoned vessel, out there somewhere in the deep darkness between the stars. A truly ancient beast, perhaps from as far back as the days of the Emperor himself. The Pride of Kings."

 

Von Caeryd pauses dramatically, and frowns when Holger does not respond. After a moment, the spy calmly pulls a vicious looking blade from somewhere about his person and circles it in the air, prompting his prisoner to hurry along. The spoilt manchild whimpers and continues.

 

"The legend says it was an Astartes Battle Barge, maybe even a Forge-ship of some kind, full to the brim with weapons, vehicles, armour and all manner of other supplies and treasures. Where it came from nobody knows. No Chapter ever came looking for it, that was a certainty. But Vespucci definitely did bring back several items of truly ancient Astartes design. He made a few sales, to Planetary Governors and rich merchants and the like. Some of their descendants around Kharidys still show off relics they say are pieces of the treasure that their forebears purchased. I have seen a few in person." He sniffs fussily. "In some cases it might even be true.

 

According to the tales, it was in the Mardego system that Vespucci got caught up by a Naval patrol group. He tried to run rather than turn over what he had found. His ship was obliterated before they even knew who or what they pursued, and destroyed along with it was the location of the Pride of Kings. Of course, for decades after that, salvagers went hunting, but no one could find it. More than a few disappeared themselves. It did not take long before most doubted whether it ever really existed.

 

And for the last four millenia that was the end of the tale. The ship became the province of storytellers, thespians and mountebanks. I believe I even have an artist's rendition of it in one of my storerooms. Late Thirty-seventh Millenium, a master's piece in itself, of course, but Emperor knows if what it depicts bears any relation to the reality…"

 

Holger coughs and Von Caeryd seems to realise he is rambling.

 

"In any case, a few months ago I blockaded a ship passing through the Salient. I took my plasma pistol from the Captain as part of my tribute. He said he bought it on Viorda Prime from another man, a man who claimed to be the only survivor of a ship that had recently rediscovered the location of the Pride, but had been destroyed itself shortly afterwards by a fierce warp storm."

 

He grimaces bitterly.

 

"In my opinion, the Pride of Kings, if it does exist, is cursed. It was lost, as was Vespucci's vessel, then Emperor knows how many previous searchers over the centuries, and now this latter ship too. Thousands of lives taken. And look what has happened to me, cast down from my rightful place of honour scant months after receiving just one tiny piece of its treasure! What other conclusion can one draw?!"

 

Von Caeryd pauses in self-pitying reflection, then seems to realise that he is disparaging the very thing he is offering as a prize. He puts on an ingratiating smile.

 

"But surely anyone as mighty as your Iron Gods would have nothing to fear from old curses? I can give them the name and location of the man on Viorda Prime who knows where it is. That alone must be worth my life... perhaps even some small compensation?"

 

He suddenly straightens and nods equitably, as though he has just thought of a fair exchange for all involved.

 

"I will give your masters my grand Elysium and the name... and in return they will give me that little frigate you arrived in and allow me to depart from here in peace?"

 

<<Playback ends>>

 

Varn lets out a short bark of genuine amusement as the image freezes on the final frame.

 

"I suspect your response to that bargain would have been much the same as mine was."

 

***

[Trokair]

An Astartes ship, now that was of interest, but the rest of the tale it was all too fanciful. Chapters did not lose assets like that, and if they had been overcome by an enemy strong enough why would there be any remains?

 

 

“A ship like that just does not lie abandoned, nor slumber through the eons. Why should we believe the Princeling and his fairytale?

 

If he heard of this moths ago why is has he not sought it, he had the manpower, and the ships, and yet he hid in this little rock, extorting traders. This is just a last desperate plea to buy him some more hours of life.”

Edited September 8, 2021 by Trokair

[Machine God]

So it was a starship as Draak had thought.

 

Draak slowed his breathing down and continued to listen to the exchange.

[Xin Ceithan]

Placeholder

Redcloak directs his attention to a tale of a ship full of interesting tech thingies

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel's eyebrow lifted.

 

An ancient ship, lost in the Emperor's armpit, for Throne only knew how long.  The First Company rarely spoke of their time besieging such leviathans, but when they did, it was always the same: red gore, dripping from the walls and their armour as wave after wave of chittering, chewing beasts surged forward, or slunk in the shadows just waiting to destroy the unwary interloper.

 

Alternatively there were the bastard Orks, or damned souls of lost boarding parties, flesh remoulded by the Thing dwelling Without, still shambling around, having forgotten they were but desiccated remains.

 

The Pride of Kings was no prize, it was a trap - of words, of dreams, of fools.

 

And desperate men.

 

Orphiel frowned, thinking about it.  If the Pride was a Forgeship, if it did contain arms, armour and STC Archeotech, then his duty was clear.  Talek Varn was contained in the Solios Nebula because his force could be squashed, just as a malodourous nest of vipers should be, by a dedicated strike force.

 

If his threat became bigger, reached critical mass thanks to this prize...

 

He corralled any further thoughts, saving them for later when out of the presence of the Witch-kin.  For now, mission planning had to come first.

Edited September 8, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

So this was the Pride of Kings, a child's story of treasure and adventure? What kind of fools did Von Caeryd take them for? And Talek Varn bought this sniveling tale? This was folly; this was madness!

 

Vesalius shifted his weight as the recording played, feeling his ire grow as the moments passed. To claim a space station from a rival pirate lord was one matter, but to be sent out on a wild goose chase for the faintest scent of ancient treasure…

 

He would flay Von Caeryd alive. He would flay the rogue trader alive and be quit of the Iron Gods. Surely none of the rest of his cohort had fallen for such an obvious ploy. He could practically smell the princeling's desperation as he regaled Holger with his tale.

 

He looked around the chamber at the rest of Kill-Team Cutlass and the other Astartes who had yet to introduce themselves. All appeared enraptured by the princeling's tale of archeotech and lost ships. He swallowed and returned his attention to the viewing screen.

 

I am surrounded by fools and madmen. If this is the price of my freedom, what new bondage have I bought myself? Would it have been better for me to serve my sentence with the Long Watch?

Edited September 8, 2021 by Necronaut

[Beren]

Svelk, cocked his head, crossing his arms and lightly tapping his pauldron with his axe-rake.

 

+++Void tales breed like living things, multiplying, growing, feeding on fears and hopes. The chances of this being real....+++

 

Svelk things back, to his days on the Ring. To whether they would have gone after a prize with even a fraction of the value of what this offered. To how even modest cahes of weapons grnted them reprieve, and death to their foes.

 

+++There is only risk to following this tale if it is true.+++