Date: 752.M41
Location: Segmentum Obscurus: Calixis Sector: Malfian Sub-Sector.
Report compiled by: Scholar Bennius CCXXVII. Ordo Hereticus.
Participants:
Ignace Hurftben- Noble born Assassin.
Ivan Blackheart- Void born sanctioned Psyker.
Prateus Ramirez Octus- Battlefleet Calixis Tech Priest.
Larissa Vries- Noble born Adepta.

Thought for the day: Blessed is the mind too small for doubt*

The characters are all sat in a shuttle, they’ve been sat, still and not moving for little over 4 hours.
Ignace looks up, catalouging every detail of the shuttle, and it’s inhabitants to memory. He coughs lightly, he glances at the Psyker.
“This won’t end well” Ignace tells himself.
Ivan looks up, assessing the Acolytes, he puts Ignace down as a Knight, along with Octus, Lek as a Rook and Larissa as a Bishop. He takes Ignaces look as a challenge to authority and, killing 2 birds with 1 stone, cuts his left cheek open, removing his sanctioning brand, and assuming dominance of the pack.
Everyone glares at Ivan, disgust rippling across the shuttle. An intercom crackles to life, announcing the destination is in sight.
The shuttle touches down on an Asteroid, deep in a crater, chunks of rock larger than the shuttle spin by, there’s no obvious settlement or destination in sight. A muffled bang emenates from the cockpit.
Ignace stands up, he has his shotgun drawn, cautious, it’d be just like the inquisitor to ditch them in deep space to test them. Just like him, that git.
Ivan stands up as well, politley introducing himself, Ignace recoils from the proffered hand, instead suggesting they get on with the job at hand. Larissa sighs, removes her harness and slips into place behind Ignace and Ivan. Octus dosn’t seem to notice the activity, he glances around the shuttle, catalouging dimensions and metal types.

Ignace twists the handle to the cockpit, entering slowly, cautiously. 2 minature thrones dominate the small room. Wires and cables spill from each, snaking away to conduit points or into the vast control board. In 1 chair sits a servitor, it’s eyes bloodshot, it’s chest exploded outwards. Blood is dripping from the board.
In the other chair sits a man, tanned skin and cropped blond hair, his blue eyes sparkle as he sees Ignace;
“Hey mate! Bit of a mess 'ere innit? Flyin' alon' and the servita' jus' blew up!” He smiles, he seems to have taken the main pilot detonating in his stride.
Ignace glares at him, this is too conveniant by far, he then smiles;
“Well, you’re lucky, what say we get out of here?”. The co-pilot nods, smiling.
Ivan calls up Octus, suggesting that he could fill in for the missing pilot.

Octus slips into the cab, kicking the ruined servitor from the chair, he taps a few keys on the board;
“So, where’re we headed then?” he turns to the co-pilot. He sees a most unexpected sight.
The co-pilot is on his feet, he has a naval pump action shotgun in his hand, he has it aimed at Ivan who’s held in his grip, Ignace stands across the cockpit, his shotgun also raised;
“Let him go” Ignace snarls, all pretences of freindliness gone.
The co-pilot laughs, he leads Ivan to the control board where he stabs a green button, something hisses.
Thick yellow gas leaks into the shuttle from under the floor, it quickly envelopes everyone, Ignace fumbles, singlehanded for his respirator while the co-pilot shouts;
“GAME OVER!”, a shotgun fires.
Ignace falls to the floor, unconscious, as do Octus and Larissa, Lek snores peacefully. Ivan falls to the floor. Covered in blood.......

(Yes, Ivan is a complete bastard)

Date: 752.M41
Location: Segmentum Obscurus: Calixis Sector: Malfian Sub-Sector.
Report compiled by: Scholar Bennius CCXXVII. Ordo Hereticus.
Participants:
Ignace Hurftben- Noble born Assassin.
Ivan Blackheart- Void born sanctioned Psyker.
Prateus Ramirez Octus- Battlefleet Calixis Tech Priest.
Larissa Vries- Noble born Adepta.
Lek- Feral penal Leigonairre.

The Acolytes awoke in a cell, all of them stripped naked. As per normal Interrogation protocol. The room was square rockrete with a single door, metal and a ring of keys next to it. The Acolytes were locked in 5 metallic chairs, held by bonds.

Deciding to risk it, Ivan breaks through the bonds (with an inpromptu effect and consequence). He liquidizes his bonds, getting up, he heads towards the ring of keys. He unlocks the Acolytes as swiftly as he can, unfortunatley, this isn't quick enough.

A drop of Liquid falls on Ignaces nose, he reaches to wipe it away, realising it's the same colour as the rockrete walls around them. He looks up, seeing the ceiling drip, the texture and colour of rockrete, the viscousity of water. Even as he watches, the ceiling thins, giving way to the outside environment.

Ignace steals a breath, alongside Larissa, Ivan and Lek, and rushes through the door, bracing himself against the doorframe as the outside vacuum tears the air from the room. Unfortunatley, Octus wasn't quick enough, leaving him fighting for breath, battling for each step he takes towards his fellow Acolytes.

Cursing, Ignace tears back into the cell, he grabs Octus and slowly drags him back to the doorframe, but slowly, Ignaces vision clouds, the lack of Oxygen making him delirious. Back outside the Cell, Ivan curses the incompetent fools before reaching out with his mind, creating a cocoon of energy around his trapped comrades, calling for them to hurry the hell up.

Seizing the chance, Octus and Ignace stumble through the door, shutting it behind them. Ignace is slightly delirious, his brush with death putting a new perspective on life. He shamelessly embraces Ivan, grateful for his life being saved, even as a small part of him realises:
"He wouldn't need saving if the frigging Psyker hadn't melted the walls!"

The party head away from the cell, along a corridor, thick pipes run along the wall, spearing downwards, beneath the grilled metal floor, some stretching upwards, into the distance. A spinning red light provides the illumination, an alarm shreiks shrilly, as Ignace comes across a cuboard. He pries the door open, finding the groups equipment and gear within. Suitebly clad, he pulls out his rifle, assessing the corridor ahead.

"Where there's alarms, there's a command centre, where there's a command centre there's aid" he informs the others, only to have Larissa shoot his plan down:
"There could be hostiles" she states matter-of-factly. Ignace decides, and the others agree, it's still their best bet.

The Acolytes walked along the corridor, jumping at shadows as the alarm carries on. Ahead, they can see a bulky sillouhette, it looks huge, with what looks like a drill on 1 arm. Without a thought for saftey, Lek charges down the corridor, hacking the beast apart with his great sword. He arrives back at the group, gives them the thumbs up and pulls a Screwdriver out of the meat of his thigh. The group proceed, past the remains of the ruined mentenance server.

They pass a room, tiled white, with a reclining chair built into the centre of the room, above it hangs a vast surgical rig, with syringes, scapels and bone-saws hanging from it. The room is full of blood, it splatters the walls, the chair, a broken scapel lies on the floor, the blade torn off. Indistinguishable amongst the blood, Ivan spots a corpse, it's wearing white robes, the skin flayed from its flesh. Next to its outstretched hand, ivan spies a thick tome, it's spattered with blood, but readable. While Octus keeps watch outside, Ignace checks the chair, Larissa looks on, sheilding her eyes from the harsh white lights and Ivan pores over the book.

It's a copy of the Scholastica Psykana, it has a wafer in it, marking a page. He flips to it, finding a page warning of the perils of an unguarded mind and the dangers that can follow in it's wake. Cursing, Ivan puts the book in his robe, he can guess what happened here.

Date: 752.M41
Location: Segmentum Obscurus: Calixis Sector: Malfian Sub-Sector.
Report compiled by: Scholar Bennius CCXXVII. Ordo Hereticus.
Participants:
Ignace Hurftben- Noble born Assassin.
Ivan Blackheart- Void born sanctioned Psyker.
Prateus Ramirez Octus- Battlefleet Calixis Tech Priest.
Larissa Vries- Noble born Adepta.
Lek- Feral penal Leigonairre.

Thought for the day: Only the Emperor is all.

Ivan warns the acolytes, telling them a being of the warp could well be loose is in the vicinity. Ignace starts to sweat profusley, Larissa trembles, Lek grunts.

Their attention is diverted by a scream, in the corridor, Octus has been hauled from the ground by a bony appendage, it's wound around him tightly, cutting off his oxygen supply, choking him. The appendage itself snakes away upwards, into the darkness, pores cover its skin, leaking thick, stinking ooze.

Ignace cries out, firing above Octus, hoping to hit the creature itself. The bang is deafeningly loud in the close confines of the corridor, echoing. The...thing above the Acolytes screams, the appendage falls to the floor, spasming as Octus fights his way free. Thick blood spatters the corridor floor, seeping through the grilled metal. It's purple, then green, then blue, then red, then yellow, a rainbow of colours in a smear of blood. Ignace swears again, hauling Octus from the spasming mass of muscle, the ooze has leaked into his clothing, staining it a dark, mouldy green.

Ivan strides out into the corridor;
"Be ready" he states, his claok fluttering in a breeze that doesn't exist, his eyes glowing violet behind his shades. Everyone nods, shaken. Above, they hear something scampering along metal, the pitter patter of a multitude of meet. Ignace gulps, wiping his brow.

Lek, taking the simple approach, pulls out his sword and starts whacking the walls at erratic intervals, as if he could bring the enemy down to his level by it. Ignace laughs, before tapping him on the shoulder;
"That won't bring them dow-" he starts to say. Lek spins round, backhanding the thing that attacked him. Ignace swears again, getting up, he rubs his arse and moves on. He notes how the Cowardly Psyker clings to the brute. We proceed for a few more minutes, the banging above us constant.

It stops, ahead of us, we can see a figure, it looks human, propped up against the wall. Ignace pulls out his rifle, glancing down the scope;
"Human, he's wounded" Ignace informs everyone. Lek approaches, before seeing the man clearly, blood is smeared over his orange overalls.

Breathing quickly, Lek smashes his nose in with the pommel of his sword, satisfying the death that follows the accursed colour. He wipes his nose, satisfied as the group look on aghast. The man against the girder lets out a hacking cough;
"We need to help him" Ignace tells the others, heedless of them following him, he walks over to the man, putting a good 15 metres between him and the group. He drops to one knee, reaching out a hand towards the man;
"It's okay, we're throne agents, what happened here?" The man looks up, his entire face is a mass of ruined flesh, his eye-balls spin crazily, he vomits a bit of blood. Ignace reclines his hand, turning around;
"It's fine, he's badly wounded, incapable of speech it seems, can someone come and help me with him?"

The Acolytes don't respond. Ivan is fumbling for his pistol, Larissa is trembling, Octus reaching for his lasgun, Lek snarling. Ignace turns around, the man is gone.

In his place stands something...horrific. It's humanoid in shape, with plaster white skin. It has large white eyes,with a tiny iris, midnight blue. It has a finley toned muscle structure, with hands ending in delicate claws extending several inches. As Ignace stands, shocked beyond belief, it laughs. And laughs. It's lips split vertically and fold outwards allowing a thick, swollen tongue to extend, several fangs extend from the end of it, surrounding a mouth which snaps eagerly at Ignace.
Drops of blood drip from it's eyes as it throws itself at Ignace, bloody murder it's intent.