// This is a Play-By-Forum adventure thread. Please feel free to read along, but I ask that posts remain the privilege of the players. The initial call for this adventure can be found here .

Current Players:

Asymptomatic - "Oliver Yu"

ciaphiscainfan1990 - "Jasper Voss"

Arkio_Gannys - "Dracon Sylvanto"

Titanomachy

Rhodin IV. A long polluted Forgeworld of the Adeptus Mechanicus. A shell of a planet where half the population toils away drawing promethium and other useful materials from beneath the dead surface to feed the demands of the sector. The other half, the lucky half, service the vast subterranean network of pillars that prevents the mine workings, and the very foundations of the surface foundries, from collapsing under their own weight. The surface is home to sprawling manufactorums belching endless streams of noxious smoke that have spoiled the atmosphere and ruined the planets ecology. In other words, a pristine example of the Mechanicum's fortitude in these struggling times. This is where they told you to go.

They told you to reach Rhodin IV by your own means, in secret, in short order, illegally. Foresake your lawful names and privileges for the journey, do not be followed, do not leave a trail. The purpose, they told you, is twofold. First, to suss out the weak points in the world's security that they might be closed, and the Imperium improved for your passing, however fleeting. Second, to prove your capabilities, your worth, as applicants to the grand orders of the Inquisition in this, the first step in your test.

You know little of the details, though they made it quite clear who they were and what they wanted. Men of the Inquisitor Heidegger, and you, to be precise. They gave you one instruction should you make it: be there, as they passed you the dataslate, or hide from the Inquisition. This last bit, in every single case, was accompanied with a smirk. The dataslate, it turned out, contained an address, a date, and a time.

// Gentlemen, welcome to the start of Titanomachy , an adventure I hope will be to your liking. As you may have guessed, I would like to begin at the very start of your Inquisitorial careers, a time in which you have not so much as met your Inquisitor, only a few of his Acolytes. I would ask that you take your first post to describe how it is that each of you came to this point and found your way to Rhodin IV to the address you were provided. No tests are necessary here, we will assume that you were successful, so please take this opportunity to show off what you feel are your characters finer attributes. I will wait for everyone to respond before taking up the tale.

The dirty brown world spun slowly below, low orbit filled with landers, cargo haulers and other spacecraft glinting in the void. One such vessel, a snub nosed mass hauler decorated with Adeptus Mechanicum livery drifted towards the night side of the planet, the forges and space ports glowing through the smog that coated the planet.

Within the craft, the cockpit was buzzing with noise and activity. The pilots flicked switches and turned knobs, pulling levers and calling over their headsets as they approached the forgeworld.

"Rhodin-command this Oberat-Lander 45656 requesting approach vector for Refinery Decima-Alpha depot." The pilot voxed, a small button on his command console lit up as his message transmitted.

"Oberat-Lander 45656, approach vector is 34.8. Maintain holding pattern Eternus at angels 59." Came the crackled reply, the machine voice of a servitor at Orbital Command directing the ship.

"Copy Command, proceeding to angels 59 at vector 34.8. We await direction. Oberat-lander 45656 out."

As the light on the console blinked out, the pilot unbuckled himself from the flight chair, disconnected his cranial plugs and patted his co-pilot on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, I need to take care of something."

His co-pilot didn't reply, but waved a hand as he moved out to the cramped passenger section and entered the code to open the bulkhead that entered the cargo hold. The cavernous expanse was empty but for a few servitors and a lone man sleeping against one wall at the moment, but soon it would be filled with goods to be brought up from the polluted planet below. The pilot jumped down the steel steps two at a time before jogging over to the sleeping man, kicking the stranger to wake him.

"Hey, we're here."

The man on the floor sat up, disheveled but alert as he stood and gathered his pack.

"You have my thanks. Here are the thrones I promised. Remember that you never saw me. I don't ever want to see you again, but if people come after me, I come after you."

The pilot snatched the bag out of the strangers hand, a glare on his face.

"You think I'd be that stupid? It's not you I'm worried about. That servitor over there was a pilot once. I don't want to end up like that."

They headed to the rear of the hold, a small portal by the side of the main loading ramp was bolted shut, but the pilot entered another code into the small cogitator next to the door and the bolts slide back and he pushed the door open, fighting the slipstream to open it. The stranger buckled another pack onto his chest, tightening the straps before nodding at the pilot and leaping into the screaming winds.

He fell through the darkness, counting seconds before yanking the rip cord hanging from his second pack and a plume of material expanded above him, arresting his descent to a float instead of free-fall. The glowing city beneath him got closer and closer before he landed atop a mostly collapsed building. Quickly gathering his parachute together, he hurried to hide it in a vent before moving on to the city.

He ghosted through the thoroughfares and alleys, his bulk putting off most who would attack him, the lasgun at his back taking care of the rest. Black hair hung limp in his eyes and he brushed it aside, mismatched lenses glinting in the dark. He looked for street markers or some kind of map, but came up empty so decided to ask.

He pushed open the door to a dive, smoke and stale alcohol smell billowed past him as a gun barrel pushed itself into his chest as he entered.

"Wat business you got 'ere boy?" a voice asked from the shadows

"Just lookin' for a drink 'n some direction. Not 'ere for no trouble." He responded, holding a hand up as he stopped moving

"Alrite then. But aye'll be watchin'." The barrel moved away and the strangers moved over to the bar and sat on a rickety stool. A dirty glass hit the bar and a mechanical arm reached out and poured a clear liquid into the glass, smoke pouring gently over the rim of glass before he picked it up and downed it. The fluid burned its way down his throat and he gasped slightly.

"Heh, nice one. Not many off-worlders can handle that." The bar keep smiled.

" Not the first thing I've drank that tastes like acid and burns like it too." He slipped a handful coins and a smalll piece of paper over the bar top. "I'm trying to get here, can you point me in the right direction?"

"It's not far, a kilometre or so east of here. I'll put a few directions on the back."

"My thanks." Stranger said "I'll take another glass for the road and be on my way."

He knocked the second shot back, the burn less intense this time but he could feel fire in his belly still. He left, nodding to the shotgun wielding old-timer sitting by the door as he left.

Almost an hour later, the stranger found himself surrounded by half a dozen juves, crude tattoos and piercings marked them, pipes and knives held lazily in confident hands as thier leader straddled a growling motorcycle, the youths hair shaved and a series of steel spikes bolted to his skull instead.

"Hehehe drop the gun old man! We'll gank you good!" Came a call from of the others, and the stranger turned his head to look each way.

Great, way to get yourself in trouble again Jaspar. he thought, unhooking the latch on his laspistol hostler discreetly.

"I'll give you one chance to frag off punks, I've killed younger than you for less." He growled.

"Ahahahahah! You dare!?! What you gonna do old man?" Laughed the juve on the bike.

Jaspar simply drew his laspistol and shot the punk in the chest, punching the kid off the bike onto the road. The jive gasped once, surprised and died on the road, his face going slack as he died in agony. The other juves seemed frozen, shocked thier leader had just been gunned down.

Jaspar simply strode over to the bike, straddled the seat and tore off on his way, leaving them in the dust as he drove off. An hour or so later, he pulled up in front of a building, non-descript and filthy just like all it's neighbours. He pulled up the bike onto its stand and climbed off. Hammering on the door, he opened it a second later and entered.

"Hello?" He called out.

[[OOC://: sorry for the long post, my regulars won't be this long, just wanted to get everything in. EDIT: also dark blue will be Jaspars speaking colour now ]]

/* EDIT: The now public Sotto Voce is a short track I composed specifically for Oliver's backstory, the notes of which are distributed throughout the post. */

~C C D D# D# D D# ~

The transport vessel Heritage was wreathed in its own flames and debris. Inside, a boy lost in a sea of fire, in a sea of fire. He clung to his parents' bodies as if they were driftwood, an attempt to weather out the storm. But the firestorm would not pass. Over the roaring blaze, over the sound of his crying, the boy could somehow hear music. Sad, yet reassuring, the boy listened with all his heart. He would rather lose himself in the melody than in the flames. Closing his eyes, he prayed and...

~C C D D# D# C D ~

Oliver bolted upright in a cold sweat. He had dreamt of his childhood once again, with the same rude awakening. Long fingers swept crimson locks away from his face as he paced towards the mirror. Cold blue eyes stared back at him, addressing his gaunt figure and the off-color patch of skin that ran from the side of his neck to the small of his back. Shaking his head, Oliver slipped on a snug long-sleeved shirt before donning his workpants and boots. He had fastened his torso harness around his carapace plate the night before, holding the few items he brought with him in an impromptu suitcase. Despite his best efforts, a handle still managed to jut out of the suitcase. Grabbing it by the closest loop, he lugged it over his shoulder and out the door.

~B B C D D C D ~

"Rough night, I take it," the driver coughed, out of courtesy rather than concern. The light of the cockpit illuminated Oliver's grayed skin.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Oliver asserted. "What's our heading?"

"We're about to touch down on Rhodin IV, near one of the major landmarks. No idea what business you have in this dump, but I've finished mine. I drop you off here and your friend a little further on, yeah?" Oliver nodded. He had requested for a transport to bring him to the address listed on a data-slate. For reasons unknown to him, Oliver had caught the eye of the fabled Inquisition.

"Correct. As we agreed upon, I will overlook the charges on you and your ship."

The ship had indeed landed in short order, Oliver making his way off the transport and into the distance. He was in some sort of junkyard, given the massive mountains of trash and towering incinerators surrounding him.

"As we agreed upon, I will overlook the charges on you and your ship," he echoed sotto voce. "The same does not go for my partner."

A muffled gunshot rang out from inside the ship as pillars of fire simultaneously erupted from the smokestacks. Oliver froze where he stood. He needed to think back to the song from his past to regain his composure. Eyes towards the ground, averting his gaze from the roiling sky, he walked towards his destination humming all the way.

~B B C D D B C B A ~

Past the fields of smog and scrap, Oliver found himself in a meticulously maintained town. The innumerable aquilas provided a sense of safety and order, reason enough that his full equipment could be seen as relatively normal. Hunkering down in an alleyway, Oliver disassembled his "suitcase" and emerged notably bulkier. Scant muscles had been hidden behind a screen of ceramite and confidence. With that, he marched to the designated meeting place. Judging by the similarly out-of-place Guardsman and the man with outrageous hair, the three of them had gathered there for a similar purpose.

/* So, here's Oliver. I'm leaving a few gray areas in Oliver's history for (anyone's) later use. Hmm. Well, though it includes odd elements, the post is completed. I hope my choice of text color makes Oliver's lines stand out while not being too hard to read. Perhaps we can nominate orange as the OOC color too? Regards.
EDIT: I had trouble accessing the track while it was Private, so I went ahead and made it Public. Should be able to listen to it now without a SoundCloud account. */

Hovering in the void above the polluted wreck of a world, the Rogue Trader vessel 'The Elaborate Ruse' was preparing to leave the system. Dracon Sylvanto was reclining in the plush passenger section of the lander he had been assigned by the ships master, and he smiled a little smile to himself as the Aquila rose gently off the deck and rocketed off in the freezing black. A serf appeared, bearing a tray of sweet treats and various food stuffs, but Dracon waved a ringed hand and the serf backed off.

"Pilot, how long is this going to take?" he asked, pressing a little button on his armrest to activate the vox link to the cockpit.

"Envoy-Maester Trevallyan, we are approaching the primary spaceport servicing the Assado Sector presently. Not a common destination among our patrons, if I may say sire, I've only flown this way once or twice myself." Came the reply, tinged with crackle as vox always was.

"Mine is not a common business. Inform me two minutes before landing." Was his response, standing smoothly and turning to the serf who had brought the food and commanded "Leave me." The serf turned and left the small room, closing the door behind him. As Dracon saw it close, he pulled the fake rings off his fingers, tossing the costume jewellery on the floor along with his Envoy disguise as he stripped down to his body glove. He pulled a hood up, from where it was tucked in a pouch at the back of his neck and quickly stood beside the door the serf had come through. A knock sounded and the serf opened the sliding panel before stepping through with his luggage. The serf stopped as he saw the bundled clothes on the floor and dropped the bag, spinning to see Dracon, disguise-less and grinning.

"Dropping my bag was just rude." Dracon swung a fist up under the serf's chin and punched him into unconsciousness, grabbing the boy's clothes to stop him from slamming into the ground and alerting the other crew. Laying the lad down, a pip alerted him, the vox link in the chair going live again;

"Envoy-maester, we are two minutes from landing final approach is beginning as we speak."

Smiling, Dracon responded "My thanks. Pass my thanks and a commendation for you to your Ship's Master."

"My... My thanks sire." Came the reply, but Dracon didn't hear it. He was already on his way to the cargo hold, a prybar in his hands from the suitcase the serf had returned to him, and he wedged the tip into the bulkhead frame of the internal access panel of the landing gear and applied his strength, bending the panel out of its housing.

Tying a rope around his waist and the handle of the suitcase, he dropped it through and squeezed his body through the gap to cling to the landing gears leg, his foot upon the footclaw that the lander would rest on. As the craft flew in closer to the landing pad, the ground crew cleared of the pad to avoid the downwash of the jets, but

it didn't bother Dracon as he leapt down and sprinted through the swirling winds and dust kicked up. He was off the platform before the Aquila even touched down, ducking under refuelling pipes and round cargo crates to disappear into the darkness of the shadows.

Three hours later, he was strolling down the pavement of a street like a hundred others he had seen that night when he caught a glint of metal at the corner of his eye, a motorbike parked at the side of the road, pops and pings coming from the still cooling metal. He looked at the bike, clearly not new, but cared for, he looked up to see if he cups spot the owner. Nobody was in sight, and he stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling the data slate he had been given and checked the display before looking round. It seemed to be that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, the bike parked outside the address he had been told to reach, and not a moment too soon. Stepping up to the door, he opened it and walked into the room beyond. Sitting before him, a brute of a fellow in guard issue flak armour, a tattoo covering almost half his face and a lasgun resting against the side of his chair.

"Greetings, might I assume you have one of these too?" he asked, holding up the data slate to show why he was there. He stepped further into the room before sitting in one of the chairs at the steel table against one wall. Rocking back on the rear legs, he kicked his feet up onto the surface and slid a small icon of the Emperor out of his pocket and began running his thumb over it. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

OOC: Didn't want to mess with your character Asymptomatic as I didn't know if you had a grand entrance planned. Ting, just speak to Dracon as you wish, he's a bit haughty but generally good natured. Guarded obviously as any good acolyte should be.

// All, very nice work with your intros. Very much what I was hoping to see. Don't worry about long posts Ting, that's one of the nice things about a PBF, since everyone is essentially checking it once a day, a little bit of a read is no trouble.

The address you were given puts you in a decidedly Imperial part of the urban spread, away from the ever clanking foundries of the Adeptus Mechanicus, decorated with the Imperial Aquila on every broad service. This is an important part of town, you note, because the streets are moderately clean and the blocks cared for, despite the slow, inevitable deterioration of acid rain. You noticed several armed checkpoints between here and the slums of the sprawl. A select population. The blocks loom overhead, but fully functioning street lamps cast a steady glow, lighting your way even as night starts to creep across the sky.

The building you enter is that of a boutique weaponsmith. Not uncommon in influential districts, certain tech-clans not completely beholden to the Adeptus Mechanicus operate such establishments catering to the needs of the wealthy, whether they be violent in nature or merely in keeping with the latest fashion. The room is open, bright, lined with shiny glass-topped steel cases. A broad-shouldered, short, well muscled man stands to one side wiping a chain dagger with a clean corner of his otherwise grease-stained apron. His sleeves are rolled back, providing a brief glimpse at his tanned arms and an Imperial Aquila tattoo with a number in the middle, though the shirt cuts its off and prevents you from discerning any meaning. He looks up at each of you as you enter, his balding head nodding slightly to one side, though his bearded face creases slightly as Dracon produces a dataslate. A sharp glance of his brown eyes from behind his jewelers glasses tells you to put that away and wait.

He converses quietly with a member of the Adeptus Ministorum, a cleric in robes the color of aged bone trimmed with red. The cleric produces a small stack of ceramic chits, manufactored from the leavings the planets mining operations, and places them in the hands of the weaponsmith, even as the chain dagger finds its way into the folds of his robes. The two men smile and exchange pleasantries as they walk slowly to the door. In a moment the cleric is gone. The store is empty as this late hour, except for you and the weaponsmith. He takes his time closing the door, locking it carefully, and sealing the storefronts shutters. He turns and regards each of you with a measured stare.

"Well, you made it, that says something of you, though I can't say you look like much. He always sends me the rough ones," the man says as he shakes his head slowly.

"Thinks its funny, just cause I work with with metal, thinks I can forge your lot into something finer." He sighs heavily.

"Your planet fall was tracked, and your openings have already been closed. Interesting stuff that, though I'd like to know why it was you made such a mess Mr. Yu. No, don't tell me, I don't really need to know," he waves a placating hand in Oliver's direction.

The man turns and walks slowly, a pronounced limp in his stride you hadn't noticed when he was with the customer. He settles himself on a stool behind a display case and picks up one of three matched stub-revolvers on the counter before him, a small sight wrench in his other hand. He nudges a lens of his jewelers glasses down in front of one eye with his thumb, and then waves for you to come join him.

"Come on, get your bloody feet off my table and I'll tell you why you're here," he says as he starts to fiddle with the revolver's sights.

As you approach, you get a clear look at both the man and the guns. One is not much to behold, the others are a thing of beauty.

"I am the weaponsmith, his armourer. You may call me Bron, and I am to be your handler for the duration of your test. I know you weren't told much, and so long as you entertain working for him that pattern will continue. What I can tell you, you should have ferreted out for yourself. You're here because he has taken an interest in your abilities, and wishes to the determine the extent of your usefulness. As a bonus, he gets to have someone look into a matter that would otherwise be beneath his time. Pass this test, and you shall have the opportunity to enter his service in a full capacity. You may ask questions, and I will tell you what I can."

[[OOC/::/ Woo!! Off we go!]]

Jaspar stood after the stripey headed punk had come in, a disdainful sneer on his lips as he saw the disrespectful way the gang reject slammed his feet onto the table pushed up against one wall. Jaspar suppressed a shake of his head and began to peruse the wares on sale inside the store. Autoguns, lasguns, pistols of all kinds and even some swords and knives decorated the walls all around them. His eyes settled on a beautiful gunmetal grey piece, an autogun with a drilled barrel case and an over-under rail for sights and laser sights among other things. The sides of the barrel case were engraved, an Aquila on each side, with a blank panel for a name or kill-tally. The stock was a thing of near perfection, a moulded shoulder rest and adjustable length, a pad for the cheek to rest on made of brushed plas-steel. He admired the workmanship that had gone into the firearm, the attention to detail. When he finally looked away from the gun, a Ministorum Adept was leaving the store and the brute behind the counter had begun to speak.

He had to assume, from what he had heard, that the two pilots who had ferried him through the atmosphere were either dead, or under interrogation already, he only hoped they had been able to spend at least some of the thrones it had cost him to ensure thier cooperation. The glass cabinet before the smith held a few notable pieces, but primarily Jaspar noticed the stacks and stacks of ammo boxes stacked neatly behind the counter.

"Been hoping to find out what this was all about." he said as he pulled his data slate out of the pockets of his jacket and placed it on the glass between the men. "And if getting here wasn't the test, and if I survive but don't pass this next test I dread to think what waits for me 'cause officially, I'm dead already." he looked at the men around him, noting the thousand yard stare in the wet blue eyes of the quiet young lad, and the well maintained chainsword and custom laspistol at the hips of the ganger wannabe. Clearly these two had stories to tell, and he stuggled to think of a reason he had been grouped with them. His life had been spent on the front lines of battlefields and travelling between them since he had been old enough to enlist, a simple soldiers life. Yes he had wanted promotion and enjoyed thinking of the prospects that had awaited him when he had received such an honour, never had he thought he would end up on some backwater forge world light years from the nearest war and already out of his depth.

"The only thing I want to know, is how do I get myself a gun like that?"

Bron looks back at the autogun Voss has been admiring. He turns back with an appraising eye.

"I'm sure you'll earn one of those in due time, but its a bit conspicuous for where you're going. THIS is what you need."

He flips the stub-revolver over in his hand, and passes it grip first to Voss, then hands the matched pieces to Yu and Sylvanto.

"You may not know this about Rhodin IV, but its home to a contingent of the Collegia Titanica. They use pistols to denote rank, revolvers like these are given to trusted servants. I was asked to prepare them for you. You'll need them if you're going to go below the surface."

/* Added a transitory short paragraph to my previous entry. As an aside, I find that Red and Dark Blue do not have enough contrast with the forum's dark gray background. May I ask that we use a different color, some manner of Yellow or Turquoise perhaps? */

Doubting that any of the stools could accommodate his long legs, Oliver settled for leaning against an empty space along a wall. Removing the maul from his back, he noticed that his name had been mentioned but quickly dismissed. Evidently, it was not yet his turn to speak, so Oliver focused his attention on listening to the burly man's explanations.

The Guardsman spoke next, prompting Bron to hand out a number of stub-revolvers. In other words, pistols. Grimacing, Oliver could intuit how they work, but he had yet to learn to use them seriously. Getting a feel for its heft, Oliver perked up once when he heard about the pistol's significance and again when Bron mentioned their impending descent. If the pistols were used strictly as status symbols, he could hide his inexperience with them.

"Oliver Yu speaking, though Weaponsmith Bron already announced my arrival. May I ask for the names of those present, as well as for the reason we are traveling underground?" Oliver asked with poise and purpose.

Dracon slid his feet off the desk with a thump, his boots hitting the floor a second before he stood up. He had watched the Ministorum Clerk purchase the chainblade, a finely crafted piece of workmanship if ever he had seen one, and then observed the surly guardsman as he got himself engrossed in the items available around the store and he changed his perspective to watch the newcomer enter in full Arbite plate. His gut dropped for a second when he saw the carapace armour and shock maul clad individual enter the building. The armour seemed ill-fitting on the man, like it was freshly issued, or he had been handed down a set too big for him, but the confidence the man carried told a different story. Dracon pocketed his icon, a hand rested gently on the butt of his laspistol and chainsword pommel, but he flashed a smile towards the newcomer as the weapon smith began to talk behind him.

They gathered around the counter the man was day behind, gleaming stub revolvers sitting pretty on the glass as the burly individual explained a little of himself and thier mission. He accepted the brutish weapon, rolling it over in his hands thinking how if it came to it, he wouldn't be much good at using it if push came to shove. He was simply going to have to hope he could get his laspistol through whatever security they faced on their way underground. The barrel was longer than other revolvers he had seen, and the grip inlaid with white marble and bearing the cog symbol of the Mechanicum. The stylised 'T' over the cog reinforced the cover story of being Titanica serfs, but he was sceptical.

"A nice idea mr Bron, but what about the rest of our cover? I'm sure you noticed that none of us are dressed even remotely similar, and any disguise is only as good as getting past the first glance. We walk in there looking like this and we're gonna raise some eyebrows." He attached the new holster to his thigh, below his beloved laspistol and inserted the new gun before closing the clasp over the cocking handle at the rear of the revolver. Turning to Oliver, who had now introduced himself, Dracon offered a hand and another grin.

" Dracon Sylvanto at your service. Professional pincher, placer and partyer, now under employment to the holy Ordos."

\OOC: short post, am really tired plus at work, so my creativity is shot right now. Should be better after a good night sleep. Sorry if I missed anything, or if anyone wants to use Dracon in a convo or some such, feel free. I can roll with whatever is going on. /

"Being paid to walk into a trap? An interesting definition of employment Mr. Sylvanto..." Bron smiles ruefully.

"You go below the surface Mr. Yu, because, of course, that is where they keep the Titans. He was requested to investigate the death of a princeps, but that duty will fall to you. Something of this nature would normally fall beyond our remit, a prerogative of the Mechanicus, but in this case our presence was requested, if not completely sanctioned. I shall leave the details of that, and the remainder of your disguises, to the man who's brought us all here. Feel free to look around, make yourselves comfortable. He's due shortly."

You wait for no more than ten minutes before the sounds of activity in the rear of the boutique alert you to a new arrival. The man who appears is dressed in a fitting black robe, the hood drawn back to reveal a thin, angular face with close cropped white hair. Shallow wrinkles are the only allusion to his age. His eyes are subtle augmetics, mere orbs as opposed to the larger pieces more common of the Adeptus Mechanicus. He is accompanied by a servo skull, floating quietly at his shoulder. The man smiles pleasantly, revealing perfect white teeth, as he greets you.

"Good evening Bron, gentlemen. Am I safe to assume these are the men, Bron? Excellent. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Elim Naveen, Magos Executor Fetial of the Legio Manus Flameaus, 47th of that distinguished title. Please, come with me." He turns and proceeds out the back of the boutique.

"Don't worry, he's a good enough fellow for a cogboy. Voss, I'll see that bike you picked up taken below the surface, don't worry about it for now. I'll be keeping an eye on you as best I can, which doesn't say much given where you're going. Take this, it's a vox if you need to get in touch. Don't mess up."

Bron hands you a small breast pin fashioned into the cog and skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and with that you follow Magos Naveen out the back of the shop and through the depths of the block. You descend into maintenance passages surrounded by pipes covered in dust. Few have traveled this way in quite some time. After 30 minutes, your path broadens as it intersects with a subway. Waiting for you is an idling rhino.

"This will take us to the lift. Once we're below the surface I'll expalin why I asked for you."

You climb the ramp and strap yourselves into the harnesses, the ramp closes with a clang. The engine revs and the rhino tears off down the subway. When you come to a halt, the rhino is sitting on a cargo elevator large enough to fit several of the massive promethium bulk haulers so common on the surface. Naveen speaks quietly into a vox, and the rhino lurches as the elevator begins its descent. Naveen smiles, but says nothing to you. When the elevator finally stops what seems like an eternity later, Naveen unbuckles his restraint and rises smoothly, pressing the ramp activator as he moves to the rear.

"Come, I do hope none of you are afraid of heights."

The sight that greets you is astonishing. The elevator has stopped, but certainly not at any level. You are suspended above the stone floor of a vast mine workings, some 50 meters up. The ceiling is supported by massive metal columns, trusses running between them. The elevator has come to rest level with the catwalk that runs between the columns, serfs and servitors crawl over each section like spiders in a vast contiguous web. The industry of a world rumbles by beneath you, massive tracked earth movers, material haulers on rails and the odd Helibore tunneling machine. Thousands of workers are visible from even this small vantage amongst the columns. What's most surprising is that this doesn't seem to be an active mine, the Emperor only knows what industry lies further down.

"This way," Magos Naveen says as he leaves the elevator platform and transitions to the catwalk.

"I felt this would be the best way to introduce you to the scale of the situation you are about to place yourself in. Speak freely, my predecessor is broadcasting a jam field of unimpeachable construction," he waves at the servo skull.

"I requested the Inquisition's assistance because I feel that the Adeptus Mechanicus has a stake in the outcome of the investigation. Let me start by explaining the crime. A princeps was murdered. Princeps Pak Johnstonne was master of the Reaver Titan Indomitus Fautor . He was found dead in his suite 15 days ago. The Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarri contingent in charge of the investigation has laid blame on his protege, Cassidy Talmere. This, I cannot believe, and thus I asked for your help in finding the real killer."

Jaspar accepted the handgun but being distracted by his thoughts of the beauty he had been looking at, he didn't really take in the finer points of this new addition to his armaments. He listened to Bron, the pistol in his hand now more significant as it's point was as a part of their cover. He looked over at the Arbite as he spoke, wondering why he hadn't noticed the man enter, and was more than a little worried by that.

'Must be losing my edge...' He thought as he looked the man up and down. The lad held himself with an air of authority, the carapace armor he was clad in clean and proper. The baton strapped to his back was unusual, but not the strangest piece of equipment he had seen issued to Arbites in his journeys across the galaxy waging war in the name of the Emperor. One hive world he had been called to to fight the forces of the Chaos had issued all of their PDF and Arbites with a pair of brass knockers, to clap together before they spoke as was the custom there.

The hazard stripe haired punk, Dracon, spoke, and Jaspar couldn't help but agree with what he was saying. The revolvers would only get them so far through whatever security the Tech-Adepts had installed around the Collegia Titanica, and he knew from experience when his Regiment had served alongside Titans in the past, and the fact that none of the footsloggers such a himself hadn't been allowed within range of a Hunter Killer Missile of any of the God-Machines he had been deployed alongside did not fill him with confidence at their chances.

Swallowing his misgivings, he turned to Oliver and held out a hand.

"Jaspar Voss. A pleasure." A nod was all Dracon got and that would just have to be the end of it, as Bron had started speaking again.

A tech-priest entered through the rear of the store, a small skull bobbing near his head as Bron filled them in on the specifics of their mission and handed them a pin, which Jaspar clipped onto his lapel.

"My thanks Bron, I can't wait to cut loose on that thing and I'd hate to have lost if before I even get a proper ride."

[[OOC://: I left it here so anyone who wanted to could speak with Jaspar before they move underground, but if no-one does, assume he is with the tech-priest outside the Rhino. Will pick up from there so long as we don't move on too far from there.]]

/* My apologies. I did not realize it was my "turn" to post. My post will be somewhat lacking due to my low energy reserves, but I do want to leave it here overnight.*/

Oliver trusted Weaponsmith Bron and Magos Naveen enough due to how they presented themselves. However, as neither Jaspar nor Dracon bore the same air of authority, Oliver kept them at arm's length as he curtly replied.

"Regards. Let us treat each other well."

The change of scenery was a welcome one, the cacophony of machine and manpower reminiscent of home. Initially content to silently absorb as much information as he could, Oliver flinched when he heard Magos Naveen doubting the initial investigation.

"Who are we to defy their conclusion? This is not an internal dispute; overtly contesting the Adeptus Mechanicus cannot bode well for us outsiders. What do any of us stand to gain from making potential enemies?" he questioned openly.

/* I imagine that Oliver is used to debating rulings within the Arbites since he and his colleagues were of similar social standing. However, there is no direct hierachy between organizations. A high-ranking Adeptus Administratum member has little business ordering one of the Adeptus Ministorum around. Even under the banner of the Inquisition, Oliver his advertising himself to others who are not under the same regulations as he is. For all he knows, the princep's murder was dubbed "necessary" by some elements within the Mechanicus. If I am mistaking a crucial part of the narrative, please correct me. */

Dracon nodded as Oliver responded to his proffered hand and watched as the Tech Adept and the Arbite marched off, receiving the badge pin from Bron as he made a rebuke to Bron's earlier comment.

"I wasn't aware it was a trap when I took the job, though I should have figured nothing was as it seemed as I was disabling the twelfth alarm. Nice place though, some 'interesting' items on display I just know would have fetched me an emperors ransom on the Cold Market over at the Calixis sector." Dracon fished the idol out of his pocket again as he moved towards the back of the shop, not hanging around as he jogged a little to catch up to the other.

OOC: Timeskip

Dracon climbed out of the Rhino transport, taking in the incredible view around him, the machinery coring the planet and monolithic pillars holding up the roof the world, or so it seemed, and the millions of servile's toiling in the darkness belows. The tech-priest they had been brought here by explained a little more of the situation to them, including the fact that their conversation required the use of a privacy field, which itself sent shivers of familiar excitement up Dracon's spine.

He relished a challenge, and so far, he had not been disappointed by what he had found working for the Inquisition.

"He was found dead fifteen days ago? That must have been only a day or two before I was 'collected' at the Inquisitors residence. Has the Inquisitor had us in mind for this mission since he chose us? No doubt we were chosen because if we fail we're disposable, but I never liked being thought of as expendable, so I intend to show this mysterious Inquisitor just how useful I really am. What's the plan? Where do we go from here?" he said, his thumb unconsciously working the face of the Emperor he held in his hand, evidently an old habit as the small bone icon was almost worn smooth, the features long since indistinguishable.

Jaspar clambered out of the Rhino, amazed at getting to ride in such a vehicle after years of seeing them go racing by bearing the mighty Adeptus Astartes into battle. When they pulled up at the end of their journey, he was once again awestruck, but this time by the view before him. He took a few steps away from the group, resting his hands on the barrier at the side of the roadway that prevented things just driving or falling off and just watched. He noticed, after a few seconds, that he could not hear what the others were saying, so he stepped towards them, feeling a tingle as he approached and could suddenly hear them speaking about the mission. The mysterious tech-adept before them was explaining the situation and Oliver and Dracon were voicing concerns and opinions.

"Our's is not to wonder why, our's is but to do and die." Jaspar voiced as he heard their worries. "Can we access the prisoner? It would be good to hear her side of what happened. We could also do with access to the crime scene, or at least the files made about the investigation so far. How difficult is it going to be for us to get ahold of this?"

Jaspar looked at his fellows, and then the tech-priest. "I appreciate the difficult situation we are in, the Mechanicus won't want us messing around in their affairs, especially not if they discover we are Inquisition sent, but why exactly are we here? Are we on our way to somewhere important?"

Magos Naveen nods as each of you voice your concerns. These are of course logical questions, and he pauses a moment before answering as though searching for the right place to begin.

"Forgive me, you are not aware of the internecine struggles of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Let me start by explaining that while the Collegia Titanica is a division of the Adeptus Mechanicus, we are not of one mind. The Legio Manus Flameus does not fall under the direct jurisdiction of the Archmagos Intendant, this forge world's governor, a fact that in recent centuries has led to much conflict.

What remains of the Legio Manus Flameus was stationed to Rhodin IV some two millennia ago, but this is not our homeworld. The exact nature of what befell our legion and its foundry has been lost to the annals of history. In the intervening time, we have always maintained a command structure apart from that of the local Synod. We recruit our own Moderatii and Princeps, we have our own military force in the Legio's skitarii, and we govern ourselves.

Two hundred and thirty four year ago the reigning Archmagos Intendant, a native of Rhodin IV, was killed in a mining accident. An improperly maintained servitor operating an earth mover crashed into a support pillar in the lower deeps and collapsed the mine workings. The Intendant was surveying the new workings at the time, a peculiarity that had earned him much respect from the local population but numerous rebukes from fellow Archmagos. His replacement, the current Intendant, hails from off world, an act the Quorum Primus of Cerix Magnus felt would prevent another accident."

Naveen continues his slow pace along the catwalks, oblivious to the heights and the thin rail. He frowns, as though what he's about to say next is distasteful.

"The Legio has made it a habit to recruit Princeps and Moderatii from Rhodin IV. The miners are hardy, enduring people and the drills they operate function on an MIU that, at its roots, is similar to the ones used by the Titans themselves. We screen the best and brightest of the children for MIU compatibility, and foster those with the highest scores. Pak and Cassidy were selected in this fashion. The reigning Intendant has made every effort to alter this tradition. While he has no official standing within the Legio Titanica, and no command authority, his voice carries great weight with the Quorum Primus. During his tenure, he has brought no less than thirty five candidates to the forge from off world and presented them to the Legio for induction. With the death of Pak, his Senior Moderatus stands to inherit command of the Indomitus Fautor , a fact that will tip the balance of power within the Legion. More Princeps will be the selection of the Intendant than of the Legio's own choosing. I fear this situation with Pak's death is more about the Intendant taking control of the Legio than about the truth."

The man stops, and gestures to the expanse on one side. You've been walking for a bit now and rounded the mass of one enormous pillar. There below you, large even in the scale of your surroundings, stands a Reaver Class Battle Titan. Its armour is a dull grey trimmed in dark gunmetal. It's weapon arms, a massive melta weapon and a titan class power fist, hang limp to either side, it's head lowered as though in deep remorse. The Legion banner hangs down from it's torso, an open palm silhouetted in flame upon it. It looms over a carved and polished stone mausoleum. Skitarri man a cordon several hundred meters radius from the behemoth. Here, masses of miners attend the mausoleum, their song of lament barely audible from your vantage.

"Indomitus Fautor. He stands watch over Pak's tomb. Pak has long been a favorite of the miner's. He was an honorable man, and a skilled Princeps. He was an example to them, a hope that every parent nurtures for their children. More than that, he never forgot where he came from. Pak would salute the miners whenever he was on maneuvers with the Legion. He knew that these men and women are the life blood of the Imperium and would never allow himself to forget that.

I asked for help because I don't believe that such a man should die without justice. I asked for help because I believe Cassidy is being blamed for his death so that the Intendant might wrest that hope from these people.

I cannot speak to what you will gain sir arbitrator, other than the respect of the Legio Manus Flameus. If your duty does not comfort you enough."

There's a hardness to the man's gaze, a determination, and more emotion to his voice than you would have expected from one of the Mechanicus, even as unaugmented as Magos Naveen appears to be.

"I'll take you to Pak's suite, where his body was found, and I can provide you access to the medical records when we arrive. Unfortunately, due to the necessary delay in your arrival, his body has already been interred, and accessing it now is out of the question."

Naveen gestures behind you where an attendant has been trailing you with a case. This he sets on the floor and opens to reveal dark grey robes and three metal collars.

"I've arranged for you to take the place of Pak's attendants. Every organic entity larger than a cybermastiff requires a noospheric presence. These collars perform just such a role for the unaugmented. Do not worry, they have been bypassed to allow you to remove them as you see fit. The Legion's skitarii, and the Adeptus Mechanicus of the forge, will key of your noosphere readings and the pistols you received from Bron, not your face, so this is not a concern. Stay away from the titan commanders though, they prefer to know every servant by name and will see you for what you are."

He turns and begins walking down the catwalk once more towards the rumblings of the forge in the distance.

"I'm afraid the most difficult part of your request will be in speaking with the prisoner, as there is no prisoner," he says as he glances over one shoulder.

"Cassidy Talmere has been missing since the day Pak died. What's more, they can't explain how it was she entered the forge, since not three days before she was stripped of her rank of Moderatus..."

Oliver brought his fist to his chin. Given the circumstances, the obvious culprits would be the Intendant or Talmere, but is there not more to the story? If the end goal was to remove Pak as an obstacle, there are less extreme methods than murder. More information is needed.

"I am not yet convinced that the Intendant can be tied Pak's murder, however much it benefits him. Conjecture will only get us so far." Oliver spoke his mind, flexing his palm open. "And, for the record, I am not looking for a reward so much as I am against taking unbalanced risks. I prefer to keep my list of enemies short."

/* When Oliver was speaking of what he could "gain" from assisting Magos Naveen, he was weighing costs vs. benefits. As long has he is not drawing the ire of the Adeptus Mechanicus at large, he is more willing to cooperate.

EDIT: What is this glaring white background. I much rather preferred the dark gray. Well, Oliver's color will henceforth be Teal go back to Light Blue .*/

// I dislike the white background as well. Makes some of our previous text very difficult to read. I think Orange is still okay for OOC,and Naveen's purple appears to do okay as well. I'm going to switch Bron's to a darker green, if ever he reappears. I believe the dark blue and red we used before will make more sense now.

If everyone is still game and reading along, I will move on.

The walk to the forge was a long one. Naveen set the pace and moved in sullen silence, his mind apparently made up on the outcome of your investigation, only waiting for you to come to the same conclusion. Several kilometers later, you cut across to a new gantry, this one leading to a nearby column. At its end is a platform set into the face of the massive support, a skeletal lift runs down to the cavern floor. As you ride the lift down, you get your first glimpse at the home of the Legio Manus Flameus.

The forge is massive, stretching from floor to ceiling and beyond, filling the width of the space. Great air shafts pull the smoke and ash of the forge's workings through the crust and away into the planet's atmosphere. Pipes spill in clusters from the gut of the construction weaving an intricate maze deeper into the complex even as others climb to the apex to belch fire and noxious fumes. Escorted by the Magos, and wearing your ident collars, you move freely into the body of the forge, passing great refineries and scurrying tech adepts. Every surface is oily with the residue of promethium production.

Deep into the forge Naveen leads you, into an area of relative quiet compared to the clanking and pounding of the facility at large. The halls are sterile, bare metal with hatches that would be common place on a void ship. Naveen explains, as you navigate your way, that you're now in the barracks of the Legio. This is where the Princeps, Moderatus, and support staff make their home, tucked into groups by the titan they crew. Naveen approaches a hatch set into one wall and extends a delicate series of mechadendrites from the sleeve of his right arm. They interface for a moment with the door's lock before there's a heavy clunk, and the door rolls into a recess. The servo skull, ever present at Naveen's shoulder, slides quietly into the room ahead of you.

The room is dark, but you can tell it's small, smaller than one would imagine a Princeps deserved. No more than four by three meters. To your right is a small table, a desk set behind it, and to your left is a bed and a small lavatory. Directly in front of you on the far wall, set into a recess, is a shrine. The room suddenly lights up, and each item in the room takes on a gentle glow. The servo skull hovers in the middle of the space, broadcasting overlapping holograms onto every surface, recreating a static scene. Princeps Pak Johnstonne sits at the small table, dressed in a simple jump suit, devoid of rank or insignia, slumped back against the wall. Other simple items appear where none was before, obviously removed at some intervening point.

"This is exactly the way we found the room. As soon as it was determined that Pak was dead and beyond recovery, we sealed the space until this hologram could be taken. It was at that point that the Secutor of the Taghmata barged in and removed the Legio's skitarii and all attendants, even myself. They've prosecuted the examination ever since. All of the Legion's demands for audience with the Secutor and the Intendant have been forestalled," Naveen says from the doorway.

// Alright gentlemen, I know its taken a few days, but now that the stage is set, it's up to you.

OOC: there is a 'change theme' button at the bottom that allows us to switch between FFG and FFG New. Just a heads up

Dracon surveyed the room before them, looking at the hololithic display of the scene and the actual room below.

"I'm not seeing any other ways of accessing this room other than the portal we just used." He turned to the others "We may as well have a look around while we're here."

{Scrutiny test to detect any hidden panels on the walls = Perception -20 (19) rolled 49 so 3 DoF}

Dracon surveyed the room, not finding anything. He moved over to the desk the hololithic copy of Pak was laying near and began to look among the items arrayed across it's surface. The hologram showed some items that were no longer present, but nothing that seemed important.

[[OOC://: Ew. That new theme is nasty. I'll be using the theme changed from now on like Arkio. Also, it won't let me post in Turquoise anymore so I'll have to post in another colour such as Navy or maybe Red if no one has any objections]]

Jaspar frowned, the news that even high ranking Mechanicus adepts had been ordered away from investigating, and by one of the prime suspects and his enforcers no less was worrying. He flicked his packet of Lho sticks out of his pocket, put one in in his mouth and leaned against the wall without yet lighting it. He couldn't help but agree with Dracon and started looking around for clues himself. The holo display only showed a still image from after the murder had taken place, and he could see no overt signs of what had killed Pak.

"Honoured Magos, how did Pak die? It's one of the few things you haven't yet told us, and without access to post-mortem results or the body, we have no way of finding out."

Jaspar knelt down, reaching into his pack and pulling out his battered but trusty auspex, the case scratched and scarred from years of use, but the screen and sensing apparatus were gleaming and clearly cared for. He thumbed the activation stud, the screen humming softly as it lit up ghostly green and gentle pings could be heard as the sensing equipment went active.

He waved the device around the room, pointing it at all the walls, floor and ceiling hoping to detect what Dracon and his thieves eyes could not.

{awareness test (-20) (+20 with auspex) perception 25. Rolled 8}

The screen buzzed affirmative as it sensed their surroundings.

/* And the familiar gray background returns. I was looking for a toggle option in the profile settings, but it was near the bottom of the page after all. Given that Dracon and Jaspar are already taking the routine actions, my post will be rather short. Might tack something on later in the day. */

Oliver observed his companions, thinking how best to complement their approaches. If they were focusing on the room itself, then...

"I want to know about the layout of the rooms to the side of, above, and below this one. The thickness of the walls, present ventilation shafts, anything you can offer."

Long practice and sound equipment serve Jaspar well as he scans the room.The returns he gets from the walls indicate that they are solid, the bulkheads some 10cm thick. The few air vents in the room are sealed with heavy grating, and an active alarm system if the electrical signal is anything to go by. The one inconsistency comes from the shrine set into the wall.

A Reaver Titan in miniature, Indomitus Fautor you would guess, stands solemnly, weapons limbs primed over a small pict case. The case has three sections, the center containing an image of the three people, the Princeps and two young adults, a male and a female. The right section shows a squalid home section, presumably the mine community Pak was raised in. The left section is an idealized portrait of an aged man in military dress. A collection of joss sticks, slightly burned, stand in a small cup of rubble at the fore. Flanking the Reaver on either side, bathed in a gentle overhead glow, are the symbols of the Imperium and the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Acquila and the Opus Machina. The auspex shows there's a small hollow in the chest of the titan.

"Based on what little the Secutor has made public, the Princeps was stabbed through the chin. A thin dagger, long enough to punch through his upper palate and into his brain. The holo doesn't show it well from this angle, he slumped back into his chair." Naveen grimaces at this.

"It was personal, close.... Here, this datapad contains a copy of the report. I'll have the surrounding layout transmitted to it as well, but... we've found no sign that anyone forced their way in. A fact the Secutor claims proves this was Cassidy's doing. They believe Pak let her in, despite their inability to show how she got into or out of the forge to reach this room. It was common knowledge she was displeased with her sudden demotion, and she made several attempts to contact Pak in the day's leading up to his murder."

[[OOC://: Asym, if you want to post at any time then just go ahead, reading over the other posts, I noticed you mentioned a 'turn' to post, but if you have an idea or something then I don't mind when you post, it'll probably speed this whole thing along if we just post as and when. I don't mind if you and Arkio have a chat or make a few posts between mine. Most of the RP's on gaia I was in went this way and they usually worked out pretty good. Plus, I don't want it to end up that me and Arkio always end doing what you wanted to do or something like that.

Also, the forum seems to be allowing me to post in Turquoise again, but only when I post via my laptop. I'll try it again from my iPhone again next time I post but if I can't, I'll post my speech in BOLD until we agree a new speech color for me to use]]

Jaspar's eyes widened slightly as the auspex returned positive when he directed it towards the shrine, but gave no other suspicious signals.

"There are no other way's in from what my auspex can read, bulkheads are all solid, Ventilation either too small or too secure for would be assassins to use." Jaspar turned towards the shrine after stowing the device in his pack once more. "There are some strange signals coming from here, some kind of secret compartment in the Titan replica. No reading as to what is inside though."

Jaspar looked over the shrine and it's contents, he could not see any obvious ways of opening the Reaver's chest, no switches or buttons, so he focused on the surroundings. Incense sticks, the picture of three Legio personnel, presumably Pak and his Moderati, along with the usual worship paraphernalia. Jaspar had given up praying years ago, he had seen that the God-Emperor responded better to deeds done in his name than words uttered in fear or whispered in the dark. The mission that had ended with his recruitment, he had been surrounded by praying men, but he hadn't uttered a word yet he had been the only one of them to make it out of there alive. It almost seemed cruel, but the God-Emperors ways were not to be questioned.

He focussed again on the miniature Titan, looking more closely for a hidden switch or catch, running his hand gently over the metal surface in an effort to find something hidden from sight.

{Awareness Test: (per:30) -20. Roll: 12.}

Finding nothing, Jaspar stood up and sighed. "I'm stumped. You guys found anything?"

OOC: Same here, I don't mind what order we post in, just as long as the RP keeps moving along

Dracon looked over at the slumped body of Pak from his position at the desk, when he looked closely, he could indeed see a small wound under the chin.

"Yeah, I can see the wound now. Something that small could be hidden pretty much anywhere, pockets, sleeves, trouser legs. I've seen an assassin pull a stiletto blade from the skin under her own forearm before plunging into the victims face." he mused, examining the wound as best he could through the proxy of the hologram. He had already noticed the items on the desk in the hologram did not match what he could see in physicality, so he decided to pay closer attention to those. Perhaps there was something they were missing by looking at what was there instead of what used to be there.

{Awareness test. Use my ability 'Nothing Escapes My Sight' to auto-pass with 3 DoS and spend 1 FP}

// Agreed, it works better if you post as you wish to act. Don't worry about the timing as such, it always works itself out in the end. Also keep in mind that you can request assistance for task from others, a good way to include others and ease the burden of your skill check.

Even as Jaspar turns away in despair, there's a faint click from the Reaver. The upper carapace parts and extends on small air cylinders while the Reaver's head ducks. A small holster extends from the inner space, empty. This was obviously Pak's armoury in addition to his shrine. The man clearly worshiped war as much as the Emperor, though this doesn't help explain where his weapon is. Looking closely, the holster doesn't match the stub-revolvers you were given, or even a las pistol such as they one you carry.

Dracon closely examines the missing items from the desk of the deceased Princeps. A series of tomes are missing from one shelf, a noticeable block. Many of them appear to be of the Legio's history, shipping records, one is identified as an "Encounter Log: Indomitus Fautor." One leather volume doesn't have title but has the look of journal. This, unlike everything else in the space, is skewed slightly, and there's a gap in the visible pages as though several pages have been torn out.The desk's inbuilt cogitator has been displaced since the holo was taken, the brass key panel not fully closed into it's recess evident as a double image on the protruding panel. Someone has cleaned the space and dug through the Princeps' files, though whether in the course of the investigation or otherwise is unclear. As Dracon examines his surroundings, his noosphere collar chafes at his neck.

/* By "turn", I mean maintaining the rough 1:1:1 post ratio between players. Otherwise, I feel like I am not pulling my weight, so to speak. That, and failing to post generally means Oliver remains quieter than usual. Somewhat of a late reply as I was partially waiting for Dracon's and Jaspar's posts to resolve first. */

Oliver ran several scenarios through his head. Sufficient leverage with a proper implement is enough to compensate for physical ability, thus profiling the murder by their physique would be useless at this time. There were still many variables to consider. How often did the Princeps retire to his quarters? Was his daily routine predictable? How did the intruder get in? What is the area's typical foot traffic? Surveillance? Soundproofing? Evidence of a struggle?

"Who would have access to this room with and without the Princeps' presence, and is such access monitored? Moreover, were there any marks on his body that suggested that he fought back or was moved posthumously?" Oliver summarized his thoughts.