This will be a narrative tale of a few sessions between myself and my GM (both of us are new to RT and RPGs in general, but have a long history in the 40k 'verse). There are occasional oddities, a few descents into jokes or references outside 40k, but we've found that its more fun that way.

The Castra Aleria - A modified Lunar Class cruiser (stats and possible plot hooks):

http://community.fantasyflightgames.com/index.php?/topic/86038-remi-vandigrath-and-the-lure-of-renown-or-i-want-a-stack-of-winterbucks-this-tall/#entry811937

Atton's World Skyhook - The home base of the Vandigrath Dynasty in the Expanse. (repair facilities and possible plot hooks): http://community.fantasyflightgames.com/index.php?/topic/86038-remi-vandigrath-and-the-lure-of-renown-or-i-want-a-stack-of-winterbucks-this-tall/#entry815754

Brightwood 7:

I stepped onto the bridge of my ship as the watch bell rang for the First Watch. Armsmen, augur crews, weapon’s officers, and the various administrative staff required to keep watch over a crew of a hundred thousand were already in the process of beginning their day. My bridge, buried in among the upper spires of Castra Aleria was efficient to a fault.

Beneath my feet, I could feel the warm humming of my Lunar class cruiser’s beating heart as it entered low orbit over our destination. Already, my Augur crews were informing me that they had spotted the shipwreck we’d been looking for on the planet below. Striding up the wide steps of my command throne and turning forward to face my crew, I looked out of my gilt-rimmed windows framing BrightWood 7’s only inhabitable planet.

It was Brightwood 7’s only planet, and only true astronomical feature. The drifting and dead sands of the planet were a perfect analog for the drifting wastes of the entire system. If not for the planet below, it is doubtful that the Imperium would even know that the 7th surveyed system of Brightwood’s first expedition even existed.

I could not see the shipwreck through the windows, our orbit still too far up. Even the kilometer-long shape of a doomed frigate was invisible from this distance. I called for the wreck to be imaged, and my crew quickly went to work knitting a hololith of the Fel Hand’s final resting place.

The ship was shorn, scattered across a swath of desert. At some point during the crash, the prow had dug itself into the ground and pulled away from the rest of the vessel. It was a half kilometer behind the bulk of the Hand , and looked mostly intact.

My Augur teams reported that there were several large rents in the upper hull of the Fel Hand , likely from pressure buckling during the descent onto the planet’s surface. There were no active life-signs.

I ordered my ship to alert stations, and had the launch bays begin prepping my gunship.

#

Here, I must stop the tale for a moment, just before I descend onto that foul world. I have to confess that I am not a rich man, not from one of the ascendant dynasties of the Calixis Sector. The Castra Aleria is a relic of my dynasty, a gift to me from my 2nd Uncle for service in the Insurrections around Keldan’s Worlds. Those foul Chaos Worshipers nearly ruined my family and our holdings.

My ‘procurement’ of a Warrant of Trade is the only thing that kept us afloat, and much rides on my ventures in the Expanse.

It is this reason that I do not have access to some of the more fancy toys of my Rogue Trader brethren (if they can even be called such), and is the reason I am above this hostile desert in the first place.

#

Covered from nose to stern in the black, gold, and green of my family’s crest, my gunship is a wicked looking creature. Its wide wings bore me down, supported by engines of Lathe-world manufacture, supported by my Seneschal and Arch-Militant. Miguel and Tulio are old friends, loyal companions, forged in the same fire of war that guided me.

They are also insufferable braggarts, and prone to fits of sarcastic wit. None of us three had any idea what the Expanse had in store for us. It was mostly my fault.

Flying fast as I broke through the plasma sheathe of re-entry, I felt good behind the controls of my own ship. The gunship was responsive under my white gauntlets, hand-stitched by the finest artisans still in the employ of my family, and its spirit felt happy to be free of the chains of the Imperium’s border. I took a quick pass over the Fel Hand’s ruined form.

Refusing to succumb to caution, I let pride fill my chest as I looked over the carcass of a downed rival. In the small cargo area in the back of the gunship, my small Armsman team couldn’t see how low I was passing across the Hand ’s sensor spires. On either side of me, Miguel and Tulio braced and shifted to looks of pure terror.

I clipped a wing on one of the sensor towers jutting from the main spine of the Fel Hand . In my vision, I caught glimpses of rusted metal, Aquilla charms forged as tall as a man into the metal, and the delicate lenses of various augur eyes.

The rusted metal gave way, and my gunship bucked under the hit, tossing the rest of the occupants around as I fought to regain control. I pulled out and around, swinging back over the wreck at a higher altitude. The wing was still intact, as was all the vital bits that kept us flying.

“See,” I said, “Nothing to worry about.”

Tulio shot me a glance that said, ‘If I open my mouth, I might just puke on you.’

I turned back, smiling. I had seen a landing spot near the bridge on the pass. It was wide enough to set the gunboat down on, and was directly next to one of the great rents that would allow us access inside. I told everyone to secure their void suits. My ship, jostled by the hit, was now telling me that the air on the planet was likely unbreathable.

With a bit more caution now, having had my fun, I set the Vandigrath liveried gunship down on the dead wreck of the Fel Hand .

Now, you may be asking, why did I pick this Emperor-forsaken dead planet as my first stop in my journey through the Expanse? It certainly wasn’t the shipwreck calling me. Well, the shipwreck was certainly interesting, even if the Rogue Trader who’d commanded it had been dead for six decades already. But that wasn’t the reason.

No, I owed someone a favor; someone I couldn’t afford to stiff, even out here. After the war on the foul Chaos Worshippers, and the burning of Keldan at the stake, I was broke. Worse, I had a dynasty who was rapidly going broke as well, and an ancient vessel under my feet that had been part of the family as long as we’d been a dynasty. I had to act.

I stole a Warrant of Trade from a crime boss who had procured it as a means to escape his pursuers. He (a foul creature who will remain unnamed) had hoped to escape into the Expanse and grow his empire into something that could rival the greatest of the noble houses of Calixis. I was just a little bit craftier than he was.

Unfortunately, I found that a Warrant of Trade is not simply a document, but also the backing of powerful political allies; allies that I had not won with the parchment and seal. The blunder was almost permanent. Almost.

At the last moment of my and my dynasty’s existence, an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos stepped in. Inquisitor Carth had been after my pursuer for many years, and seeing me pull off this heist had given him some pleasure. In return for securing the transfer of the Warrant to my dynasty, Carth had given me a small mission.

#

“Can’t we just peek into one of the boxes?” Miguel asked, innocently and roguishly (all at the same time), “Think of the wealth…”

“Think of the power…” Tulio said, Thrones swimming through his eyes as well.

“Think of Carth,” I replied, dropping down into the corridor with them and my Armsmen team, “He was very specific. Take it if its sealed, destroy them if its not. We don’t open the box, on pain of Inquisitorial writ.”

The corridor was blank. Bear metal stretched in both directions, turning at regular intervals, and stippled with openings to various side rooms and secondary travel paths. Ship Rot was beginning to take hold here too, whatever unbreathable atmosphere this planet kept disliking the Imperial ruin on its surface.

I saw something in the corner of my vision. Immediately, I lifted my melta-gun to bear. It was an old weapon, simply crafted and an otherwise unadorned example of the Forgeworld Mezoa; but it was reliable, and its heavy cask held enough shots to deal with any threat. I liked that gun.

Miguel was up next, his twin bolt pistols ready in a snap that I could hear through my void suit. Tulio and the rest of the Armsmen were slower, but respectable, covering the other approaches at my alert. I still wasn’t sure what it was I saw. Being on a wrecked ship, looking for sealed containers at the behest of the Inquisition would make anyone nervous.

I peeked through a small tear in the corridor, pointing my void-suit’s torch down the small service conduit between the wall and the armored bulk-head. It was empty, and barely large enough to fit a person into. There was no way that I would follow a sensory ghost in there. As a precaution, I ordered my Armsmen to watch the walls for anything suspicious, and had Tulio lead us towards the Fel Hand’s bridge.

There were no further ghosts, but I was beginning to get a dread feeling about the wreck. Aside from the obvious signs of impact, there were no hints as to what caused the Hand to crash. Skeletons and armored bodies began appearing as we walked, getting denser as we approached the bridge. A few had obvious bullet holes and las-scorching. Catastrophe, yes; mutiny, possibly; but neither of those necessitated aiming a great void ship at an uninhabitable planet.

My dark thoughts were torn by the heavy chucking crack-whoosh of heavy bolter rounds firing and impacting into hard steel. Tulio dove back behind the turn in the corridor, a huge, spidery void-suit fracture spreading across his helmet visor. His eyes were agape behind the glass, mouth stammering in wordless fear. I think his arms were even gesticulating, pointing towards the crack with an alarming scrambling.

Noting that the heavy bolter couldn’t fire around the corner, I held Tulio down as I applied a quick adhesive seal to the visor.

Tulio slumped back, his face going crosseyed as it attempted to see through the thick and semi-frosted seal. I waved my hand in front of his face. He slapped it away with an angry eyebrow scrunch.

“Well that was overly dramatic,” Miguel said, peeking around the corner to get a glimpse of the turret.

“Dramatic?” Tulio said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “That turret nearly blew my head off! And now I can’t even see.”

I put a reassuring gauntlet on his shoulder.

“About fifty meters out,” Miguel said, ducking back into cover, “Twin heavy bolters, attached to a servitor mount in the ceiling. Fel didn’t like people getting close to his bridge.”

I conferred with my Armsmen. I did not have a weapon that could reach that far, but their lasguns could easily maim the servitor if they had a distraction. Raising my melta-gun, I shot a hole in the wall opposite where we were hiding, across the rain of heavy-bolter fire. The wall melted in a very satisfying fashion, pooling down into a dribbling clump of bulkhead armor.

Counting to three, I dove across the corridor. Behind me, I heard more than saw my armsmen fire at the servitor, the hiss of lasguns and the exploding sound of dead meat filling my ears. Looking back, I feared for my soldiers.

They were fine.

Miguel called an ‘all-clear’, and I climbed out of the hold I’d made. The heavy bolter servitor had been hardwired into the ceiling, acting as a last-ditch defense for the captain. Several of the Fel Hand’s crew had suffered their final moments under its ministrations. Looking over at Tulio, we’d almost fared the same.

“Let not a lowly servitor stop us!” I said, heartily pushing forward. We were almost to the bridge, and hopefully some clues about what had happened to the Hand .

Tulio muttered something under his breath.

There were no other defenses.

The Castra Aleria, Flagship of the Vandigrath Dynasty

Lunar Class Cruiser, Modified

My ship glitters in the void. It is four kilometers of Adeptus Mechanicus-forged metal, wrapped in towering spires and crennelations, supported by arching buttresses, and twinkling with running lights that push out into the darkness. It is my home.

I cannot claim to be the first owner of the Castra Aleria , and I know that my family was the first to come into possession of it either. It bears the markings of the Imperial Navy deep in the voidmens quarters and etched into its plasma reactors, of deep service to the Imperium in wars throughout the galaxy. As best my savants can determine, her keel was first sent into the void twelve hundred years before I set foot on her as captain for the first time.

I can only imagine what she’s seen, or what sent her to the two drydock refits that rebuilt her from the keel up. The first was several hundred years into her voyages, during an otherwise calm period of Imperial history in the sector she was based in. There are hints of foul Ork scrawlings on the lowest decks of the ship. The second is recorded only in the precise script of Lathe World adepts inscribed across the Aleria’ s modern subcomponents. They speak of protections against darkness and technosocery. I have been told these are standard prayers to the Omnissiah, but I do not believe the storytellers.

My family came into possession of her a few hundred years after this second mysterious refitting, and the Aleria was already a fighter at heart when she arrived.

The Castra Aleria is crewed by a competent and uncompromising crew, led by my Master at Arms Eva Idonea. She keeps our timetable and crew moving at the ringing of our Watch bells. I owe much to that responsiveness and attention to detail. It helped us survive the war against Keldan’s forces, and it has proved invaluable out here in the Expanse.

In addition to my fine crew, the Aleria has a soul of her own. She delights in a fight, her spirit leaping into action as she draws down on retreating prey. The Aleria will chomp at my helmsman’s bit when being held back or hiding, and feels sullen when navigating an empty system.

She is also a stalker in the void, equipped with huge supply vaults for long distance running. It gives her a nuanced view of the hunt, her anticipation growing as we march across cold stars looking for the next foe requiring our ministrations. The crew feeds off this energy, growing confident as the Aleria’s guns begin tracking better, her engines push harder, and her eyes and ears become sharper.

The adepts of the Lathe Worlds must have recognized this the last time she was refit, for they made some modifications to her hull that have enhanced her personality. My armored bridge was not original to the ship, and has been nestled into a crook in the main spire of the vessel that was clearly made for something smaller and less protective. Her armored outer shell was also given attention, and now bears huge runic power fields to support the Gellar field when in the warp. I would not trade the speed of this vessel for anything.

Is the bridge ostentatious? Of course! It is the vessel of a Rogue Trader, and I would have it no other way. Are its Macrocannon crews constantly competing with its lance gunners for my attention? Probably, but it entertains me and hones their skills. Have we been hardened in the fires of battle? Undoubtedly, for the foul powers of Chaos offer no quarter in the void.

###

The Castra Aleria - 85 sp

Crew: Crack (40); Wrothful, Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Will not willingly associate with Chaos Worshippers or their allies.

Speed: 5 Maneuverability: +10

Detection: +10 Hull Integrity: 70

Armor: 20 (F24) Turret Rating: 2

Main Components : Jovian Mk4 Drive, Warp Engines, Gellar Field, Multi-Void Shield, Armored Bridge, Vitae Life Sustainer, M-100 Auger, Voidsmans Quarters

Secondary Components : 2x Mars Pattern Macrocannon Batteries, 2x Titanforge Lance Batteries, Armored Prow, Compartmentalized Cargo Hold, Extended Supply Vaults, Warpbane Hull

Plot Hooks:

Chasing a bounty posted by the Imperial Navy, the Castra Aleria enters the system. Its crew thinks you may be associating with their mark (a small band of Chaos Raiders), or have knowledge of their location. If you work alongside the Aleria , they will accept your aid, warily. If you are working against them, they will wait until the last moment to reveal their knowledge of your heresy…

The Castra Aleria has been searching the far Expanse for almost a year now, looking for something. They will continue until they’ve found it, regardless of the damage to their ship. Vandigrath is not a rich man, but he is thorough and loaths putting down roots in any particular system. In exchange for your help, he might know of an interesting system worth colonizing…

Remi Vandigrath is in orbit around the planet you are attempting to reach. He hails you, saying that the Castra Aleria will not allow anyone to get close, on pain of destruction. A successful Hard (-10) Lore (Rogue Traders) test will reveal that he is known to associate with the Inquisition. Even if you drive him off initially, he will not be able to go against his orders and will be forced to stop you, no matter the cost.

The bridge was small to my eyes. It was an intimate chamber, with gargoyled vaults over individual stations. A frigate, the Fel Hand required far fewer crew than the Castra Aleria , and its bridge mimicked the trend.

A command throne was filled with the dead, void-suit clad body of an officer. From the tattered remains of the once-fine clothing, I was sure that this was Hadarak Fel. He was grinning the toothy grin of a skull’s open jaw under the void suit helmet. Clearly, he’d suffered a wound that had left his suit open to the planet’s elements.

His crew had been killed where they sat, their bodies contorted or collapsed in a pile of scattered bones. There was little evidence here, besides Fel sitting in his chair, still in command.

The Fel Hand had entered the atmosphere with its captain still at the helm; whether he’d been alive or dead when that occured was beyond my meager abilities.

I searched briefly, coming back to the captain’s chair. Standing, with my head slightly cocked to one side, I attempted to get into the head of the late captain. It did no good.

His void suit was of excellent make, and fine quality; befitting a Rogue Trader. The helmet was difficult to see though, as if the dead grin of the man inside was preventing me from looking straight at it. I felt something that I hadn’t felt since the war.

Chaos Taint.

“What’s going on?” Tulio asked, still wandering around the bridge half-blind.

“I believe that the Inquisitor wants us to clean up one of his messes,” I said, watching him follow a console along a wall with his hands, “Do you feel anything?”

“Besides the obvious?” Tulio replied, indicating the blank plasteel of a wall panel embossed with the dynasty sigil of the Fel line.

“Besides the obvious riches probably still rattling around inside the cargo holds?” Miguel said, piping up from the edge of the navigator pit.

Miguel had a point. The late captain’s cargo was probably still inside the ship.

I was also finding my eyes drawn to the sword at Fel’s belt. It called out to me, the first part of the massive treasure that we would be able to loot from the ship. I drew it from its sheathe.

The blade was of beautiful forging, its semi-transparent blade shimmering in the pale light of the dying star. It had no right to be resting in this place, and belonged among the still active stars of the Expanse. I knew that without understanding how.

In the back of my head, I felt a scratching sensation. Eyes glancing off the helmet again, I turned back towards the door we’d entered through.

Now, a shadow stood there, hunched over and shifting just beyond sight. It had eyes, dark red, that ate light instead of glowing with the energy of life. Around it, my armsmen team had been warily eying various entry ways for any threats.

Seeing the demon suddenly in their midst, they panicked.

It flinched at them, bearing wicked claws of pure darkness, and they broke like a crumbling bridge over a chasm. Dropping their weapons, they fled through the main door, out into the hallways that led into the ship.

Tulio turned, quizzically, at the sound. The demon moved at him first.

I had just enough time to react, leaping from the command platform, shouting about the threat. Tulio couldn’t see well enough to differentiate wall from shadow, and didn’t even have the sense to dodge.

The demon put its blades through Tulio’s chest, dropping him instantly to the ground. Blood poured down, and I heard Tulio mutter that this was the worst practical joke he’d ever heard of. I realized that, instead of holding my melta-gun, I was still holding the shimmering blue sword.

I decided to use it.

Swinging at the demon, it ducked under my first cut. Behind me, I could hear Miguel screaming like a small girl. I didn’t blame him, but I was definitely going to make sure he heard about it later. The demon lifted one of its foul arms, and pinned my off-hand through at the shoulder. I could feel tearing muscle, but it didn’t hit anything vital.

I returned the cut, feeling the sword as it guided me towards where the demon would be. It is still a mystery to me whether demons can feel surprise or fear, but I suspect this one felt it as my sword cut into his incorporeal self. Its eyes went wide, then returned to a normal shade of light, and the misty shadow dispersed.

[ Excellent ] a voice said, coming from everywhere, and nowhere, [ we make such a beautiful team ]

Jumping in my boots, I think I felt something of what Miguel felt. Tulio coughed below me, and in reaction I stabbed the sword into the deck so that I could care for his wounds. Miguel peeked his head back in too, seeing if the demon was gone. I saw his eyes go wide when he realized how hurt Tulio was, and he rushed over.

Miguel was far more skilled in medicae ministrations than I was, and I stepped back to allow him to work. His medkit was simple, but effective.

I called up to the Castra Aleria for more armsmen, and heavier weapons. This was not going to be as easy as I’d hoped. I also called out to the soldiers who’d run. I did not begrudge them their terror, and at least two had regained their composure once they were out of sight of the foul terror.

As the first Arvus Lighters began landing, I directed the two survivors to get Tulio off the Fel Hand . Miguel and I still had a job to do.

With more soldiers, and the knowledge that the cargo areas were still intact, I was about to direct my team forward. I was stopped by the sword, still planted firmly in the metal decking of the bridge.

[W e can be together ] it said, its voice sickly sweet, soft and beckoning, [ And together, we can defeat your enemies… ]

For a moment, it forced me to consider it. Standing, hands crossed as I stared at the sword and its pleading, I regret to say that I almost wanted to believe it. But, I had borne the brunt of enough heresy this day.

Stepping over to the sword, I tore it from the ground and stabbed it through the remains of Hadarak Fel. His head fell off his body, the misty-eyed helmet preventing my eyes from seeing which console-station it rolled under.

I decided that I would burn this wreck to cinders from orbit after I left.

Making sure that Tulio was moved as safely as possible, I gathered Miguel and my armsmen to continue my search of the ship. With the scraps of information we’d found on the bridge, we at least knew where one of the Fel Hand’s cargo holds was…

I kicked in the door to the cargo hold. The Fel Hand had earned my ire, and I wanted to show my soldiers that there was nothing to be afraid of.

My boot broke whatever seals were still active on the access hatch, and it imploded inward. I followed shortly after it. With the sense of falling, sideways, it took me a long moment to comprehend what was happening.

I realized about the same moment I hit the wall with a heavy thud.

The gravity controls in this section of the ship had failed on impact, but had remained powered. They were too sturdy, too well built, to just turn off and had done the best they could with what their limited machine spirits could understand. The gravity plating had decided that the wall should now be the floor.

There, among the pile of thrown cargo containers, broken securing lines, and detritus from decades of resting, I wondered for the briefest moment if leading from the front was a terrible idea. Lifting myself up on the broken pile, I decided that no it was not. Someone had to inspire the lay-citizen to greatness, and pain was just part of that cost.

I shouted up to Miguel to repel carefully using their void suits’ grapple wires. Thirty soldiers descended down, back-lit by the bright light of the cargo hold’s entrance. They looked like true explorers.

As they landed in the pile of debris with me, I started directing them to search. The pile rose and fell as it continued along the wall, now floor, of the cargo hold. A small mountain blocked my view of the far side of the hold.

We began slowly turning over crates, looking for any sign of an intact Inquisitorial cargo block. I heard a delighted shout from Miguel near the debris mountain.

“Hey!” he said, voxing me over to his position. He sounded like he’d really found something.

By the time I’d trodden over, a small group of five or so other soldiers had collected around him, looking over his find. It was a void suit. Old, solid, but no more special than any of the void equipment the rest of us were wearing.

I asked him what was so special, since it looked normal to me. He was at a loss for words.

“I guess it just looked useful,” Miguel said, looking like the answer was self-obvious. He looked over his own suit, at the scratches and dents it had acquired over the years, and the markings from the fight with the heavy bolter servitor just earlier.

“Please?” He asked, eyes pleading with me valiently, “I can put it on real quick; I don’t even need to breath the atmosphere to swap out. It’d be spiffy.”

“We still don’t know what the air is like here.” I said, expecting the conversation to end, “We’ll take a look at it after we finish with the rest of the hold.”

I strode off over the broken ground, climbing across heavy STC transport containers to reach the other side of the mountain. The other soldiers began to disperse as well, going about their search.

Attempting to lift a few of the containers, I realized how hopeless a task this would be. It would take months to thoroughly search the ship, and that was if my crew didn’t run into any more obstacles or active defenses.

Just before I gave the order to leave the cargo hold, I spotted something interesting. It was a dark, matte black. Gold etching had been worn off the corners of the box, but the heavy embossing still stuck out against the sea of plain steel and Imperial Aquillas.

It was a sealed Inquisitorial box, about the size of large travel chest. You could fit human-scale equipment into it, or something the size of a predatory, full grown lion. If I’d been able to fold one up, I could probably have fit a multi-task servitor into it - with a little persuasion and the loss of a servitor limb or two.

I called for my soldiers, intending to prep them to dig the box out of the pile. Instead, my voice was drowned off the vox-link by the screaming of a dying armsman. It was quick, but I was already prepping my melta-gun and rushing to the mountain to get a better view of my soldiers.

Heads of my soldiers were hiding behind containers and crates, hearing the scream too. They were crouched, weapons ready but looking in every direction to try and figure out where it came from.

Miguel was standing at the base of the mountain, obscured by a large container that was resting on top of the piled mess. His hands and torso were bloody; the body of a slain armsman at his feet.

He was wearing the void suit he’d found.

Shouting, both over the vox link and the ‘casters of my suit, I slid down the hill towards Miguel. He looked bewildered, his eyes distant.

I quickly ordered my soldiers to stay where they were.

He had no explanation for what he’d done, his mouth moving but not saying anything coherent. Shaking my head, I restrained his hands. I called soldiers forward, telling them to restrain Miguel until we could get him out of that suit.

Getting on the Vox as soon as we’d lifted the one sealed box out of the cargo hold, I called up for the Bishop of the Castra Aleria to be ready to sanctify and exorcise Miguel. I did not want anything lingering from this blasted site.

Shooting the void suit Miguel had been wearing out an airlock and posting a trusted guard squad to 24/7 security over the Inquisitorial container, I walked to the bridge.

I directed the bombardment personally, scouring the surface from geosynchronous anchor for nearly a day. There was nothing but blowing dust and fragments of adamantium armor from the Fel Hand by the time I was finished.

Carth would have to be happy with a partial list of items. I was done here.

Atton's World Skyhook

I remember saying that I was a poor man. You should know that I do not always tell the entire truth. A Rogue Trader, one with a dynasty behind him, is never completely destitute…

My one true possession outside my ship in the Expanse is a Skyhook orbital in Winterscale’s realm. Not the whole orbital, mind you, but at least a solid share in its operations and profits.

Vandigrath dynasty offices grace a quarter of its administrative block, in the upper spires of its habitation section. There scribes, savants, retainers, and house soldiers maintain the supply lines that feed the orbital’s repair yards and refueling docks. We support Winterscale’s crews by providing the basic necessities for the station.

My own cruiser has permanent docking rights to the orbital, and the right to repairs at cost. The cheap repairs do cut into my own profits, since the orbital could be servicing other ships instead of mine; but the cost of going elsewhere would be even higher.

At any time, the orbital can dock three cruisers, or almost a dozen smaller ships. One open-void repair dock, and one dry-dock facility are attached below the habitation section. These are the main industry of the station, and fully two thirds of the orbital’s crew work directly for the repair and refueling wings.

To be honest, before being forced out into the Expanse, I had hardly any idea that my family owned our offices out here. It seemed like a far off minor holding.

The system is small, with one habitable planet, two large and exploitable gas giants (Winterscale has mining facilities around several moons). Its star puts out only minor grav-tides, though the heavy asteroid belt just outside the orbit of the Skyhook requires careful treading along well-posted navigation lines.

In the outer system, the mining colonies are only lightly defended. This is in stark contrast to the skyhook, which has formidable defenses of its own. Many ships have needed full repairs, and the weapon systems removed from their damaged bodies have often been integrated into the Skyhook’s gun decks. It now boasts weapons that can rival a battlecruiser in one-on-one combat.

A single launch bay hosts two local squadrons of fighter-bombers, capable of close in defense against lighter raiders.

Winterscale has taken good care of my families holdings, and I owe his dynasty for giving me a solid toehold in the Expanse. It is a debt that I will have to pay back eventually.

Plot Hooks :

- The Winterscale Skyhook welcomes friendly and neutral Rogue Traders needing repairs, new crews, and resupplies. It also houses well-stocked Librarium Vaults; while there are few truely rare tombs here, it has much needed for basic research and Astromancy. A Rogue Trader might be in need of these services, or be willing to try and take them by force.

- Winterscale is mounting a large expedition into his realm. The ships of his fleet will need supplies, crews, and military resources. The fleet will also be willing to pay well for anyone who can bring those kind of supplies to them. The Skyhook is a primary staging point for them, and will negotiate trade on behalf of the Winterscale and Vandigrath dynasties.

- Even here, in a moderately well populated system (though it’s no Damaris), there are resources to exploit. While neither Winterscale or Vandigrath would likely pay extraordinary prices for it, setting up a mining colony on an outer moon would provide the basic minerals and resources needed by the Skyhook’s forges and factories.

And I see you have already noticed this sub-forum. Once again, marvelous work.

Making sure that Tulio was moved as safely as possible, I gathered Miguel and my armsmen to continue my search of the ship. With the scraps of information we’d found on the bridge, we at least knew where one of the Fel Hand’s cargo holds was…

I kicked in the door to the cargo hold. The Fel Hand had earned my ire, and I wanted to show my soldiers that there was nothing to be afraid of.

My boot broke whatever seals were still active on the access hatch, and it imploded inward. I followed shortly after it. With the sense of falling, sideways, it took me a long moment to comprehend what was happening.

I realized about the same moment I hit the wall with a heavy thud.

The gravity controls in this section of the ship had failed on impact, but had remained powered. They were too sturdy, too well built, to just turn off and had done the best they could with what their limited machine spirits could understand. The gravity plating had decided that the wall should now be the floor.

There, among the pile of thrown cargo containers, broken securing lines, and detritus from decades of resting, I wondered for the briefest moment if leading from the front was a terrible idea. Lifting myself up on the broken pile, I decided that no it was not. Someone had to inspire the lay-citizen to greatness, and pain was just part of that cost.

I shouted up to Miguel to repel carefully using their void suits’ grapple wires. Thirty soldiers descended down, back-lit by the bright light of the cargo hold’s entrance. They looked like true explorers.

As they landed in the pile of debris with me, I started directing them to search. The pile rose and fell as it continued along the wall, now floor, of the cargo hold. A small mountain blocked my view of the far side of the hold.

We began slowly turning over crates, looking for any sign of an intact Inquisitorial cargo block. I heard a delighted shout from Miguel near the debris mountain.

“Hey!” he said, voxing me over to his position. He sounded like he’d really found something.

By the time I’d trodden over, a small group of five or so other soldiers had collected around him, looking over his find. It was a void suit. Old, solid, but no more special than any of the void equipment the rest of us were wearing.

I asked him what was so special, since it looked normal to me. He was at a loss for words.

“I guess it just looked useful,” Miguel said, looking like the answer was self-obvious. He looked over his own suit, at the scratches and dents it had acquired over the years, and the markings from the fight with the heavy bolter servitor just earlier.

“Please?” He asked, eyes pleading with me valiently, “I can put it on real quick; I don’t even need to breath the atmosphere to swap out. It’d be spiffy.”

“We still don’t know what the air is like here.” I said, expecting the conversation to end, “We’ll take a look at it after we finish with the rest of the hold.”

I strode off over the broken ground, climbing across heavy STC transport containers to reach the other side of the mountain. The other soldiers began to disperse as well, going about their search.

Attempting to lift a few of the containers, I realized how hopeless a task this would be. It would take months to thoroughly search the ship, and that was if my crew didn’t run into any more obstacles or active defenses.

Just before I gave the order to leave the cargo hold, I spotted something interesting. It was a dark, matte black. Gold etching had been worn off the corners of the box, but the heavy embossing still stuck out against the sea of plain steel and Imperial Aquillas.

It was a sealed Inquisitorial box, about the size of large travel chest. You could fit human-scale equipment into it, or something the size of a predatory, full grown lion. If I’d been able to fold one up, I could probably have fit a multi-task servitor into it - with a little persuasion and the loss of a servitor limb or two.

I called for my soldiers, intending to prep them to dig the box out of the pile. Instead, my voice was drowned off the vox-link by the screaming of a dying armsman. It was quick, but I was already prepping my melta-gun and rushing to the mountain to get a better view of my soldiers.

Heads of my soldiers were hiding behind containers and crates, hearing the scream too. They were crouched, weapons ready but looking in every direction to try and figure out where it came from.

Miguel was standing at the base of the mountain, obscured by a large container that was resting on top of the piled mess. His hands and torso were bloody; the body of a slain armsman at his feet.

He was wearing the void suit he’d found.

Shouting, both over the vox link and the ‘casters of my suit, I slid down the hill towards Miguel. He looked bewildered, his eyes distant.

I quickly ordered my soldiers to stay where they were.

He had no explanation for what he’d done, his mouth moving but not saying anything coherent. Shaking my head, I restrained his hands. I called soldiers forward, telling them to restrain Miguel until we could get him out of that suit.

Getting on the Vox as soon as we’d lifted the one sealed box out of the cargo hold, I called up for the Bishop of the Castra Aleria to be ready to sanctify and exorcise Miguel. I did not want anything lingering from this blasted site.

Shooting the void suit Miguel had been wearing out an airlock and posting a trusted guard squad to 24/7 security over the Inquisitorial container, I walked to the bridge.

I directed the bombardment personally, scouring the surface from geosynchronous anchor for nearly a day. There was nothing but blowing dust and fragments of adamantium armor from the Fel Hand by the time I was finished.

Carth would have to be happy with a partial list of items. I was done here.

Awesome, why didn't you continue?

I ran into a couple unprofitable adventures, and retaliated against the GM by dropping a horde of marauding Orks onto Damaris... It might be worth picking back up though.