The Apostasy Gambit

Naval Docks (part one)
The Acolytes infiltrate Castellon's Naval Docks to investigate the Skorn with interesting results...
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Session 5: Krell
For Every Step Back, a Lesson Learnt

Krell’s elation at making a big jump in their investigations was squashed almost immediately by Able’s paranoid mind.

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Investigations Begin
The Acolytes run an errand for Octus while planning their first moves, but begin to doubt the Interrogator's motives.
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Arrival at Cindar
The Acolytes finally make it to Cindar. They have to deal with the vortex bomb in the hold before eventually landing and finding their contact: Octus
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Session 3: Krell
Doubts and Deeds

Krell lurched through bathroom doorway and aimed his head at the toilet.
He could feel a dark ooze whenever he had retched since the warp drive failure.
After half an hour or so he would look down, there was never anything there.

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Session 3: Lazarus the Exorcist
We see how great and terrible Thou art....

The punch caught him full in the face.
The creature that used to be Pilot Corvin snarled gleefully as blood splattered the wall next to him. Lazarus flew backwards, barely able to keep hold of his cleaver as he fell. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as his back slammed hard into the bulkhead. He looked up at the twist form of his former crewmate; arms swollen with daemonic muscle tearing his uniform, his eyes glowing a lurid yellow, the pupils, now bestial slits. As often seemed to be the case with the chaos gods, they had reforged their victim’s body from the divine image of the emperor into a terrifying beast. Gone was the typical symmetry that nature seemed content to follow, replaced with an unnerving aesthetic nightmare of inequality and conflicting proportions.
“Corvin, listen to me!” The Preacher gasped, trying to regain his breath, “You must fight it! This is not you…you are a good, honest, servant of the Emperor, I have seen it in you – fight it, man!”

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Session 3: Lazarus the daemonslayer
For all I ought to have done, and have not done....

Lazarus’s eyes widened and his run slowed to a stop, his feet almost sliding out from under him in his haste to stop.
The daemon filled the doorway. Huge. Terrifying.
The sirens drowned out thought.
They blocked his mind’s attempts to get a handle on the situation, but fortunately, for a moment, also made fear wait in the queue of responses vying to get through the wall of invasive sound. The Preacher backpedalled, moving to stand in front of the Captain, one hand warding the man backwards, his other holding out a simple cleaver.

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Aboard the Illustrious Sailor (part 2)
Stranded in the warp, the acolytes must restart the Illustrious Sailor's engines and translate back to realspace before the ship is overrun by daemons
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Session 2: Able
The Second Son

It was hard not to like the grizzled old Vostryan. Within seconds of the Captain announcing Able’s posting, Vladimir had grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and dragged him boisterously from the bridge.
“Hah! You and me, we’ll be good friends, yes comrade?”
Able could smell some kind of alcohol on the man’s breath. Nothing he recognised, but that was far from unusual. Every ship he’d encountered had it’s own, unique, brand of moonshine, and the flavours varied wildly. It could depend on a huge number of factors, from the quality of cleaning fuild or fuel that was inevitably added for that extra ‘kick’ so loved by sailors who spent half their lived separated from the infinite terrors of the warp by only a few inches of steel and a field generator, down to the quality of distillation equipment used or the vegetable matter than the stuff was distilled from. The only thing most varieties of ‘warpjuice’, as it was sometimes known, had in common was that it never tasted like anything you ever wanted to drink again. The corner of Able’s mouth turned up in a faint, wry smile. This was going to be interesting.

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Session 2: Lazarus The Chef
Lazarus The Chef

“Three Hundred and Eighty Seven, Three Hundred and Eighty Eight…”
Lazarus allowed the gentle drone of Locke’s voice to continue uninterrupted, pushing the words from his consciousness, but retaining the gentle meter of the chant.
He found it rather calming.

Looking around him, the Preacher attempted to get a feel for his location in the ship. He had few prior experiences to draw upon, and found the metal intestines of this inter-stellar beast all looked alike; a sprawling maze of bulkheads and doors, all matching in colour, all matching in size, and all passing him by with no reference points to draw on. He sighed and shook his head.

Looking forwards, he watched Locke for a moment; he was certainly the person to ask about navigating the vessel’s corridors and hallways, but at another point. At the present time, he was staring intently downwards at his feet as he walked through the ship counting, not even having to look where he was going, focusing all his energies on maintaining the count.
Lazarus stifled a giggle as part of his brain threw forwards the notion of shouting out numbers at random, then, with a stern cough, he mentally chastised himself for such petty thoughts and apologised to the Emperor for even contemplating such an act.

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