The Apostasy Gambit

Introduction: Edge of Darkness

Ω9 Mission Log

CLASSIFIED

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Able: Faith
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Prelude Part 1

THEN

Krell peered through the clouds.
Below war was waged; with their target’s successful extraction, it seemed the Imperial war machine had been given the green light to advance in full force.
There were times in his life when the sight would have brought him pride; a sense of wonder and safety that the Emperor’s forces could deliver such a hammer blow when needed.
Through the valkyrie’s small porthole, he watched swarms of ants, supported by large explosions, wash over hills and villages in pursuit of their goal, but instead of happiness, he felt empty. He turned from the window and patted himself down, his hands working awkwardly around the confining straps of his flight seat. Finally, he found his cigarettes and fumbled to draw one out. Clenching it between his teeth, he reached for his lighter, “Hey!” came a call, “You can’t smoke that in here!” He glanced up angrily and found one of the deck crew glaring at him, “You can’t smoke that here!” he repeated, pointing at him. Krell put his hands up in surrender, his lighter still in one hand, before returning it to his pocket, leaving the slightly crumpled cigarette in his mouth, then turned back to the window. He chewed lightly at the filter, as though it were a cigar, as he watched an enemy position evaporate in a cloud of mud and gunpowder – how was he supposed to live up to these feats?
He sighed lightly, the end of the cigarette dropping as though to mirror his despondency.

When he had been an Arbites, he had felt like he was doing something; the Emperor’s work. Bringing scum to justice and enforcing His word had been his stock-and-trade, but when he looked at the scene playing out miles beneath him, imagined the acts of bravery, the constant struggle against the enemies of man, it seemed as though his life had been a waste… He glowered resentfully at his own reflection in the port hole.
The figure in Penal Legion fatigues glared back.

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Prologue (part one)
Planetfall

Deathwatch Killteam Gladius are inserted into the war zone on the planet Cindar to rescue a group of missing Acolytes under the command of Inquisitor Mercius Kane.

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Prologue (part two)
The Governor's Palace

Killteam Gladius continue their assault on the Governor’s Palace in Castellon and eventually reach their objective.

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The Arrest of Sybas Moran
Cell Ω9 Arrest and question Sybas Moran along with several other suspects

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Aboard the Illustrious Sailor (part 1)
Cell Ω9 go undercover aboard the Illustrious Sailor as they travel incognito to Cindar
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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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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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