Whispered Secrets

Information Regarding the Septem Acolytes

Sender – Junior Interrogator Andrecise Purvaél
Recipient – Inquisitor Kias Lemarre

Thought for the Day – Suffer Not The Unclean To Live.

As an addendum to my report on the Sinophia Magna surveillance, there are some details that may interest my Lord.

Despite my misgivings, I must agree that the Septem Acolytes do indeed appear to be worthy of monitoring for promotion, particularly in light of the loss of the Ternary and Quinary coteries. While I can’t say that their actions were particularly subtle (Magos Damien claims that “estimates of their confirmed body count will take more time to collate”), their concealment of their true allegiance to the Holy Ordos is commendable. It appears that, of the various factions and individuals contacted and interrogated, only the Arbites became aware of their true identities.

In the interest of adding their operational details to their profile, I have recorded the impressions that they have left on Sinophia Magna. This information is somewhat biased, as relatively few people that encountered them remain alive for questioning, but may still prove useful when determining their aptitude for later operations.

Ravia. This one may warrant some closer attention, to ascertain whether her apparent bloodlust poses as an asset or risks compromising the team. Given the state of Skarman’s corpse during the autopsy, I’m inclined to believe the former.
Her actions on Sinophia appear to have placed a new story in the repertoire of mothers frightening their young into obedience; tales of the “tooth snatcher demon” watching for naughty little children through her scoped rifle.
A servant of the new Judiciary’s, one Lydia Black, described her as “a bit touchy”.

Titus. The scholar appears to be something of an enigma; his aptitude for making allies and finding or shooting a way out of death traps belied by his age. During his short time here he seems to have wooed the nominal head of the Administratum, Eupheme Tassal, (an attraction she believes to have been unrequited), in addition to working up the clout to requisition muscle from Hesul, one of three criminal linchpins in the city.
As for his reputation in the city, many seem to regard him as having been an agent of some Imperial organisation. Smooth talking, unflappable and adept at securing aid from women in places of power. Despite the worrying closeness of this conception to his identity, as a symbol he is reinforcing the justness of Imperial Authority. Graffiti of an old suited man in silhouette, holding a pistol, are a regular sight.
A worthy servant of the Throne, if I am any judge.

This brings us to the mutant. I will not repeat my misgivings regarding this pet project of yours, so I will restrict myself to discussing his actions here.
He seems to be adept at manipulating people, particularly with drastically little time to spare. It seems that he avoided a number of major confrontations by lying through his teeth, which is at least a useful skill.
As for the repercussions of his actions, they are more fractured than the others. His regular change in makeup seems to have somewhat disguised his separate identities as the ‘nobleman’ and the monster. You had a hand in legitimising his claim to nobility, so I will not tire you with details of that persona. The other persona has a colourful list of descriptions, but I will focus on those instances when he exercised his… Abilities.
There are basically two stories to account for him. In the first, he is a highly trained assassin, skilled in the arts of deception and misdirection, who used smoke bombs, distractions and an acute understanding of the psychology of fear to appear to possess supernatural abilities. The second, less skeptical but more accurate version ascribes hellish powers to him, and claims that he was always some kind of spirit disguised as a limping old man.
A variation to the first is the belief that this terrifying vigilante was also the wealthy, eccentric nobleman, but is derided as a conspiracy theory.
One witness to an altercation in an alleyway described him as “dozens of ghosts”.

Ever your faithful servant.

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Incident Report - Sinophia Magna

Inquisitor Kias Lemarre – Clearance level Magenta

Incident Report – Sinophia Magna

Thought for the day – Secrecy is our greatest weapon, more valuable than countless lives, but bodies ask questions.

Sinophia Magna has long served as a posting with which to limit the damage of rampant incompetents within the Adeptus. A preliminary report by Battlefleet Calixis pinned it as the focal point for major arteries of travel, but developments in the crusade left it bypassed by regulation fleet routes. This, in combination with its lack of any trading goods, has left the planet to slowly choke beneath its own uselessness.
An entire planet of imperial servants too inept to work elsewhere, but who have committed no crime to justify their execution. The remainder of the population made up of nobles who lack the funds to flee their irrelevant little planet, and the downtrodden masses that are squeezed for their last coin.
A veritable breeding ground for heresy and rebellion.

The reports regarding the earlier incident with the tech-heresy cult know as the <expunged> are attached, and may shed light on the events that led to this recent incursion.
The Adeptus Arbites relocated their base of operations after the mayhem of the <expunged> conspiracy, and chose to place themselves within a tower known as “Harlock’s Folly”; a building believed to have been built by the eponymous Rogue Trader. Contained within the upper reaches of this tower was a tainted artefact, a malefic being bound within a mirror of polished armourglas, a material used in starship construction.
My investigations conclude that this being reached out from its prison to find a chink in the spirit of Senior Adeptus Arbites Precinct Marshal Colchis Skarman, twisting the once loyal servant of the Throne towards the service of this being.

Acolytes of my service conducted preliminary investigations into the matter, concluding that the series of murders (See attached report by Arbiter Adjutant Fihad Constantine) were held together by a common link of mirror shards held by the victims. Their investigations led them into direct conflict with Marshal Skarman, which the corrupted Arbiter did not survive. (For additional information on their investigation, see separate Endorsement for Further Advancement of Inquisitorial Servants)

I have spent the past two months conducting extensive repairs to the infrastructure of Sinophia Magna, under its new Judiciary, Cal Sur’Maywroth (See Death of Ivandus Drivani and Reconstruction of Government), and I have managed to localise any rumours of the conspiracy unto the Arbites themselves. It is a breach of protocol to lower the authority of the Adeptus within the eyes of the populace, but the damage was too extensive to conceal. Against traditional regulations, I have been forced to liquidise the organisation.
Enforcer General Xiabus Khan has, under my guidance, begun working with Judiciary Maywroth to establish a new Imperial authority on the planet. The General surrendered his medal, which my acolytes reported to contain another fragment of the mirror, and has made considerable progress towards utterly crushing the criminal elements of the less civilised districts. The Judiciary’s zeal in this matter has been commendable, if marginally sadistic.

A few of the mirror shards remain lost, and no success has been made with attempts to ascertain the being’s current presence. The intact mirror is to be contained, and the planet kept under close surveillance.

More dramatic measures may become necessary.

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Final Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Well Inquisitor, I hope you’re happy. If there’s one thing I hate more than hospital food, its prison food. So my experience of two weeks in an Arbites medical treatment cell, being fed cold porridge and shot full of anti-coagulants so that the arteries in my heart don’t collapse has been less than a holiday. One last look at Sinophia Magna from the takeoff platform, and we’re into a shuttle and finally away from that rotten, stinking, corrupt, rainy, disintegrating hell of a place. As I say Lemarre, I hope you’re happy. I know I am.

We walked out of the bloody remnants of the Clockwork Court like nothing had happened, the present Arbites and Enforcers rather more concerned with the massacre that had occurred than helping us with directions. We did, however, have pretty decent directions already. To Arbitrator Skarman’s office, in fact. Given the terribly suspect nature of his actions, what with being present as the Judiciary had his brains blown out by a guy who was pulling heads off valets two rooms down the hall, we came to the conclusion that we’d pay him a visit with not too much discussion.

And we walked into Haarlock’s Folly like we owned the place. “We need to talk to Skarman” was all we needed to get past the strong arm of the Emperor’s law, and we took a leisurely stroll from the elevator to Constantine’s office, to give the poor blighter a break from the whole city wide anarchy and doom thing. He did look tired, but he agreed to tag along as we headed up the stairs for our chat with the head of this fine group.

Now, we found Skarman in his office, in a beautifully repurposed observatory on the tower’s top floor. Assuming you haven’t burned it to the ground for being a corrupt locus of evil or something to that effect, if I were to have a summer home anywhere in Sinophia Magna, you know… no. I think I can speak for Ravia, Titus and myself when I say that none of us really wants a summer house on Sinophia Magna. Anyway, we found Skarman pacing up and down his office like a big old alley cat, he asked us what we were doing. I tried to wheedle as much information out of him as I could, then sort of changed tack. My plan was basically to confront him with the evidence, he’d slip up, Constantine would stage a legitimate coup, and we’d all be back to the good old days. Failing that I’d pull out some evasive psychic jiggery-pokery and get him in a headlock, Titus and Ravia could work his knees over and you could interview him yourself. Ravia even found a door behind his tent sized Imperial flag that I thought would give him no option but to confess. But then he did something that I don’t think any of us expected.

Skarman seemed to grow bigger and darker, his presence filling up the room and sending shadows skittering about the walls in ways they had no right to. The glow lamps dimmed, and with a voice like worms tearing into your eardrums took a sledgehammer to our collective morale. Contstantine, Titus and I were frozen in horror, the monster in the flesh of a man before us revealed as a being that could crush our very souls and extinguish us utterly, every mistake that had bought us to this point thrown with mocking laughter into our faces.

Ravia, apparently not bothered by this, exclaimed something to the effect of “What the-” before opening an express tunnel from Skarman’s left ear to his right one. We all felt heartily relieved, and I don’t think that this is an inappropriate time to say this;
Ravia, if you’re reading this; I love you.
If it weren’t for those little lead angels that seem to do your bidding right when we need it, I don’t doubt for a minute that we’d all be at the bottom of the Canal with Sinophia Magna’s most famous architectural wonders. Thank you.

So we thought we were out of trouble. Imagine you’ve met that feeling a few times before this point Inquisitor, and I don’t doubt you’ve learned to ignore it. Because feeling like one is out of trouble at a point before one has fully explained how the most trustworthy lawman on Sinophia got his brain boiled out through his eyes seems…well, I don’t even know what it seems like. This isn’t a situation I come across very often. But yes, we thought we’d done it. We thought Ravia had cut out the heart of this heresy with another of her perfectly timed lead based trans-cranial polishes.

Suffice to say, something interesting happened.

From through the Imperial Flag, forming itself from a thousand twisting tendrils of smoke, rose a monstrous figure, humanoid but utterly inhuman, ethereal but terribly real, a vision of bloody hell that corrupted the very air around it. I’d only ever seen such things from far away or in dreams, and I could barely shake the fear from my muscles, because I could feel what it was. A daemon manifest.

So we did what any reasonable people would do in such a situation. We shot it.

Or at least, that’s what we tried to do. After a few seconds of shaky fire, the thing waved its tenebrous hand at Ravia and she started choking. She hit the deck seconds later, and the thing split its image, and I went after one of them. As the image faded in the wake of my shotgun blast, I knew I’d had it. I could feel a burning heat in my chest and face, and I swore that my heart was going to leap out of my chest before everything went black. I was a goner.

I don’t think it’s an inappropriate time to say this, but Titus, if you’re reading this; I love you.
I don’t think I could think of a more welcome sight than your wrinkly-ass face and snide comments as you brought me back from the dead. “That’s right, leave Titus to clean up the mess…”, that’s what he said! Having just dissipated a daemon and stuck a syringe into my heart. Pity it was too late to save Constantine, but I shot Ravia full of Stimm, and we figured we’d have two minutes to finish off whatever arcane monstrosity had managed to raise the dead and throw this place into total chaos. How hard could it be, truly?

We ducked through the door, and headed up the marble stairs to another room where two mirrors faced each other. One shattered, and reassembled. Looking into the other, we came face to face with the Mirror Demon.
The creature claimed that it had been here for centuries, trapped here by Haarlock himself before the enigmatic Trader’s disappearance. The thing behind the glass, that had tried to kill us only moments ago, tried to bargain with us, offering us power and health if we would just set it free. But Ravia picked up something else. That the thing was afraid.

A daemon was afraid. I was surprised too. It was afraid of Haarlock, worrying within its glass prison that he was going to come back and cast the sector into darkness.
All very intriguing, but I’ve never taken kindly to people giving me heart attacks. We took the pieces of the mirror, and scattered them. There’s probably a couple still in the harbour. Damn thing can wait for Haarlock. I doubt he’ll be the only one.

So that’s where the prison/hospital comes in. Constantine and Skarman were dead, the Arbites were very obliging to not kill us on sight. Admittedly Ravia and I were unconscious and surrendering, but I’d wager that Titus was as spry and smug as ever. We were expecting interrogation and execution, really. That was the other very unexpected thing that happened this week.

I’m a noble. At least an extremely well fabricated one. As long as I stay on Sinophia, I am legitimately Nache van der Kroken. Admittedly, now Judiciary Margrave reopened some of my facial stitching when he yanked on my ear, but the compliment was appreciated. We’re heroes. We were responsible for the de-braining of the planets supercop, and somehow we’re heroes. Outlandish, maybe. But big thanks, Inquisitor. That could have gone much worse than it did. For now, I think some time off is necessary, to wallow in our money and try on outfits with our shiny Sinophian Blood Laurels. And think of all the glorious, lovely places we can be that aren’t Sinophia Magna. Or all the truly wretched places we can be, that still aren’t Sinophia Magna. And relish in the fact that we (probably) don’t have to go back to Sinophia Magna! Please… really, I hate it there. Always fucking raining.

It’s been a strange couple of weeks. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been shot. Titus might not need a new leg, and Ravia and I may need new veins. We’ve been jumped by hooligans, warp-things and mooks in every imaginable position. We made lots of money from drug dealing creative enterprise. We’ve made enemies, and friends I wouldn’t trust with my jacket for a five minute smoke break. And what do you know? Haarlock’s coming home.

So what are you going to do about it?

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Tenth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep, some expert physiotherapy and the lingering scent of antiseptic and incense does for your world view.
Perhaps surprisingly, it doesn’t extend it so far that repeated firearm failure when faced with marauding supernatural foes becomes fun. That has been my day, and for the love of all that is worthwhile, why does it seem that reality and unreality have joined forces to make my life miserable? I do find myself inevitably drawn to continue, however, by what I can only describe as righteous bloody annoyance. The only thing that annoys me more than a crooked cop is one that is doing his job right, and since I’ve not seen one of those enthusiastic pricks for a while, the crooked ones are going to get the full impact of my irritation. You’ll see why in a moment.

After a nice awakening, we went to the Clockwork Court, which I suppose we can cross off our “Things to do in Sinophia Magna” page (not to say we’ve been sightseeing, Inquisitor, but there are some rather dramatic places in this city where we’ve had gunfights). Titus was hobbling happily along in a new leg brace, and things were looking nicer by far than they had the night before. We had a little trouble at the door, because apparently we’d already arrived.

Constantine’s boss was kind enough to meet us at the door, and deal with our little guest list problem. That’s when the shooting started.

Rushing into the Court (which is spectacular by the way, but we had other concerns by that point), we saw flocks of nobles being slaughtered by a pair of corpses armed with pistols, knives and explosives. The Arbitrator had rushed off to protect the Judiciary, so I figured it was up to us to halt the rotting menaces.
Luckily, I had made preparations for just such an eventuality. Working under the assumption that these were corpses animated by some external influence, I figured that the best way to deal with them would be to light the unnatural bastards on fire from a responsible distance. Which I did, with great aplomb. Unfortunately, being set alight didn’t have the dramatic and immediate effect I’d been hoping for, and one of the two things tried to rush us, while the other readied a grenade. Ravia wanted to shoot its head off, and I was really hoping she would. But when a gun goes click instead of bang, things change very quickly. “This never happens to me!” she cried before dropping the rifle.

Clever corpses. Clever flaming corpses. Now, I thought the tide was turning against us, and fired another parting shot and trusted the flames to do what they do best. I’d just darted heroically into the cover of a crowd of nobles whose elaborate shoes seemed to have prevented their escape when Ravia did something unnecessarily epic.

The non-flaming creature hurled its grenade. Our heroine hefted her sheathed sword, and struck the explosive as it arced through the air. Titus had the sense to make for the door, while I hit the dirt amidst a forest of dresses and pantaloons. The pantaloons were not shrapnel proof, but luckily the people within them heroically shielded this Inquisitorial agent from harm, and having thrown off the company of a badly wounded fop I shot the flaming creature again. It still didn’t fall down… until Ravia cut its leg off. Then it fell down, and we ran for the door as it triggered its incendiary device, which conveniently only incendiaried… incendiarized… burned it.

So there we were, calmly readying our weapons, as the other thing pelted towards us with murderous intent. I took careful aim… and the round jammed. Must be the rain, I swear that never happens to me either. Luckily Ravia and Titus were on task, with her removing its kneecap and him giving it a few rounds in the body. We then collectively expended a small shop full of ammunition, and that problem immolated itself also.

We managed to find the Arbitrator General, who said that he’d managed to finish off one of the creatures, but not soon enough to save the Judiciary or anyone else bar himself. He then departed, possibly to put the city under martial law.
We gave the Judiciary’s office a quick look over, and all of them looked very surprised to have las wounds in their foreheads. They naturally didn’t resist when we appropriated some of their belongings for further testing. I also checked the charred remains of their apparent assailant, who had a little las gun conveniently near him. Smeared with ash, but unburned.

I think its time we paid Haarlocks Folley a proper visit. I have some very violent questions I’d like to ask.

Signing off,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

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Ninth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

It has been an eventful weekend. It feels as if it has gone on for months. But the excitement just doesn’t let up here in Sinophia Magna.
Ravia and I left you deep underground, where we had just committed what would be, in the eyes of more scrupulous individuals, the murder of a fairly well placed Adept in the basement of this planets very best supercops. For us, however, it really was just a terrible misunderstanding in the basement of this planet’s best supercops. In either sense, after intense deliberation our best option was concluded as the following:

Scarper.

After a moment’s investigation, and a peak at our older corpse friend’s thoroughly scrubbed Warp shadow, we heard the elevator coming down to our floor. Sensing trouble, I smashed the lights and got ready for a bloody all or nothing fight to the exit, having raised Titus to recruit some hired help from among the local murder enthusiasts. At which point, Ravia stole my thunder by finding an exit. My consolation is that I believe she now wishes she hadn’t.
As the crowd of probably very misguided (cries of “shoot on sight” were heard) Arbites exited the elevator, we took the chance to make our dramatic escape through a centuries old tunnel full of waist deep sewerage. We get all the classy jobs, see. So we’re carefully picking our way along in the dark, when wouldn’t you know, we get jumped.
Now, its not like we were unprepared. We could have handled giant rats, sewer workers or even some sort of highly aggressive fungus, but er… this was something else. One look at this thing (which I can only describe as a shrouded rotting bastard, or SRB for short) and I froze. Ravia had the sense to leg it after it stabbed her, which I admit I didn’t appreciate so much at the time.
But after a moment’s hesitation, I shook of the shock and reached forward into the multitude strands of possibility, looking for the one route that would deliver the two of us from the sewer of death. Ironically, it was my miscalculating the local Warp tides that provided it, creating a minor squall that knocked our SRB face first into the muck. Suffice to say, we did not hang around to see if it would extract itself. We found a door to the surface, vandalised it, and made our escape onto what turned out to be Celestine Wharf.
So there we were, covered in aeon poo, when Titus arrives looking right at home in his pimp mobile with a fair swathe of the criminal fraternity at his beck and call. Not wanting to waste the opportunity this offered, but also not wanting to answer to the angry SRB, we arranged an informal chat with Arbitrator Constantine in the heart of District XIII.
Though I menaced him, very effectively I think, with a tank of promethium and a shotgun, he still seems in the dark as to the source of the creatures, mirrors and murder. We’re going to meet his boss tomorrow at a swanky gala at the Clockwork Court, possibly after a shower. The evening was not wasted though, as Ravia made a startling discovery in one of the windows of the surrounding buildings; a gang of very familiar mooks.

Having a good bead on their position, we launched a coordinated attack. Titus commanded his flock of brigands, Ravia provided sniper support, and I smiled and was charming. After a hilariously brief fire-fight and a near perfect rifle round through the knee, we had captured and interviewed Lira. A lovely lass, in the employ of that noble prick and nerve gas enthusiast who I remember insulting but can’t recall the name of. Ravia remains convinced that Lira tried to shoot her in the face. She KNOWS, she KNOWS. And God Emperor knows I’m not one to question the tooth puller. Anyway, turns out the senile old fool has been having us followed, actually thinking I was a noble (never realised I was so convincing… but what can I say). So we returned his pet mercenary to the terribly obliging butler Amadeus, with the implicit message of “have us followed and we will kill 90% of your goons, and return the other 10% in less than working order”. That’ll learn him, with luck.
So after that, we rather fancied some kip. Ravia asked around, and we found a charming little place under a charming little bar, and the barman offered a last drink to anyone who felt like it. Titus slammed his like a demigod, but I was rather put off by the paint thinner smell. So Ravia and Titus settled in for the night, and I fixed my makeup and pondered exactly why there would be a drain in the corner of a commercial hotel. I was considering this over my shotgun breach when some heavily armed men rounded the corner.
I looked at them. And they looked at me. I looked at them, and said something confrontational, and then they had a lot more trouble looking at me because I’d decided now was a good time not to be seen. I relied on my first shotgun volley to alert my comrades that all was not well.
In a blink, Ravia was on her feet, and we had collectively reduced our assailants from five to one, with the spilling of copious amounts of blood and further ruination of my carefully cultivated appearance. It did explain what the drain was for, admittedly, but I don’t think it was really worth the trouble. On chasing down and interrogating the group’s leader (not giving a thought as to why Titus wasn’t chasing with us, I just figured the old bloke would catch up in his own time), we found that we’d had our first encounter with the Mandato, and sent their remaining envoy, Ishta, back to HQ with the message that we are not their problem.

We then returned to the room, wondering if the alcohol had finally taken effect on Titus, and found him lying very still under the bed trying to avoid his leg falling off. Though I did my best to patch him up, things were pretty bad, and we decided that staying here was perhaps not such a great idea. So we headed out on the town, found a nice little chapel with a very understanding priest with a keen eye for donations. With luck, this time nobody will try to kill us in our beds.

Thoroughly dishevelled, this is Nache de la Mer Chemical signing off.

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Eighth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Maybe this is the seven and a halfth report… I’m not sure. Anyway, I don’t really like fractions. So I’m gonna call this one eighth.

It has not been the restful day I hoped for as I was suturing my face. Titus and Ravia decided to go about business of their own in the morning, so I visited Constantine and watched the autopsy of he-who-was-resistant-to-shotguns. And guess what they found?

Nothing.

There was nothing even remotely strange about the guy. Well, that’s not strictly true. His organs had begun to rot, and somehow he was still walking around. Which to me, made no sense, because no weird tech implants or xeno grafts were located. No drugs in his system, no organs that shouldn’t be there. A perfectly normal walking bullet resistant carcass. Did have a bit of a strange smell to his Warpshadow, but I couldn’t quite place it.

Also, the Noble Chorum wants to see us for some insult we caused. Though I claimed it was my evil doppleganger, Nache van der Kroken, Constantine still advised that we go see them.

But, as I was leaving the building, I was hit with an epiphany. A curious scar on the cadaver’s chest had been puzzling me, and as usual, it was not until I left that I realised its importance. This was not the slab residing gent’s first autopsy.
So I went to fetch Ravia, and we nipped back down to the operating theatre with the aim of having some stern words with Adept Tallanis, their Adeptus Mechanicus Coroner. He refused to admit anything, and even when it was made clear that we were Inquisitorial Agents, the stern words soon spiralled out of all proportion and he tried to kill us. And not just kill us… he tried the “by crikey what’s that?” trick and everything! So there we were in a dingy basement, under attack by a mad bonesaw wielding techhead and three syringe fingered servitors. Things were looking bad, so we did what any reasonable person would do in such a situation.

We killed all four of them. Into small pieces.

Luckily for us, they were substantially less bullet resistant than teh guy they were operating on, amd four deft sword strokes and half a clip later we were alone in the theatre. Giving it a quick going over, we found Tallanis’ cogitator, which will hopefully be able to tell us stuff that his bullet riddled corpse is now unable to. I considered taking his head (in case he’d hidden anything useful in there) but figured it’d take to long to get through his poissibly reinforced neck with a bonesaw.
I also proved my inability to administer first aid to anyone other than myself anywhere other than a car dashboard. Sorry Ravia…

From deep in the earth… this is Nache signing off.

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Seventh Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

To begin this report, I am going to employ a bit of non-linear storytelling, as I believe a few things need to be made clear.
I have just successfully concluded sewing my own face back together. Ravia shot me. In the face.

Alright, so I’ll start from the begining. After we concluded our meeting with the Undertow leaders, we decided to follow up on another lead that they’d given us. Doing so we located a crazy guy and a massacre that seemed to corroborate the suspicions we already had. The crazy guy had witnessed our burly, bullet-resistant suspects at their gory work. They targeted a guy in a bar this time, right in front of dozens of (now deceased) witnesses, and took some trinket (mirror?) that he had from his cold dead hands. After that we took a look at the “scene of the crime” as it were, and it turns out he was right; everybody was dead. Apparently nobody had thought to clean up (or close the door so the crows couldn’t get in). No real clues, but we did find a hidy-hole with some cash. It’s always sad when a well respected drinking establishment closes under such ill circumstances. Pubs smeared with patron guts are something that the community can really do without.

Anyway, we headed back to the hotel, where we were roundly jumped by a pointy faced tall bastard surrounded by many smaller bastards. Now the first thing that the former bastard did was to weaken the barrier between reality and the Warp, then cause Ravia a seizure. Which was unfortunate, as she’d been posing rather dramatically with her rifle barrel more or less aimed at my face. She fell down, and I got a new hole between my top lip and my ear that wasn’t there before. Titus, concerned for my safety, rushed to the car to effect a getaway, but my implant (who had not been cooperating thus far; I’m not saying he’s doing a bad job, Inquisitor Lemarre, I’m sure he has his reasons, but when I come in next could you have a quiet word with him and maybe arrange for him to be less of a snarky twat? Or not… its really your call, no prssure, or anything…) suddenly decided that full force was neccesary, and I chameleoned to safety.
Ravia then made up for her bullet/face faux par by surgically removing the tall bastard’s arm with her second bullet. He screamed, thrashed around a bit, tehn fell down dead, and the otehr guys legged it under my covering fire. And what do you know? Some kind of Warpthing. Squeaked for a little while, then melted, but I got the impression that it was tied to somebody, who would probably be in a world of pain right this second. Pesky shapeshifting bastards.
Ravia also tried to shoot one of the bastards in the leg for questioning… but unfortunately the leg came off.
We then returned to the Hotel room, where I stitched my face hole shut and we all had cocoa. Tomorrow we’re going shopping on the black market.

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Sixth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Ah, what a day… having dug a bullet out of my shoulder and successfully mended the hole in my jacket, I felt that I was ready for anything. We approached Fishguts Wharf in Constantine’s increasingly beat-up car (although in light of recent events, I’m not sure I mind so much that we’ve trashed it…), and soon encountered Georg and his cronies. The latter we trusted enough to leave with the car, though I suppose if we do return to find it resting on cinder blocks we’ll have a reasonable idea whodunnit… but Georg gave us a ride in his lovely little boat to a charming abandoned theatre.
It certainly was atmosphric, though I think I’ll only give it three stars, owing to poor food and service (just don’t tell that to the Rag Court…)

And about the Rag Court, they were much less impressive than I expected. When people were referring to it as a Rag Court I was assumoing a big echoey room filled with… well, more than three criminal kingpin. But apparently things have gotten a little dire in the underworld of late, and we were introduced to their Rag Highnesses Hesul, Scorn and Tiber.

The discussion seemed to centre around what each of our parties knew, and what we didn’t know. What we both seemed to have gotten our heads around was that people were getting themselves dead… mysteriously. But no mystery is impossible to crack if you’ve got a gang of hardbitten ne’er do wells to help you, and a little while and a few rambling tangents later we had ourselves a clue.

All the recently deceased seem to have possessed a shard of a mirror, one of many shards originally discovered under Haarlock’s Folly. Apparently the Judiciar (the leader of this planet, who we’d probably prefer to keep alive…)also owns a couple of those shards, so we’d best get over to his place soonish. So the muscle bound antihaemophiliacs we’ve encountered indirectly so far appear to be gathering these pieces of mirror, and the recalcitrance we’ve recieved from the Folly so far alongside the stories we’ve heard seem to hang a big red sign over Constantine’s office that reads “BAD THINGS!!!”

And apparently everyone in the city os having us followed. Hoorah.

At least we seem to have the Undertow on side… they’ve taken a shine to us, and with their help we’ve shifted our Ghostfire and now we’re rich!

And Inquisitor Lemarre, if you’re reading this… we never found any Ghostfire.

Signing off,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

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Fifth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

The meeting with Constantine was highly productive. He gave each of us a nice dataslate summing up exactly what the situation is, including a rather more cynical interpretation of things from one of his colleagues. As things are, I’ve kept my copy… just in case anyone needs to glance at it… But yes, apparently the autopsy of our bullet riddled friend had been delayed by a particularly meticulous Biologis Adept… more on this later…
So declining Constantine’s kind offer of accommodation we snuck off to the Turning Hand, where I was finally able to tape up my rather sore thigh, drink imported recaf (!!!), and make a general run of local dives. Though I’ve found nobody to buy our delicious, connoisseur, definitely-not-nicked-from-a-dead-guy’s-flat Ghostfire stimm, I did collect some nice rumours from local barkeeps. They are summarised below.
“The Enforcers are trying to crack the Undertow: there have been two attempts in the last week by kill squads to eliminate two prominent Rag-Kings.”
“The Enforcer General has secretly taken Psykers into the Mandato; they are going to know what we are thinking!”
“Three people have died in the last week in horrible circumstances that defy imagination. Apparently the Adeptus Arbites are trying to cover it up.”

Hmm… juicy stuff. So, the lower classes believe that the Enforcers (in the direct employ of the nobility) are stirring up trouble. Might be worth following up.

Anyway, as we continued our little investigation, we visited the only nobleman who was willing to talk to us. So, we got to play Noble Tea Party! Which went reasonably well, this fellow seemed fairly intent on nerve gassing the Undertow and not nearly so intent on nerve gassing us, which I take to mean that the deception was swallowed hook, line and tranquilizer pellet.
He didn’t really have much “information” as such, he had a few theories. Well, one theory. Which, in this case, was
“The Lower Classes did it!”
Which doesn’t really bring us any closer to the culprits… but he did say that he’d give us an introduction to the deceased nobles’ households, which may be of some use.

We headed off, fully intending to make good on our other invitation, and attend the Rag Court. However, we soon realised that we were being followed by some fairly heavily armed… followers. Immediately taking evasive action, Titus turned into a dead end and we were cornered. However, using that old noodle for which he comes so highly recommended, he backed out over one of the motorcyclists. Not over him, really, just through him. We didn’t mean any harm by it, but we deduced soon after that they weren’t friendlies when one of them tried to shoot Ravia in the face.

Now, I can understand that there may have been a bit of a miscommunication, that maybe these people were just reacting violently because they’d misinterpreted the motivation behind our running their friend off the road. We tried to reason with them, we really did. But I figured I’d just save time and fill their car’s fuel tank with buckshot. Ravia left the lass who appeared to be leading the gang with a message made of hot lead in her ribs, then Titus got us the hell out of there with only me having been shot (again). One guy tried to follow us and shot out one of our tires, but he gave up fairly soon. Ravia was all for going back to take their teeth, but having just used the dashboard as an operating theatre truth be told I wasn’t all that keen. As we drove heroically into the cloud covered sunset, Titus regaled us with stories of his hard drinking, librarian shagging, book mobile racing youth. And now we’ll hopefully make it to see the Rag Court without getting shot at again.

Staying alive,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

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Fourth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Where did I leave off last time?
Oh yeah. We were standing knee deep in corpses. Luckily for us, those corpses had been fairly inept shots in life, and that’s why they were corpses and we weren’t. Luckily for us, in the interest of finding out why people had tried to kill us, one of them had caught Ravia’s bullet in part of his brain that he wasn’t using at the time, and thus was a potential source of information.
Ravia’s questioning style (the old “shake him by the collar until he talks” maneuvre this time) proved effective once again, doing like a “bad cop, worse cop” routine with Titus. While not engaged in this wholesome activity, Titus and I placed bets on the wounded fellows answers.

Turns out he and his late buddies were smalltime. Brul, as our new friend was called, had apparently done odd jobs for a few different Rag Barons, but not Juvinal, who apprently has something of an unsavoury reputation around here. Who’d have thought it? But, I think the situation is pretty bad, given even our poor, brain damaged Brul has noticed that Rag Barons are getting themselves “dissapeared”…

Now, I was all for keeping him, but for some reason the others thought that was a bad idea. We did take him with us though, and once we did manage to flag down a skiff at the site of our little bloodbath (maybe we should have hidden the bodies, but you know, hindsight is 20/20), we headed down to Fishguts Wharf. We found the place easily enough, though the fishy, gutty smell had attracted all manner of avian life, including some bionic ones who seemed to have gone feral. After some discussion of how to get past a locked gate (I was mildy worried that the first one who entered would have a decent portion of them sprayed back out again before you could say “watch that gunfire”)Ravia pulled out her groovy acrobatic skills and just jumped over the fence, opening the gate from the inside to Titus’ constant protestations that he was “too old for this”.

And do you know what we found?
Give a pint to the guy who said more corpses. If none of you good readers said more corpses, then your all losers (no offense intended, Inquisitor Lemarre).
Because as we did a quick search of the building, we found its occupants had been turned into corpses, one of which Brul tentatively identified as Juvinal. Now this guy’d been broken in about every angle that you can break somebody… apparently his lucky charms (were they evil after all Titus?) weren’t all that lucky. And just when I was convinced that I was right on the cusp of a fantastic revelation, we found ourselves held at gunpoint again.

His name was Georg, and he seemed nice enough. And… we’ve been invited to some sort of thing by the Rag Queen Hesul! I’m not sure what, exactly… but I imagine there will be refreshments. Then he left, taking his gun toting goons with him.

Constantine gave us a call… I accidentally address him as “Arbitrator” within earshot of Brul, but I think I managed to convince him that its just a term of endearment… I’ve never heard it used as one, but hell, its a big galaxy. Anyway, long story short, we’re headed back to Haarlock’s Folly for some more info and briefing and things. We left Brul on the pier with money for a skiff ride home… or at least I think we gave him money for a skiff ride home… or maybe I dreamed that bit…

Signing off,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

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