Josh
044.861.M41
Aboard the Hazeroth-class raider “the Throat Slitter” (formerly the Zephyr)
Navigator Yorke Benetek raises wearily but successfully from the navigation station of the Slitter’s still bloody bridge. He had just translated the former pirate raider and the accompanying Fortunatus, into warp space. The path ahead seems clear and the currents of the warp seem favorable for a swift return to Port Wander. Tybalt Gath also moves away from the ship’s helm, allowing a crewman to take his position after over 10 hours piloting. Cadmus Flavius, newly appointed captain of this troubled ship, sits upon the bridge’s command throne with Victris Riker standing by at his right hand.
It had taken over a day to arrive at a safe point of exit from real space and during that time no one onboard had found time to eat or sleep. The ship was in a sorry state. The dorsal gun battery had been almost completely destroyed and the fire that began in that compartment had run rampant for some two hours before it could suppressed after the boarding. Power grid failures had plagued the first 12 hours of travel away from Kassae though that now seemed under control. Now that the essential components on the ship were mostly operational, the 800 men that Cpt. Decimus had sent over from the Fortunatus were clearing away the myriad corpses from the bridge and other ship sections. Decimus’ men had been ruthless during the boarding, continuing the slaughter a good half hour after the bridge had been taken and most of the pirates had surrendered. Of the 2000 odd pirate crew only some 400 were spared. Those 400 now awaited the new captain’s judgment in the cargo hold.
Lt. Abrams, who can usually be seen bearing a friendly facial expression, looks to be as worn out as everyone else from the sag of his mouth line. This look elongates the already long scar that resides on his left cheek bone and carries on to his chin. Abrams had been plucked out of the Navy by Titus Flavius, Cadmus’ now deceased older brother, 6 years ago and though now he is only in his early 30’s, he has proven himself a competent and trustworthy officer. Turning to the command throne he asks, “What are your orders Captain?” A smile comes upon his face as he calls Cadmus by his new title. “And congratulations on your first command sir. I hope that I’m the first to say so.”
Joey
Tybalt takes another swig of stability out of the bottle in his left hand as he meanders through his new charge, the ship formerly known as the Zephyr and until recently the Throat Slitter. He has always loved ships. They have proven to be excellent comrades of arms, trustworthy when cared after. Also, he finds the cold touch of space not frightening, but comforting. After all, it is still warmer to him than thoughts of his brother.
“It will take some time to get this ol’ gal up and running the way she should be.” Tybalt thinks to himself. “I have a feeling this is going to be a fun ride once we really get underway.”
After his inspection, he returns to Captain Cadmus’ presence with a fresh bottle in hand, looking for orders and hoping upon hope that grave misfortune finds Decimus in the void of the Warp.
Matt
As Yorke left the bridge for a well deserved break he realized the gloom of the surroundings. The incessent musky smell mixed with the twang of dried blood did not suit his usual appetites. Determined to find a location on this ship of comfort he set out to find a place to rest. Yorke walked down the halls inspecting its state of disrepair.
“This is not where I expected to find myself” Yorke mutters under is breath. “But the eyes see what they will, it is not a choice of my own.”
He stopped in front of a scuffed window gazing into the darkness. His eyes, like ebony windows into his mind, hinted of angst. “What did I see again?” It was harder to remember in retrospect but he knew there had been a sign. A pointer towards a destiny that he had not uncovered yet. A reassuring tap on his leg came from Allister before he vined around Yorke’s body to see the view, or lack of one, as well. Yorke had never found his place among humans and relished his new found friends. Allister and Cromwell had finally given him respite from humanities frivolities.
Mustering confidence in his decision to board the Zephyr, He decided to explore the mysteries of the ship. The back of his mind always craved, no lusted, for knowledge. He always hoped to find information on that which was not human, but knew that it was desires such as this that could kill a man.
He pulled up his cloak and walked down the corridor.
Carl
Upon hearing Lt. Abrams request and the aforementioned reference to the new title, Riker reaches over and gives Cadmus a manly slap on the shoulder and says, “Captian Cadmus. It has a nice ring to it. Its about time the right Flavius got control of a ship; albeit something that you can call a ship.”
With a hearty laugh he continues, “So how about do we proceed in processing all the remaining pirates left on this ship? Some are not going to be as cooperative as we would like, yet, I will assume many will be hijack victims like Reeka and shouldn’t be that much of a problem convince to stay on as crew members. Speaking of Reeka, where is he?”
Micah
Fingers tapping slowly on the arm of the throne, Cadmus watches the bridge as a myriad of thoughts tumble through his mind. Pulled out of his reverie by Abrams and Riker, he smiles the grim smile of resolution and nods his thanks. “We’ll see what can be made of this ship as it will be a couple of months yet til it is truly spaceworthy again, God-Emperor permitting.”
His eyes look to Riker a moment with a searching, penetrating gaze, “Rika? I’m not sure where he is, but I shall wish to speak to him in a few moments.”
Rising and turning, Cadmus looks to Abrams “Lieutenant, give orders to continue the course for Port Wander. Then, leave the pilots to their duties, maintain enough crew for operation and guard over the prisoners and allow the others to take turns in cleaning operation. I need all of my men, and I do not want any lost to fatigue. Afterwards, page the command staff and navigator. I want to speak to them in my chambers (OOC or is there a conference type room?) in ten minutes time.”
Glancing at Tybalt, “Tybalt, I shall wish you to be present as well and as sober as you usually are,” he adds with a wry smile. “Riker, you as well, ten minutes time. Find Rika and bring him. Have him wait outside until afterwards; he will accompany us to the hold.”
Nodding to Lt. Abrams, “Ten minutes Lieutenant.” He strides off towards the meeting room.
Josh
Barret, the Bosun of the ship, looks up at Riker and says in his usual drawl, “Rica sir? The lad seemed a bit done in so I had get some rest. Didn’t know where to put him seeing as he’s still the Cpt’s guest and all so I let use my rack. Need me to go fetch em sirs?” Bosun Barret shares a similarity of age with Lt. Abrams though while Abrams is thin and educated, Barret is a strapping man with little to show in the way of culture. Besides their closeness in age they also shared the friendship of Cadmus’ brother Titus. (OOC: All the PCs would know this fact except Tybalt)
Lt. Abrams listens attentively as Cadmus gives his orders. “Aye, Aye Cpt.” He says while saluting smartly. “Begging your pardon Cpt but it may be best to meet in your quarters. I’ve had a look at the planning room and it’s quite a mess.” He then turns and sets off about his duties on the bridge.
Bosun Barret pipes up, “No need for you ta be gettin Rica sir. I’ll go rouse him and get him ready for the meeting.” He gives the pointer finger knuckle to forehead salute of the enlisted ranks and then exits the bridge.
The tired Navigator and his pet tarsier began to walk aft, away from the bridge section and the officer’s quarters, the location of his new living arrangements. This cramped, damp, and dank vessel held no lofty spire apartments set aside for a Navigator of his station as most Imperial ships are want to do. The room that had been set aside for him was little bigger than that allotted for a senior officer. Barely half of his belongings would be able to fit into such a space. What he would do with the rest of things once he could get them all off the Fortunatus was a question to be answered.
Yorke’s wanderings about the ship drew little attention from the small crew that Decimus had sent over from Yorke’s former home ship. The few that he saw in the passageways were still busy clearing bodies and debris from the fight. Others were performing the necessary repairs that come along after a battle.
After nearly 20 minutes of shuffling along Yorke found himself in the engineering section of the ship. The plasma drive was massive, taking up a good 1/3 of the available space upon the vessel as is standard in the space-faring ships of Mankind. He studied the plasma drives with increasing interest. While not privy to all knowledge in the ways of things mechanical, Yorke’s experience on various ships clued him into something different about this particular drive. Some sort of modification had been done to this one and not one he had ever seen before. This unusual drive seemed in a bad way at the moment though as occasional lightening arcs and spouts of flame were coming from it. Tech-priests from the Fortunatus hovered busily around it as if trying to tame an wild beast.
Joey
Tybalt winks back at the Cadmus, “You know me Cap’n, I never drink too much, just enough.” He chuckles to himself. “Oh, and that reminds me, I owe Yorke a bottle of my best Amasec for him giving me that armor. It is a touch better than that hefty guard flac. He’s a strange one, but I like him just the same. Hey may want to hide it, I don’t know if those Tarsiers like to drink, but he may find out if he doesn’t stash it somewhere safe-like.”
Gaining clarity of thought, Tybalt calls out to Cadmus, “Oh, and Cap’n, I’m sure you’ve already assessed this, but when we get to Port, we need to see if we can get a reputable Mechanicus on hand here as Chief Engineer. This poor vessel, she needs someone who knows how to talk to her.” With that, Tybalt stuffs his hands in the pockets of his uniform and whistles down the corridor.
Micah
Cadmus nods to Bosun Barret, “My thanks Bosun.” then to Tybalt again with a wry smile, “Aye, so much so that I fear the day should it come that I would ride while you pilot without anything but pure water in your veins.” “I believe my… dear… brother has given us some of the Adeptus Mechanicus from the Fortunatis, they should be busily engaged in keeping our ship together until we can put in for repairs, but I should like to discuss further plans with the command staff at the meeting.” Turning to Riker, “Riker my old friend, a word if you please, walk with me.”
Carl
Riker response to Cadmus’ request, “Sure thing.”
After following him out of ear shot of the crew he says to Cadmus, “What’s the game plan, Cap’n?” The word ‘Cap’n’ resonates with a slight hint of friendly sarcasm as he tries to mimick Tybalt’s somewhat slurred dialect.
Matt
Yorke scratched his chin with a pair of pale fingers. He pulled out a dataslate from beneath his billowy robes and recorded notes on his first tour of the Zephyr. “Every ship has secrets. Many are more jaded and fickle than the crews that work them.” He informed his Tarsier, who made a semi-knowing look through the top of his eyes.
As Yorke began walking back to his quarters, a crewman marched up as if on mission.
“Sir, you are needed at a Command Staff Meeting in 5 minutes.”
“Oh? And who sent you?” Yorke replied with a tired frustration.
“Lt. Abrams sir, by order of Captain Flavius.”
“Ah, well tell… either of them… that I will be there shortly”
The young man spun on one heel and charged away with an urgency that Yorke wished he felt. He hesitated, and then began walking.
Yorke decided to detour before going to the bridge into his temporary quarters to change clothing. The temperature was not the same as on the Fortunatis and the slight increase in heat had worn on him. Or maybe it was just his body playing tricks on him because of lack of sleep, he couldn’t be sure. He leaned against the cool steel of a bulkhead. Cromwell appeared asleep when he walked in, but was now awake and making a quick array of noises to Allister. “Don’t get into too much trouble,” Yorke quipped to the animals before returning to his walk towards the bridge.
Micah
Cadmus moves in silence for a moment down the hall, then “Riker, I’m ill at ease in my mind. I do not wish to strike down the prisoners in cold blood, but I am not sure I can afford to run the risk of keeping those who will not be loyal aboard this ship in its present state. Too much can go wrong with a few well placed ‘accidents.’ My plan is to ask Rica to show me those who were impressed into the former crew as he was and offer them a place among my own crew. As for the rest…. I do not know.”
He looks at Riker, “This is my first command, and I would appreciate your knowledge and expertise in command here. Also, Tybalt worries me. He has a distinct lack of discipline in front of the crew. Too much familiarity with a higher rank can breed contempt for authority among the crew. I do not wish to rule by fiat, violence, or fear, but there is need for order and discipline. I plan to address these things with the command staff, but I would as always highly value your advice. Also, the navigator Yorke. Is he a spy for my brother? Why did he leave his station of comfort to come aboard this ship? or is he…” here his voice trails off as he speaks almost more to himself than Riker “an assassin?” Glancing back at Riker, he smiles wryly “well, what do you think?”
Carl
“I think that using Rica like that is an excellent plan to determine what core crew you can fester up amongst these ‘pirates.’ Loyalty is a commodity that is sparse among men out in the void today. Finding a person capable of being loyal is like find a rare gemstone amongst a mountain of pebbles. Trust is the key. You have to, first, be able to trust your own judgment. Skip that step and no man will ever trust you. Second you have to be able to trust the men that will execute your orders. How can one lead if they don’t, in someway, trust the ones following? Lastly, don’t be fooled into think that people will always trust the ‘person.’ It’s the system that the crew will have to trust if you want to get things done in an efficient way of operation. I have lead many men in battle, and brought many men home from the same battle. How many of those men wouldn’t have gone or come back home with out trusting in the system and then in me. A solider trusts the system and that is where the loyalty will come from. Whether it be put in place by you, your brother, the high command or the God-Emperor himself, that is the answer you seek in the question you ask of me.
Yorke, strange as he may be, has the inkling of a good solider when it comes to the task he is capable of doing. What I saw of him on Yasse, I can trust him in battle. I think he sees the same here on this ship than on your brother’s. Although he may say otherwise, Sometimes the comfort of loyal people outweigh the cushiness of a separated spire. Why do you think he bought those mangy pets?
Tybalt is a very, very good pilot. We definitely need someone of his skills on board. He may hate his brother but he knows how to do his job. I wouldn’t dismiss him to quick because of his faults. But, I will keep an eye on him and if he begins to talk too much about his brother I will step in and curtail him away from the others.
I know this is a big step for you and I know that you are ready for it. This isn’t the best situation in the universe either but, you have the capabilities to make do. Just figure out what your judgment is and trust it. How’s that for an answer?”
After Riker answers, he lets out another hearty laugh as he and Cadmus walk towards Cadmus’ quarters.
Josh
The Captain’s quarters:
Riker and Cadmus entered the room that was occupied by a very different captain only a little over a day ago. Pirate Captain Greorg Kranmer left behind him a legacy of greed, violence, and, after a quick study of his room, uncleanliness. The quarters, while not not bigger than Cadmus’ room upon the Fortunatus, were made to look smaller by the amount of clutter and garbage littering the place. Dirty clothing, half eaten food, weaponry, ammo, and loose thrones covered the floor and furnishings. At least Greorg left his grizzly collection of human heads on the bridge instead of where he slept.
The handful of officers that Decimus provided, most of them being of junior rank, as well as Tybalt, Bosun Barret, and Rica enter mostly on time. The exhausted looking crew gathers around a worn plas (heavy duty plastic) dining table, most having to stand due to lack of chairs. After about ten minutes of awkward silence and abrupt conversations, Yorke enters the room (he made some haste on his way back) with the smaller of his tarsiers in tow.
