ACTIVE Plot Thread- Hab 11-817 "Hall of Virtue"

[Richard]

[Nevaraon]

Croaker stood in his leather Tabard dress uniform as he wasn’t healed enough for the warplate he normally wore. He was quietly munching on the offered piece of bread. He glanced around at the others, wondering if he should break the silence while they waited.

[QuothTheRaven]

Savin sits on a bench, bare feet dangling above the flagstones, and munches on a strip of jerkied meat. Her uniform is patched up and clean, and her field cap sits on her head again, at a jaunty angle. She looks smaller without the bulky camo coat and long-las, and would seem childlike if her attitude didn't make up for the height difference.
Between bites of jerky she is sketching in a notebook, a confusing diagram of some sort of alchemical device, all tubes and burners. What words there are might be in code, or possibly her regional dialect, or possibly her handwriting is terrible.

[Commissar Cat]

A little later than the others, Commissar Yorke rolled up, his hat pulled down in an attempt to mask his complexion, hands stuffed into his greatcoat pockets. A small leather case, perhaps once a gasmask container, hung from his shoulder, dark tubing from it discretely winding into his coat front. A small ginger corporal accompanied at his other side, until Yorke was seated, and then promptly vanished on errands unspecified. Cat expended some of his energy nodding thanks to Vayne, and settled quietly to wait.

He hadn't yet managed to submit a report, having only been released from Medicae a day prior. Corporal Vayne had however compiled a transcript of events leading to the civilian evacuation from the young man they'd pulled from the crowd.

Cat's eyes were heavy, the chest drain itched uncomfortably, the brass door handle that his bionic hand had taken ransom was embarrassing, and he still felt deeply unhappy at being accused of treason. The commissar didn't exactly brood, but his expression was one of resolute exhaustion, and he remained silent for once.

[Tabitha Maru]

There was something tranquil about her face, standing there in the middle of the room completely still. Tabitha wondered how the artist had managed to get that out of the white marble as he carefully cut and polished the brittle material. She was perfectly made, symmetrical and evenly cut. What hard edges needed to be there was neatly concealed as necessary to make the composition work. It was amazingly beautiful really and Tabitha wanted to leave her position, standing at attention in the middle of the room, and go forward to the statue and inspect it closer. But the commissar might show up at any moment, so she couldn't indulge her curiosity. A pity.

How does one become thrice-martyred anyways? Sure, the amount of wounds cut into her visage would certainly suffice to achieve it thrice over. But that would require her to come back from life several times. Maybe that's why she was a saint? Tabitha supposed she'd have to ask a confessor or a preacher about it. They'd know, for certain. Wait... should she know it? Maybe she should inspect her primer first, just so she wouldn't go into the chapel and make a fool out of herself. Or worse.

The lighting in here was pretty nice actually. She'd love to sit down for a while and just make some sketches of the room and the statue. A pity she hadn't found any decent paper to sketch on since the mission they were on last week. The mission they were here to be debriefed about, supposedly. She admit to herself that she was a little bit concerned actually, so much secrecy surrounding the mission. Granted, that was not all that surprising considering what had happened. But she hoped the senior commissar wouldn't be too mad at them. Maybe if she tried to look like the statue of that saint she wouldn't attract too much attention.

[Fates End]

Medicae Dryden took solace in the mask and greatcoat, today. Not even minding the heat it brought with it.

Krieger masks were many things. But with the grim outline of a skull on hers, she was most greatful for the anonymity it provided today. Or, if not anonymous, at least outwardly emotionless.

Inside she was a mix of concern and eerie calm. Concerned that her Watchmaster wasn't with her. Her protector, commander . . . Her friend. But he hadn't been ordered here, and she couldn't be coddled.

Otherwise though. What could the commissar, Holt, really do to her? Kill her? She smiled grimly at that thought. She wasn't going to leave this planet alive in any event. Really, if she was to be punished, there wasn't much that she hadn't already been through.

The medicae was roused from her thoughts as Commissar Yorke entered. Still breathing, though with his hat pulled down it was hard to tell how he actually looked.

She offered a polite nod, but was otherwise silent barring the soft "in-and-out" hiss and whir of her mask.

[Johannes Wyss von Krieg]

Kriegers did not believe in ceremonies, they did not deserve them.
For a Krieger, the only 2 satisfactory moments in his life were the Day of Graduation in which they had a mass "Burial" Ceremony upon leaving Krieg and, of course, the inevitable death in martyrdom.

The Kriegers of the twice-dishonored 945th never finished the first nor will experience the latter due to being forbidden from Martyrdom. Thus, if there will be a ceremony, any ceremony, they will treat it with the most reverence and humility as befits the offsprings of a dead world.

Unit #9453/8-316 was in the Regiment's "Formal" Attire, which is the same one as the Combat Attire but much cleaner and shined up to the highest standard, some say even to the level of Preatorian Guardsmen but that is impossible as known to all.
The Usual dust and dirt helpful to camouflage was removed from the Carapace and the Anthrazitgrau Uniform under it was cleaned so now you can actually see that this colour is distinct from the others in the 554th.
A Krieger of the 9453rd Company must always remain ready to fulfill their combat role should the need arise.
Overconfidence is a slow and insidious Killer, Vigilance must be maintained. Tau Beheading Tactics will not work again.

The Kriegerin Stirred from the almost static standing position when the Commissar Arrived, it could not be the commissar but someone else with more harmful intentions to the Office's resident Senior Commissar. The Commissar is recognised and the grip on the laspistol hidden under the Cameleoline was lessened but not outside reach.
So it was with every new arrival.

[Techpriest Dave]

Dell stood away from the others. Far enough to be within optimal sight range, yet close enough to talk to directly.
As well, the young skitarius fidgeted slightly, such meetings being totally unknown to him. If things were per usual, he would not attend but nothing about this cog damned planet was usual.

The lenses on his helm glowed a light blue as he took his time looking over each of the attendees. Pict recordings of each filed and sent to the Primus for study and cataloguing. Though the one he focused on the most was the injured commissar, snapping picts of his injuries
All of this done with none of the others the wiser. To them, the skitarii simply gave all gathered a measured look, nothing more.

[DeMarchese]

Aesteban went to the nave as ordered.
While many of the guardsmen gathered seemed restless and unsettled by recent events, the clerk remained cold and silent. Hiding from the light coming down from the stained glass, Aesteban took refuge under the statue of Saint Agatha, leaning his back against the base of the statue.
Parchment rolls and dataslates filled both his hands and the pockets of his new coat under the finely-crafted Munitorum tabard. He resembles more a judicial prelate than a military clerk, preparing his case before the trial.

Under the sahdow of the statue, his bionic eye hisses and moves almost on its own. Like a baleful light, it fixes on everyone gathered, one at a time with unspoken malice. It is a gaze that shines with but a single message for all who can see it.

Traitors.

[Nevaraon]

Croaker raised his eye at the scribe as their eyes met. He had heard of the accusations that had been flung around while he had been bleeding out. It sounded like the scribe had simply succumbed to a bout of battle fury, and for some reason didn’t want to admit to it. As their eyes met Croaker flashed a lopsided grin at the man. Knowing it would probably irritate him to no end, Croaker had met men like Aesteban before.

[Commissar Cat]

Cat raised his head and inclined it slightly to meet Aestaban's glare, from beneath his cap. The commissar returned the gaze with a dark, dead-eyed expression, empty of damns to give. Before lowering his head back down, Cat's chest moved very slightly, as he gave a silent, humourless laugh, passing the air through his nose.

In comparison, he gave a small nod to December, before returning his eyes to the middle-distance.

[Drocol Ritter von Krieg]

The Watchmaster tucked his hat under his arm and nodded to the priest as he blessed him and gave him a bread ration. “Danke.” He said sharply.

The Krieger marched to his brethren that attended the gathering. Wearing his rarely seen formal wear of the 707th Death Korps. Mixed with Black and Dark grey, Red and white details and golden accessories that seemed to be recently polished...

He wasn’t worried about anything, except for his hair, but it’ll be concealed by the hat all in due time. He looked at the ration bar in his hand, then placed it in his breast pocket where the lamented picture still remained. #28-D side stepped to his desired position and stood there, a hand by his side and hat respectfully tucked under his arm. He greeted the Kriegerin next to him. Though “small talk” was unnesscessary, it couldn’t hurt to at least experiment with this form of communication. He slightly leaned to his right..

“Salutations, Hauptgefreiter. How are you this day?” He said in a low, humble voice.

[TheRedauthar]

Hera nervously twists her goggles back and forth in her hands.

Did they read the report? Who knows about it? Would Holt actually take time to talk to her? ....did she brush this morning?

She quickly checks, Yeah, I did. Phew....

She catches Aestaban and Cat lock eyes briefly, feeling a chill run down her spine. The Wrath of a Commissar was frightening, the fact that Clerk seems to not care, makes him just as terrifying. Emperor, I hope neither of them look my way.

She looks around at the other guardsman, giving Savin a slight wave.

Her mind then travels to the piece of lenses in her pocket. This is going to be a looooong day.

[Techpriest Dave]

Dell focused on aestaban when the clerk entered the building. Several Picts were captured of the glare the clerk shot twards the young skitarii.
Slowly, Dell made his way over to the clearly angry clerk. Clack, clack, clack, his metal feet sounded, what would normally be imperceptible sounded akin earthshakers. Dell halted in front of the glaring man, and nodded his head in respect.
In a hushed whisper, barely perceptible to others not near by, the ranger spoke.
"What proof do you hold against Commissar Yorke, clerk?" the young skitarii said bluntly, eye lenses flickering to a dull red as Dell twitched for a moment.


((If ye want to try and listen, roll a clever or something.))

[Commissar Cat]

((I'm just gonna point out you spent the mission with Cat having openly augmented hearing...))

[Techpriest Dave]

[Warsmith Wolf]

[[I'll post once we figure out if #66 is attending with either A: a bionic leg, B: a peg leg, or C: a body bag.]]

[Techpriest Dave]

[Guardsman Samantha Hawke]

It hadn’t been a good week for Hawke. As she feared, she missed muster the morning of the Hall of Virtue operation, and whether because of the secrecy surrounding the events or whether because all the officers involved in the operation were laid up in the medicae ward, Hawke had been unable to get anyone with rank to corroborate her whereabouts. She spent the next several days running laps and scrubbing floors.

To make matters worse, normally when she didn’t show up somewhere she was supposed to, she had a good story to tell. Even when nothing exciting was to blame, (she’d just overslept, for instance) she would lie and say that there was, just for the entertainment value. But the higher-ups wanted this one locked down; not even false rumors would be tolerated. So when her fellow guardsmen asked, all she could answer was “Nothing, nowhere. It’s not important.” Coming from Hawke it was a dead giveaway that something was out of the ordinary and she had been needled and hounded all week for juicy details.

She was ready to put the whole ordeal behind her. So when the call went out for the impromptu squad to reassemble, She was not happy. And to top it all off, they were meeting in Holt’s office, the one place on Naris she truly dreaded to go. If it were up to her, she’d rather storm the governor’s palace. Better odds of survival.

Needless to say, when she arrived at the nave adjoining Holt’s office (a little late) she was in a foul mood, though she still had the presence of mind to make the Sign of the Aquilla to the priest and St. Agatha. Looking around the room, the others seemed to be in differing stages of presentability. But no one had told her it would be a formal affair, so she didn’t bother with a dress uniform and wore only her standard rumpled Cadian green fatigues. Silently she found a seat in a pew in the back of the room and did her best to be as inconspicuous as possible.

[Johannes Wyss von Krieg]

[[OOC: Pirate Kriegers, I have seen enough.
I also switched a bit the response order to arrivals for sake of narrative. Do PM me if you find that unsatisfactory.]]

And here he was, the traitor Munitorum Clerk, free do do as he wishes without spending a single day in prison for his crimes waiting like the rest. Ideally, he should have been judged and made an example of in front of the Guard right after the operation conclusion. But alas the situation had to be resolved silently and no matter how guilty he was, it was not in the Kriegerin's power to carry out the punishment. It is, however, in the Senior Commissar's.

A Cadian arrived, private by her rank, and in a uniform not fitted for the occasion. Knowing that Uniform Discrapancies are punishable by flogging and that the Trooper must be cleaned before the the Commissar sees her allowed for the logical conclusion to offer help. After all, the trooper will be clean before the Holt sees her, technically blameless. "Private, catch" a small package sent flying Hawke's way: A Sealed Fresh Wipe and a comb held together by a blue hairpin. The Kriegerin made the gesture pointing back at herself I will need the comb back

The Watchmaster entered, in a very strange non-combat uniform, what made her shift her attention on Drocol. So much things to concentrate on!
Unable to contain her curiosity she answered in low voice to match the quasi-private conversation and not interfering with the others.
"Oh, Greetings Hauptwachtmeister. The situation is improving. What is this uniform you are wearing?"