The Account of a Lifetime

July 18, 2010

A Strankan Prelude

Filed under: Bolthole Game — xisor @ 6:01 pm

It had been a seven month chase, personal time. Curiously, thanks to some odd motions during the warp, it had also been seven months real-time. At least so it had read according to the lone Imperial orbital high above the feral swampworld.

The acolytes, acting alone from Pitgober as had become tradition now, throughout the half-routine, half-taxing persecution of the Beast House, had landed several miles around the hillside from this last enclave. They travelled with Pitgober’s prime, Pater Tran Holbert, his Navigator, Shen Sa’Hal and some others. The Beast House had accounted for the loss of three accompanying acolytes; Benedictine Prathus Hand, Mentor Hank Hossman and Sister Tresti Olek. Talon and two elite fighters had since departed the enclave to pursue five escapees who fled into the swamplands. The stench was unbearable.

The enclave itself was a non-standard pre-fab, some large towers, a single L patterned office-hab block, a wide concourse for the beast pens and a scattering of smaller garages and warehouse sheds. The pens were still full, the fighting merely minutes concluded. The slaveholds were empty. The site was still not fully secured. The Rogue Trader, Estansen Ronto, having insisted on accompanying the acolytes on this mission, stood with his back to the other acolytes. He was swearing profusely at what seemed to be a site-wide scanner system. Financier Hank Scunner waited with his las-rifle raised and his eyes darting, scanning the visible complex. The Navigator waits, entranced and attuning himself to the locale. The prime, Holbert, looks to Petr, surely about to ask him to assess the site’s systems.

The dead Beast House foes had put up fierce fighting though were now quite comprehensively defeated. Their leader had died almost immediately, the rest had been surprisingly competent veterans, though ultimately few in number.

“I’m in here, by the way,” came a distant, very familiar voice. Petr straightened immediately, his mechadendrites tensed in arachnid unison. Vehekar knew its flow very well. Ventilator had expected it. Ronto, the trader, appeared unfazed, he continued to swear. Hank’s lasrifle jolted towards the pens. Holbert’s mouth dropped, his eyes narrowing in the same direction. The navigator did not react at all.

“Hello?” asked Uriah Tahr.


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