Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-33521582-20180324203957/@comment-33521582-20180325125839

Sergeant Invexus nods approvingly as you introduce yourselves. You are all forced to take you seats as the Cybindis starts maneuvering. The seconds pass, filled with metallic creakings, and the roar of engines. Finally, the ship shakes and shudders to a halt, as two loud metallic clangs are heard from outside, you assume from magnetic clamps holding it in place. The engines peter out, and you are left in silence and darkness, save for the eyes of the other Astartes' helmets.

The Cybindis' doors open, letting in an intense, orange light, something akin to the midday sun in the desert worlds some of you have fought on.

Sergeant Invexus stands by the doors and ushers you out of them, but stops Rine on his way past. "Brother, your motorcycle will be ill suited while we are guests in these halls. There is a cache of holy armaments on board, if you wish to take some with you."

You find yourself in a huge hangar, illuminated by blazing golden spheres that hang suspended near the vaulted ceiling. Drop ships line the hangar, their metallic plates the colour of beaten copper. Upon them you see a sigil of five hammers, joined at the base of the handle, and spread out like a star.

Upon the steel deck await you a retinue of swarthy men in heavy armour, the same hue as the dropships, and bearing the hammer insignia branded on their arms. Some are bareheaded, while some are larger and slightly hunched, with heavy looking helmets. They all carry wicked loocking curved swords on their hips, and shotgun-like weapons over their shoulders.

Among them stands a tall and pale figure, in a long tunic and cloak, hood thrown back. The weave is excellent, and the colours range from sunset orange to dawn purple. His arms bear hundreds of ringlets of steel polished to a mirror shine, and in his right hand he holds a long staff, crowned with a miniature version of the suns hanging over your head.

He bows deeply as you approach. "Welcome, honoured Astartes, to the Courts of the Forged. I am Magus Maymun Ibn Farraj, advisor to the Judicators. Please, allow me to usher you into the presence of my masters."

You follow the thin man, as the guards march in formation at your sides, and you are led through a series of arched doorways and corridors into a cathedral like structure. It is hexagonal in shape, each section save the one by which you have entered houses a sprawling structure upon which hundreds of clerks and scribes work tirelessly. At the top of every structure rises a throne. Four of the five thrones are occupied by doughy, fat men, clad in excellent embroidered garb and with many rings upon their fingers. Attendants kneel at their sides, feeding or massaging them. Each man has, at his side, a ceremonial hammer of exquisite make.

The man in the central dais rises lumberingly to his feet and his voice booms from vox systems in the walls. "Ah, welcome valorous Astartes. We are at once honoured and surprised, we did not expect such an expedient response from the Imperium."

Sergeant Invexus performs the sign of the Aquila and bows slightly. "Greetings Judicators of Al-Tuhag. I am Sergeant Invexus, I assume I have the honour of addressing Judicator Jawar Al-Jat'ami?"

The man's eyebrows rise. "Oh, no, noble Astartes. I am Judicator Hakim Al-Jat'ami, my father passed into the Emperor's Embrace."

"My condolences, Judicator" Having served form, Sergeant Invexus removes his helmet. "The distress call your astropaths sent was severely garbled, we would like to request clarification as to the nature of your problem."

"Garbled, you say?" The man looks pensive. "We will look into that. Well, noble guests, the situation is a follows. Al-Tuhag is a planet of industry and production, we manufacture much of the plasteel and ferrocrete for this Sector, and one of our main installations is threatened. The World Furnace is our largest smelting location and, as of late, there are disturbing reports. The workers are being killed, or taken, by strange, chitinous creatures. The Mamluqs report casualties in the hundreds of thousands among the workers, and this only started a standard year ago. The Mamluqs we have sent into the tunnels never returned, and we cannot simply use our orbital weapons as we usually would, the World Furnace is incalculably valuable, and it's destruction would cause severe damage to all the surrounding industry. Ah, and kill millions I suppose."

"I see, my lord, we will depart at once of the surface and investigate the tunnels." As Sergeant Invexus salutes and prepares to turn, you see a look of gentle confusion pass over his face and he turns back. "My lord, where is Judicator Ibn Hammad? I have never heard of less than five Judicators in the Courts of the Forged."

The man gestures towards your group, and it is the figure at your side who speaks. "It is a most joyous fact, my lord Astartes, but Judicator Harun Ibn Hammad's wife is giving birth to his heir at the moment. I must beg your gracious pardons, but in our culture it is important that the father be present at the time of the childs delivery. We meant no offence by it." The man is practically grovelling.

Invexus laughs, and his face clears. "It is nothing, good host. Old habits, the Emperor's Blessing on his house and his child".

After much bowing and pleasantry, Magus Maymun Ibn Farraj leads you back to your ship. "If I may be of any further assistance, noble Astartes, you have but to ask of me. Is there anything you wish to know before descending to the surface?" He looks around at all of you.