Rogue Trader: A quest for profit in the grim darkness of the 41st millenium. But dying in mediocrity and misery is for poor people and losers, and a Rogue Trader's retinue is anything but.
It's Always Heretical in the Kronus Expanse is bought to you by:
Lord-Captain van Hohenheim - Rogue Trader. Hero. The last of his line. Possibly insane, although a holiday has done much to soothe his agitated mind. Questionable epicurean delights have left him unreasonably muscled.
Magos Abigail von Thannhausen - A Magos Explorator-Chymist who possibly takes too much pleasure in the craft of Servitors. Accompanied by her servo-skull. Ever since doing warp-eel shots, she seems more insightful somehow.
Archaius "Boosto" Wash - A gunnery sergeant with a now less-irritating artificial voicebox and a jetpack. We are all amazed by his apparently-infinite agility, and his recent ability to just shrug off pain.
Sebastian LaMarck - A seneschal with a silver tongue. Spymaster and king of Human Resources. One hell of a butler, even when he's on autopilot.
Winter York - Astropath Transcendant. Monstrous willpower. Notorious advocate of psychic power pissing matches, and freshly endowed with wings, somehow. Your glorious narrator and remembrancer.
We recap a few things we hadn't really considered about our crew:
Van Hohenheim is actually of Japanese descent. Still don't know what his first name is.
Wash is both bald and caucasian.
Winter is 40. Van hohenheim is 38. The Magus is 35. Wash is a decrepit 48.
After our failure to summon water, we decide to make ourselves scarce, with our missionary friends.
We head towards one of the turquioise seas to check it out. Unlike regular water, it stays vivid as we get close.
I pop a squat next to the shore to see if it's just the sand colorizing the water. Hard to tell with a blue-lensed cybereye. I suspect it's the source of the water, but psychic probes turn up zero activity whatsoever. I taste something acidic in the air.
The magos analyzes it, and finds it's unbelievably toxic and acidic. Bad for flesh. Okay for metal.
I congratulate the lord-captain on finding a new chemical weapon.
With the turquoise pools of no use, we call it a day, return the missionaries to their hab in the desert, and take Ansai's body up to the ship, which is currently doing a deep auspex of the moon. There, the Magos was, for once, in her element, completing the autopsy with amazing precision.
The autopsy doesn't turn up anything super-interesting, but comparing Ansai's gene map turns up key similarities to mine, as well as the rest of the astropaths -- he was a psyker!
The scan of the moon finishes -- it's absolutely useless. A big, solid rock.
New plan: Pretend we're entirely new, and go to a new city to suck up to a new priest king, and learn how he does the water thing as subtly as possible.
The initial arrival goes down okay; people look at us oddly as expected. The city is similar to the first one in layout. The temple here is shorter and squatter, and so are the buildings around it.
The priest king is similar in structure, fat and rotund. Dabir is his name, and he seems a jolly sort.
We speak, and the lord-captain comes to terms on a deal; somehow, he sells Dabir Ansai's city. His son, Tahir, will be installed as a ruler of the city, and we get barrels of water.
The Lord-Captain proposes to show someone that Dabir trusts around the Imperium so that they might learn more about what lies beyond. He gives us one of his aides, Ke'van, to show him the galaxy until we return to finish our deal and give Dabir more cities.
In the meantime, we head on to our next target.