The Visitation

''A surprise delegation of Tech-Priests and Iron Hands visit Omagudnis. The Chapter reacts... poorly. ''

---

''This article was sparked by a discussion on the Steam role-playing chat page, which spun from hilarity to madness in short order. It was decided that we pretty much had a story, if only we could nail it together. It is of course open to additions from anyone, especially those who originally contributed to the exchange. ''

''An outline can be found below, narrating the path the story will follow in the most general terms. This will likely be removed as it takes shape, or after its total abandonment to the whims of the people.''

Please, be respectful of other's characters, feel free to ask questions on the Steam pages, and - as with everything - make it hilariously fun.

Structure and Theory
A series of stories written by alternating writers on this wiki, showing their original Chapter characters and their respective reactions to the events. Each entry does not necessarily need to reference previous entries by other writers, but should be self-consistent, and follow the timeline being created. If one character does something momentous, further entries for other characters should at least give recognition to this event, without limiting or re-writing it after the fact. Please be courteous to others here, and keep in mind what your character knows, or does not yet know.

General Plotline (Test Version)
''This is not the sum of events. Think of these as mile-markers. AdMech serve as antagonists, at least from one character's point of view, but they do serve to accelerate events... towards what conclusion I know not. The structure will be built from what is provided.''
 * AdMech and Iron Hands envoy arrives
 * McFien, Maximus, Smirkeh, and Hans have a little talk
 * McFien locks down the repair garage
 * AdMech make trouble, reveal alternative motive

Prelude
"Overseer! Overseer Forescythe!" The lieutenant called from his station, as warning beacons began to flash and cry. "Warp tear! Contact bearing 90-30-165! 400,000 kilometers out!"

From a platform in the center of the room, bathed in the rolling red lights, a woman played small, soft, notes on her saxophone, her face pinched in frustration as she tuned it. "Transmission I.D.?" she asked, clearly distracted.

"Checking!" The lieutenant hovered over one of the screens, then called out, "Adeptus Mechanicus! Standing down." Lights dimmed, the room over. In distant parts of the solar system, warships received the same news, and powered down their weapons.

"Send them a guide vector, and assign two cruisers for escort." The Overseer blew a sharp trill on her saxophone. "Hmm. This a scheduled arrival?"

"Yes, ma'am. Adeptus Mechanicus envoy with Iron Hands escort. Flagged as a diplomatic mission."

The Overseer blew another long note, sweet and smooth this time. "Yeah, this will go over great ground side. Thank the Emperor we don't have to deal with it." She left the rest of the minutia to her crew, and spun a tune together from her sax. It was going to be a long day for the Chapter, and she didn't have to see one bit of it.

The Visitation, Entry One
The Adeptus Mechanicus and the accompanying Iron Hands made way to the landing zone, escorted by Thunder Hawk ships after entering planetary atmosphere. The ship carrying both priests and Iron Hands lands, their passengers coming out in single file: Iron Hands on both sides while Tech Priests in the center. They made their way to the Fortress Monastery entrance: a massive bulk head of shutters that slowly opens up to the guests of honor. The Monastery, unlike others, is deep underground and holds many bio-doms and habitats, housing personel and biological creatures of great variety - especially the prized Fenrisian wolves: either held as sanctuary for aging or retired wolves, or training grounds for pups. Though none so diverse as the Marines and mortal Humans who occupy it, which they all refer to as affectionately as, "The Vault".

Chapter serfs and guards greeted the arriving envoy and offered Fenrisian ale and Catachen steaks, while they awaited for the dignitaries of the Snipe and Wib chapter to arrive. The Spec. Ops. Captain Maximus Omar enters with his chosen platoon, as well as human diplomats to the chapter. An Iron Hand Astartes stands up immediately.

"Captain Maximus Omar!"

"Greetings, Captain Ironar Steelback. How are you today?"

The Iron Hand warrior marches from his seat to Maximus with purpose and fury. The two post-humans meet eye-to-cybernetic eye. Ironar exhales deeply, as his cybernetic heat vents from his back blow out hot steam. He continues.

"It has been too long since your fledgling chapter had shown its worth to the Fists."

The Captain smiles, "Oh, I've missed you too!"

"Hurmph! Still as "Mad" as ever, I see. Your fist. Present it!"

"Mmm-magic words~?"

The Iron Hand grits his teeth visibly and audibly. The tech priests in the room start to look very worried, even under their gas masks and mechanical enhancements. Ironar shout out.

"THE FLESH IS WEAK!"

"For the Lord and Lady...!"

Both marines activate their power fist prosthesis' and collide; bolts of energy shoot out in all directions between the collided power fists. Both shout out at once, in unison.

"AND THE EMPEROR!!!"

Both retract and relax. Ironar speaks.

"Your fist remains strong. Good. I intend to reclaim victory from you this day!"

"Ah yes; Darwinism runs strong in the blood of those from Medusa, as I can tell."

"You wonder why the priests are here, yes Omar?"

"I figured you wanted to be shiny and chrome; all prepared and ready to look good... For when you lose. Once more, I believe? Oh, but who's counting?"

The steam vents on Ironar's back flare out at Maximus' comment.

"Bah! There just here to see that your hand and mine are functional. No tricks as well. I wouldn't want to win against a weakling Astartes! Come, where shall we have our arm-wrestling match then?"

"The 'Def Shreddas have allowed us their sanctorum for the time being."

A raspy vox echos from down the hall, interjecting the conversation between the astartes.

"Captains. Although your rivalries are your own, we require our business here to be tended to, as well."

"There is no need to worry, High Tech Priest. The salvage teams have brought in a large haul this time. you will be introduced and allowed the salvage needed for you and the Imperium."

"And your Mechanist...?"

Maximus face became plain and featureless. He closes his eyes, inhales, and then answers the Mechanicus.

"Master of Mechanics Fergus Mc'Fien will be occupied elsewhere... With locked bulk-head doors. With all due respect, High Priest Mechanicus: among the many proverbial cans-of-worms I open on a daily basis, I will be leaving THAT particular can sealed. For now, the diplomats will attend to your needs. Ironar, your company and mine will follow to the Sanctorum. This way."

The marines from both chapters leave the waiting room one by one, with Maximus leaving last. Before he exits, he replies to the priests, in hushed words over his shoulder.

"Oh, by the way. For those "in the know", my money will be on Fulgore-07. Farewell!"

Murmurs of excitement and a variety of numbers are whispered among the tech priests.

Visitation, Entry 2
The Master of Mechanics hid. He hid from the morning for as long as possible. A mug of recaff steamed in his hand, and he hid in the darker corners of his office. His head throbbed monstrously, and a half-heartened prayer to the Emperor leaked from his lips. Fergus McFien, while devoutly faithful, did not believe that the Emperor of Mankind, blessed be his name, had time for unrepentant alcoholics. The effort, however, made him feel better.

The wastebasket near his desk showed two empty bottles of amasec, and McFien distantly remembered leaving another in the garage the night previous. A fair night, by his standards. Perhaps a poor morning. A knock came at his door, and McFien groaned horrendously. A technician in blue overalls stuck his head in the door, perhaps ready to duck a launched mug. "Sir? We got a Chimera from down orbit... and there's some strange stuff in the internal locker.... The boys want you to take a look at it. You know... Just in case?"

McFien took his time looking up. "Doon in a minute, lad. Nobody tooch anythin'." The technician bolted, and welcome darkness returned to McFien's office. He needed more recaff.

A purr came from under his desk, then from atop his desk. A soft-furred animal leaned against him, flicking its tail across his face.

"Bah!" He tolerated the animal's affection for a good minute, and feeling he'd done his part, scratched it behind the ears, and rose to leave. In the light pouring through the open door, the animal looked a bit like a cat. A slightly large tabby, perhaps, if you weren't paying attention. It was the eyes, though. They were too blue, too... human. "Stay ou' th' way, puss. Nae mair ridin' th' cranes, awe rite?" The feline murred in soft response, almost like a real answer. McFien never knew when the Gyrinx was going to show up, but it seemed to stay in the garage, at least. And while it did jump on and ride the techs when bored, it seemed harmless enough. For a Xenos creature. An illicit, escaped, Xenos creature. That lived under his desk. McFien rubbed his brow. He needed recaff. That was the first thing. Everything else could wait.

---

"Ge' me Captain Omar noo." McFien glared at the contents of the locker, almost unbelieving. It contained a cache of strange weapons, certainly of Xenos design, and a collection of holo-slates. He knew the spindly things were weapons, by virtue of one of the techs blowing off his own foot with one while McFien was still in his office. Unbelievable.

"Lad. Where'd thes one come fraem?"

The nearest tech flipped through a clipboard. "Just got it from down orbit, sir."

"She," McFien pronounced quietly.

"Sir?"

"It's a 'she', boyo." McFien exited the Chimera tank, patting the plating on his way out. "Melanie, she's called."

"Captain Omar isn't responding to his vox, sir. It seems he's entertaining an emissary from the Iron Fists, arrived this morning. Seems they brought some Mechanicus Priests with them -"

McFien's mug shattered at his feet. Across the garage, a monumental cathedral to armor and its repair, technicians leaned to take a look.

"Whit... did ye say?"

The technician repeated his words slowly, while looking shiftily at a distant door. McFien trembled, from his grey and red hair to his ceramite-toed boots. His brow knit together in a visage of hatred and loathing that pinned the young tech to the spot.

"Righ'," he muttered. "Righ'." He gestured at another assistant, who ran to fetch a vox-caster. McFien clicked the activation stud, and took a deep, shaky, breath. His words echoed off the high walls.

"Aw ye lads! We hae aff-world Tech-Priests comin'! Ye ken whit tae do! Seal th' prototypin' wing, an' arm every man haur!"

Without fail or the slightest hesitation, a small army of overall uniformed technicians leap into action. Suspiciously large wrenches brought to bear, distant doors sealed with thundering clangs. Massive cranes began lifting vehicles into precarious position, casting the shadows of their menacing weight. McFien's army awoke.

McFien shouted the orders his men needed, and one more besides. He needed more recaff.

Entry 2.5: Conversation One
''Scene opens on McFien's repair vault, lighted above by arc lamps. Brother Maximus Omar and Dreadnaught Smirkeh converse while seeking the now-paranoid Master of Mechanics''

Maximus: "Uh, Brother Dreadnaught? A word with you, if I may? I recently read through some reports from your previous mission, on the moon colony of StepUp.... Mind explaining this?"

* Maximus flashes a dataslate to life, showing the hulking Dreadnaught inverted, seemingly on a dance-floor.*

Smirkeh: "The reports are blown way out of proportion - I was outfitted with autocannons at the time. And even if tried to "bust a move" I would break the arms and the sarcophagus would shatter from the impact, spilling me all over the floor like an Astartes omlette."

Maximus: (holds back vomit) "Hurp! Aw, by the Emperor's mercy, that last thing you just said almost made my food rations 'vacate the premises'!"

Smirkeh: "Yeah, I'm kinda numb to the fact about what I said . . . because I saw it happen with my own two pict sensors - but at least the apothecary had easy access to the body."

The Master of Mechanics appears from behind a workstation.

McFien: *gesticulates wildly with mop at massive Dreadnought*

"Ah am NAE cleanin' 'at up again."

Smirkeh: *sighs and tries the mop from McFien's hands, and then accidentally discharges both autocannons into a plasma cannon armed Sentinel and blows a leg off*

. . ..

"Emperor above if the Mechanicum where not totally inept this would not have happened, I'm off to curbstomp the gearfucker responsible for managing the dreadnoughts weapons because I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THEM!"

*Flails autocannons as he rants, almost knocking both Fergus and Maximus to the floor*

McFien: *ducks the swinging cannons, then gives the Sentinel a long and pained look*

"Jezebel, nae...."

*shoots Smirkeh a hard look, sparks lighting from his mustache, then relents*

"Aam nae Hans, but i'll tak' a swatch at yer control pathways. It's aye a simple fix, Ah vow."

Maximus: *ducks the swung auto cannon, then stares at wrecked Sentinel with a mixture of melancholy and annoyance*

"Really, Brother 5mirkeh? I decide to have a commissioned plasma armed Sentinel outfitted for the next Operation of mine, and the FIRST thing you shoot at is IT? Wonderful...."

Smirkeh: "Blame the Mechanicum, they did not replace the autocannons when I placed the order to do so. It also looks like I am going to outfit myself with said plasma cannon for your operation ain't I?"

Hans Draconis appears.

Hans: *Sighs as he walks back into the repair bay.*

"Who broke that?"

Smirkeh: "I did - the Mechanicus forgot to replace my autocannons and I keep my autocannons equipped for so long I forget I have them equipped."

McFien: *begins scaling the Dreadnought like a particularly wirey squirrel, wrench in hand*

"I'll poor ou' a glass fur Jezebel later. Gimme a hain, Hans. It's his damned control pathways, Ah ken it. We retune them, he'll hae control back. We can swap it th' guns later, but let's nae have heem shoo' holes in th' walls noo, aye?"

Smirkeh: "Emperor's pauldrons I feel like a Colossus!, please don't tell me he is going to send be back to the slumberyard?"

*starts to shudder nervously*

Hans: ''*Groans and places the palm of his power fist over his human eye, with another sigh. A member of the guard comes in behind him, holding a massive tankard with steam rising from it.*''

"Vanya, requsition dreadnought power fists. Leave my tea."

* The female guardsman salutes, sets the tankard down on a table and runs off.

"So, where do you need help master mechanic?"

McFien: "Dae nae lit heem swat me aff, in th' first place. Second, remove th' first an' second screw bearings frae his gun-moonts. Se'll need tae remove th' guns first, sae Ah can access th' pathways. Most importantly, disarm his feckin' guns. Tha' shoods be first."

Hans: *Steps up next to Smirkeh, grabbing the autocannon McFien was climbing on and holding it steady. Going trough the schematics with his implant to find the mentioned screw bearings.*

"Disarmed quickly, or safely?"

McFien: "Considerin' th' roonds tend tae gang aff under pressure - safely. Lang as Ahm up haur, Ah shoods be fin'."

Hans: *He nods, holding the gun mount still, and begins undoing the ammunition boxes for each gun, pulling out the belts*

"Safe it is."

*As Hans is unloading the autocannon ammo everyone hears clicking sounds coming from the autocannons, with the more ammo being unloaded the clicking increases in speed*

McFien: "Marveloos! Noo Smirkeh, this'll hurt jist a wee bit. A tooch ay feedback interference, coortesy ay a bad connection. Blam th' Tech Priests. Ready?" * winks mischievously at Hans*

*the clicking increases in speed, matching the fire rate of a heavy bolter*

McFien: "Och, feck. Duck an' cowre!" * scrambles around the chassis, ending up on top, latching his belt-loot onto a projection for safety*

Hans: "I will not die yet."

*Let's go of the heavy arm mount and activates both power fists, jumping as high as he can he slams them both into the weapon mounts at full force as he falls down again.*

Smirkeh: "MY AUTOCANNONS!"

*ticking dies immediately*

McFien: *showing surprising vigor for an un-enhanced man of age, McFien digs his boots into top-mount vents, and leans upside down over Smirkeh's chassic*

"Emperor's balls! Whit th' bleedin' heel was 'at?"

Hans: "The quick way."

*Stands up straight, the effort of jumping in terminator armour apparent, and turns of the power fists*

"Smirkeh needs more repairs."

Smirkeh: *turns immediately to face Hans*

"YOU BROKE MY AUTOCANNONS! WHY IN THE THRONE WOULD YOU DO SUCH AN INEPT THING?! NOW THEY ARE GOING TO TAKE MONTHS TO FIX NOW!"

McFien: ''*climbs down off Smirkeh, then kneels by the autocannons. Flicks on a small light to examine the sheared husks. A shiver goes up his spine, as his voice comes out in a shaky monotone*''

"If either ay ye ur devou', Ah'd suggest ye pray abit noo. An' Hans - git someain down haur noo. Someain what knows abit explosi'es."

Hans: "The Emperor protects."

*Walks pick up his tankard, patching into the vox network and ordering several members of demolitions to report at once to the repair bays.*

"Is it not better to live for the emperor and fight for him, brother Smirkeh? Your cannons may be broken, but they can be repaired. Unlike you."

Smirkeh: *Speaking though what is left of his teeth in disgust*

"The clicking was the autocannons firing mechanism going off out of nervousness, thanks for now knowing about what was going on inside you klutz because now I am essentially an armless failure until I get these replaced!

"By the emperor if I had hands I would tear myself outta this tomb and -"

* hesitates out of not thinking, attempting to speak but only making frustrated sounds and expletives*

" -and strangle the life out of the people in charge of dreadnought weapons!"

McFien: *stands very slowing, shaking badly*

"Nae friends. It was naethin' fur tae div wi' Smirkeh's nerves. Se hae a raither mair serioos problem. Th' guid news is, Ah foond it wa his control pathways waur glitchin'. Th' bad news is - there's a massife demolition charge in each gun."

*draws a flask from work uniform, and looks up at Smirkeh*

"They waur rigged tae blaw when ye emptied yer guns."

*drinks deeply, shaking still, but moving steadily away from the severed weapons*

Smirkeh: "Wait, what?!" * pauses to glare at the weapons, not pausing to even attempt to rationalize the situation* "WAIT, WHAT?! . . . WHAAAAT!?!?!"

Hans: "Master mechanic, will they cause a chain reaction if detonated here?" * Drinks heavily from his tankard, half it's content gone* "And Brother Smirkeh, I will ignore your comments. Know only that your new weapons will arrive within this lunar cycle."

McFien: "Ye can hae some bleedin' Sentinel arms if it please ye." * walks around Smirkeh, putting his armored bulk between him and the explosives* "Och, Jezebel. Nae Hans, nae - we're nae near any ammunition ur fuel stores. Those ur secured an' blast-resistant. Leav a ruddy stoatin hole in th' flooir, tho."

Smirkeh: "Can I take a request? Hurricane bolter and plasma cannon if possible?"

''*After the near-destructive event, Maximus reveals himself after pushing aside a giant storage crate aside. He looks around to see if anything blew up. Fortunately not... Yet at least.* '' Maximus: "By the Lordy and Lady! I'm surprised none of us have been forced into Vault duty for these premature crisis. May gaps you have McFien and his crew be your exclusive repairmen from now on?"

Smirkeh: "I agree with every fiber that was removed for me to fit inside this thing, and I assume you also heard me place that request . . . ."

McFien: "Noo, gents - we hae a one mair problem. Whu dae we ken has access tae baith powerful explosi'es, an' Smirkeh's arms?"

Maximus: "Of course. But this is most troubling news. Auto cannons rigged to explode after expenditure of ammunition? Even for our consistent squabbles, I never imagined the Mechanicus would willing destroy a valuable Dreadnaught."

Hans: "The Mechanicus, the delay in weapons maintenance and change for brother 5mirkeh now seems deliberate. *Now calmly sips at his tea, taking time with it as several guardsmen enters the room, carrying a case of explosives* "Right on time, demolitions, attempt removing the explosives. Leave as much salvage as possible."

Smirkeh: "Salvage is the last of our concerns brothers." * attempts to get up, but has no arms to do so* "We have an attempted murder mystery on our hands."

McFien: "Nae feckin' mystery abit it. Thaur ur only a handful ay AdMech oan Omagudnis, an' Ah ken everythin' they dae." *taps bridge of nose conspiratorially* "Except fur th' lads fa arrived yesterday. Those ur th' ones."

Smirkeh: "Please let it not be the Iron Hands, we are as close as kin from all those savage battles and . . ." *pauses for a moment, almost listening for someone* "The amount of times they would participate in the you-know-what fights."

Hans: "The remains might tell us who is responsible for the explosives. Brother Smirkeh, on which battlefield did you last use your autocannons?" *The guardsmen carefully begin working on the broken weapons, whilst Hans himself attempts to right Smirkeh to a standing position* "I would guess, that is where your weapons were modified."

Smirkeh: "It was before the Dawn Crusade, we where all posted to defend a worn down battleforce of Space Wolves and Raven Guard . . . we managed to evacuate what we could before the last fight to decapitate Ork leadership on the planet I was dropped days before the battle began alongside the 'Deff Shredda band Promethium Death to establish a foothold and cause as much logistical carnage as possible."

McFien: "Bide, bide! Did th' tech-bastards check up on ye haur? In th' past day?"

Smirkeh: "They always do, and do it painfully slowly."

McFien: "Them an' their bludy rituals.... Did they reload them? Th' bombs waur linked tae yer ammo feed." *draws cigar from yet another pocket, begins chewing on its tip* "Th' campaign was tay lang ago. Uir techs woods hae spotted them."

Smirkeh: "Then what would make me waste all my ammunition then? Even if I may appear to fight like a lunatic on the battlefield I still try and balance ammo use with the expected length of the fighting to avoid such a problem."

Hans: "Hold that thought."'' * The demolitions team lifts the reload and firing mechanism out of the weapons, unable to remove the bombs without them. A pair of heavy blankets is laid over them, as they run for cover, one man shouting "Fire in the hole". The explosion as a whole is muted by the detonation blanket, a black scorched hole in the ground visible as it is removed*'' "Much better."

Smirkeh: "Could there be Mechanicum hereteks in the vault right now?"

McFien: *glares at the scorch marks uneasily* "Haur? nae. They'd be very, very, deid." ''*Gestures at the distantly patrolling men in similar overalls, many of them carrying massive wrenches and rivet guns. Looks back at Smirkeh*'' "Guid thooght, 'at. It main be 'at the guns waur rigged exactly 'at way fur a reason. Wheels within wheels, laddie."

Smirkeh: "I'm going to have to retreat back to the slumberyard for an extended meditiation session, I really need time to think things through for today as been a rollercoaster ride of near death experiences" *walks off calmly for the nearest cargo elevator whilst at the same time mumbling to myself*

McFien: *spits angrily* "Bide jist a minute! We hae tae talk, lads. We hae a brother nearly killed tae-day." *waves all present to a nearby workstation, away from the demolitions crew* "Noo, dae we tak' it tae th' Lady an' Laird - ur try tae sniff ou' th' bastards ur selves?"

Maximus: *rubs his chin in deep thought, his face dark and sunken with worry*

"Hmmmm. This is most disturbing of an event... I will look into this. The Iron Hands, despite their brutality, would NEVER willingly or knowingly aid in any form of sabotage against any ally. If they find out that there is even suspicion of the AdMech, they may not take it well... Or even start attacking us. Nobody wants that, my brothers...."

"I will have to investigate. I will have one of my... Old friends, come by. One moment."

''*Presses his index to his temple, speaks in a level of Gothic that is incredibly encrypted, then lowers back to his side. A long moment - 30 seconds passing - rolls by until footsteps are heard. The steps echo around the area, then stop. On Maximus' left side, a crackling of blue electricity arks, then a shape forms. A small, female form appears before the group, yet somehow remains unseen by the rest of the Humans present. Clad in black and with a white furry pony tail from the back. It was an Eldar Shadow Warrior* '' "BEFORE YOU ALL JUMP-! Like scared crag toads... This, is Alyma; cousin to Alryna; Leader and Farseer of the Craftworld Anta-El, or the "North Star". She will be aiding in our little investagtion, and spying on the Cult Mechanicus present, while remaining unseen. I know what's going on in all of your heads. So, let me answer those rabbid questions of yours:

"No. She will NOT be going anywhere near anything of value to our Chapter, nor listening on anyhting she SHOULDN'T...."

''*Maximus eyes her for a moment. She does not look, and remains silent*''

"Yes. She is getting something in return, but it will NOT effect the Chapter in any way, shape, or form. This is all at my own, personal expense."

"and No, HANS; I will not suffer another lecture. Keep your Commisarian beilfs within thine helm, please."

"Finally, you may ask: Why? Simple. A question; would you rather we have a civil war with one of the most important and powerful factions present, on OUR planet, and lose valuble resources AND artifacts, as a result in an unwinable and pointless conflict...."

"Or would you rather suffer one little Eldar present for a day, and in exchange, cut out the cancerous cell that which nearly killed our dear freind and Dreadnaught, and go about our lives without further stress, after? The lesser of two evils, my brothers. Like it or not."

"Oh, and for the all popular, "How is this even possible!?" question...."

*A large, jovial smile expands on the Astarte's face*

"I'm a very charming person." ;D

*a small, ghostly giggle is heard, but unknown in origin*

McFien: ''*Standing amid two rather large Astartes and a disarmed Dreadnought, Fergus McFien was not a large man. Rather short, really. Nontheless, he takes the rapidfire explanation with a straight back, framing his section of the whispering circle well. After rubbing his ill-trimmed jaw philosophically, he begins to speak* '' "First - most charmed, lady. Ah pray we can prove noble hosts." *bows slightly, hand across heart, or at least grubby overalls* "If Ah mai' pry... tha' was a short-range comm, meanin' she travels in yer company. Mai Ah then assume th' misplaced Eldar rifles Ah foond yesterday ur hers, 'en? Bravo. Git them awa' frae mah technicians."

"Noo, if thes was th' AdMech - which Ah dornt doobt fur a second, it'll be mech commander, th' Magos, 'at we need surveyed. We also need tae ken whit his retinue really is. If there's e'en a lone Skitarii...." *growls quietly, fingering the weighty crescent wrench on his belt*

Maximus: "Agreed, Mc'Fien." ''*nods to the Eldar, and within a second, she vanishes. There are no footsteps heard.*''

"Let us all keep this to ourselves, for now. I must return to Iron hands. I still have a match to win, but we must not let they or the AdMech know of what has happened. I will be leaving now, if there is nothing to add from the present company...?"

Smirkeh:

Reactor online. . . Systems online. . . Weapons malfunction Ammo at 75% Ammo at 50% Ammo at 25% Ammo at *static* Autocannon destroyed Autocannon destroyed Autocannon destroyed Autocannon destroyed

*A low groan is heard from within the dreadnought mid-powering up*

"Aside from this pain in the ass AI constantly interrupting my thinking I have a very vague idea as to why something like this would happen. Maybe a member of the Officio Assassinorum, most likely from the Vanus temple maybe?"

McFien: *strangled choking noise, them spitting* "Nae, I pray not. But whu knows whit th' Magos brooght wi' heem. Th' bombs waur likely fur me ur mah wee lads. We're nae AdMech, ye see. Heretics, in their een. If it hadnae bin fur Hans... it woods hae worked. If th' assassins waur involved, we'd awreddy be deid, most like."

Smirkeh: "I don't know about that, I reckon I could take an Eversor on with no hands!" * realizes the pun, and sighs* "Dumb jokes aside, I thought we had an understanding with the Ineptus Mechanicus"

Maximus: "It is more accurate to say that it is more of an unbalanced love/hate relationship. The extremes of both good and bad are present between us both. The Mechanicus would not seek to directly hinder or harm us, and though they would never openly condone it, they would not stop one of their own from acting on their prejudice."

Hans: ''*With a loud, thunderous sound, a power fist is driven trough a solid rockcrete wall. A tirade of inventive swearing, found only amongst members of the imperial guard's more relaxed regiments, following the boom. The entire demolitions team rapildy collect it's gear and runs double time for the nearest exit. Drops of tea fall from the fists brother, clenched around a now crushed tankard.*''

"Maximus, what is the meaning of this?"

*Hans turns slowly to face Maximus, both fists active and sparking as dust enters and is destroyed by their power field*

Maximus: ''*the Astartes on the receiving end of the terminator classed brother rolls his eyes first, breaths through his nostrils, and exhales. He shrugs his shoulders with both hand upward*''

"Why Hans, what stirs thine ire? Have my words passed your ears 'fore now? I thought I was perfectly clear-?"

Hans: ''*Hans takes a long deep breath and points an oversized finger straight at Maximus* '' "By the Emperor I knew you were mad, but this is beyond mad. First those filty xenos holotapes, and now a bleeding eldar witch right before PDF soldiers. Are you trying to make us a target? And to top it all off, that little magic trick made me spill my bleeding tanna, do you realize what it cost me to get some tanna to this planet?"

''*He steps closer and closer as he speaks, throwing his arm towards the exit when mentioning the PDF soldiers who had just ran trough it. The head implant spinning from lense to lense, targeter and transpartent data-slate swapping out every few seconds. With a big sigh he stops, letting his arms go limp and turns around, shaking his head*''

"I will miss demolition squad delta, never a fuss about the job. And now I have to execute them, or the inqusition shows up and we can't have that can we?"

McFien: "Dornt worry yerse abit Delta. I've got them covered. They've dain waurs, laddie an' Ah ken aw abit it. An' High Captain Dicko is godfaither tae th' Sergeant's son. Lay aside th' Bolter, Hans. I'll tak' care ay it."

"Noo, teel me frien' - dae Ah look calm? Dae Ah seem collected tae ye? Someain jist tried tae kill me ur mah wee lads, fur th' sin ay bein' guid wi' machines, an' nae acceptin' false gods afair uir Emperor. Dae Ah look calm, Hans? Aam nae. Ah want blood."

"Noo ye can as mad an' rigid as ye please - ur ye can focus at th' enemy jist tried tae kill aff yer friends an' allies. Aam sure 'at Maximus will hae clear all unusual alliances wi' th' Lord an' Lady, dornt ye hink? They're nae exactly blind, friend."

Smirkeh: ''*The walls start to vibrate with the sound of distant doom metal, Promethium Death have already begun their practice session as Smirkeh calls for everyone in the room to pay attention* '' "Battle Brothers, Sisters, Serfs and Xenos of the Cardinal Archivists: We need to keep this a secret and away from prying eyes so we can gather evidence that will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the Adeptus Mechanicus are gulity, before another plot comes to fruition and people die to animosity between the two parties present."

"What I ask is dangerous and could possibly lead to annihilation but we need to look out for both ourselves and any innocents that may be harmed during this time and yes, that includes other Techpreists. As much as I, Fergus and his army of chapter serfs may hate them for their faults they are STILL one of the cornerstones of this failing Imperium and we MUST not loose their trust."

McFien: *hides surprise - or outrage - at Smrikeh's clarity and reasoning behind an extended drag on his cigar* "Yoo're... nae wrang, laddie. Bugger it aw. Alrecht, me an' mine will caa fur a general refit an' inspection, quiet-like. Schedule' maintenance an' aw tha'. Check fur mair surprises."

"Hans, dae th' sam fur vehicles an' heavy arms. If one ay of those plasma cannons goes aff at th' wrang time.... Bugger an' damn. I'll keep mah peace, fur th' Lord an' Lady's sake."

Hans: *Sigh's and straigthens up* "A word get's out, I execute someone."

*Points at Maximus* "And you owe me a tankard of tanna from valhalla itself, tankard and tea. Got it?"

*Shakes his head and moves towards the exit* "Military exercise will be out of range, plasma weapons handled by experts. No worries. Have given orders to certain vehicle crews to block passage tunnels, keep the Mechanicus out."

"I must return to the regimental commanders. Planning to do." ''*Leaves the room, making the sign of the aqualia as he leaves. Chanting a old soldiers lithany.*''

Smirkeh: "I'm going to shutdown and just think some more about the issue at hand."

McFien: "Ye dae 'at laddie. Guid job tae-day. If ye gents will excuse me, Ah hae an appointment wi' a bottle ay import amasec. Unless tha' coods be poisoned. Shite and bugger."

''*Stomps away moodily, the cigar tracing a faint plume in the air as he goes. He calls for someone to raise the demolitions squad Delta sergeant on the vox. Quiet, sing-song cursing trails away with him.*''

Maximus: "I'll be sure to buy you a new tankard, Hans. Gentlemen, I will have a report within the hour. Now I must return to the iron hands. It's time to settle a score... Again."

Smirkeh: *Stomps off* "I need to talk with the Master of the Forge about this, if he ins't toiling away at creating another master-crafted piece of sodding wargear."

Visitation, Entry REDACTED
She was not exactly a woman with any particular preferences. After all, impartiality was needed when you were either a spy or an assassin. But in this case, if she were forced to, she would make an exception. Her preference being a man in particular. An odd man, and a warrior as well. Opposite sides they stood, but that meant very little. She could see that his sight was beyond most of his peers, even if he was no psyker. It would make sense why her fair Lady sent her as a Dathedi, or even a Dyann Dras. This one must be special to have her be ordered to remain at his side for so long. And with the results he brings to his people, and his allies, it is of little wonder. Chegorath seems to enjoy his existence as well, from what the Harlequins jest over.

As for herself, Alyma enjoyed her time around him, whenever she could. Her orders would always come from her people, and she would not deny them. But at least, this man - this astartes - does not make things too difficult. Perhaps, even giving her a challenge? Perhaps. But now, she has a mission: spy and observe this Magos character among the machine worshipers. Oh, how she enjoyed watching the mon keigh fight among themselves sometimes, and especially when the Mc'Fien human was involved. His grinx was surprisingly well-behaved in contrast, and oh what tales it tells her when present. Now their rivals, the adeptus mechanicus, have with them malicious intent, however.

It was not easy, of course. Even though the Chapter and her people were not engaged in open warfare, like so many other mon keigh, infiltrating their strong hold - with the help of the Mile'Ionahd - would not look good for her, or her charge. Silent as the wind and still as the air, Alyma traverses the halls. Until finally catching sight of the Magos. The Magos had made a quiet path to an archives room of the Chapter. She follows him without missing a beat, and remaining invisible. The Magos types away while looking over his shoulder, making sure he wasn't being observed, at least by those he CAN see. He returns to the console, typing away while his eyes remain glued to the dark, neon green screen. He stops suddenly, scans the computer, and immidiately back-pedals towards the exit. She will catch up to him soon. For now, Alyma goes to the console left exposed. Her low gothic was not the most fluent, but from what she could understand, she read in her mind, "Dreadnaught #0000013, Code Name: 5mirkeh, has been awakened. Tech Priest Guren presently escorting it to the manufactorum."

Curious. Seeing as this is very odd for an ally to be so secretive of their beloved machines, Alyma felt it was time for Maximus to be made aware...

Visitation, Entry 3
The Great Sanctorum of the 'Deff Shreddas. A vast and grand cathedral, its halls lined with row upon row of musical based games: Rock Band, Guitar Hero, DJ Hero, and even the most ancient Sing Star. At nearly every one of them, two or more 'Deff Shreddas - young and veteran - were perfecting their skills and scores. Bass shook the ground to a steady rumble, high notes shattered training glass, and at the farthest end was a sacred stage, plated with gold and holy ceramite, Etched into the face of the stage, below from where the lead singer would stand, was the phrase, Saxa et revolvet nobis pro Imperatore!

The Snipe and Wib Marines present with their leading captain Maximus maintain a respectful silence as the music plays while marching towards the rightfully sanctimonious stage. The Iron Hands, understandably, are a mixture of awe, confusion... And the given amount of needless anger... Because Iron Hands. From the left side of the stage, an older 'Deff Shredda appears. He walks towards the microphone, and taps it twice. The feed back is heard from across the sanctorum, and soon all of the 'Deff Shreddas cease their current activities. They walk to the path way, which was a horizontal fresco of the Fair Lady Snipe's history, and the shared beginnings of the Chapter, and stand straight at the edges of the path. The Astartes under Maximus Omar kneel before the 'Deff Shredda, while the Iron Hands salute respectfully; they know little of our customs, but recognize us as equals. We accept their default form of salutations.

"High 'Deff Shredda Bassius Th'um. We thank you for allowing us to settle our conflict amicably within your harmonious hall of sacred melodies."

"Brother Captain Maximus Omar. Or perhaps "Mad Max"? Honestly, I think either would suffice." The Marines of the Chapter present in the sanctorum, except the Iron Hands, chuckled from the comment. Maximus grinned and continued.

"Either will suffice, 'Deff Shredda. But to business: I and Brother Captain Ironar Steelback have a score to settle. Shall we set things up for the challenge?"

Without ado, the senior Shredda claps his metal-clad palms twice. Mortal chapter serfs pour out from the sides of the place of musical worship and set up an astartes-sized table, made of wood from the local planet's forests. They also serve beverages to those willing to partake. The other Shreddas start to play their music in harmony like a grand banquet, with guitars riving and trombones bellowing. Iron Hands and Snipe and Wib Marines circle around the table, while making way for their respective champions to take their seats. The 'Deff Shredda Basius decesends from the stage and in the middle of the two astartes. he nods to them both, and Ironar and Maximus lock giant metal power fists.

"Let this moment of battle be remembered and recorded: here, in the Holy Sanctorum, our place of worship of the Media, the Melody, and the Lord and Lady; a score shale be settled. The challenged, and reigning winner of the Ultimate Machina Arm Wrestling Championship: Special Operations Brother Captain, Maximus Omar; the challenger: Brother Captain of the Combative Tech-Marines, Ironar Steelback. Let it be known that we, the 'Deff Shreddas, shall stand witness to the outcome. Stand tall, astartes; for the Emperor watches!"

Bassius places his hand over the locked fists. He looks to Maxiums, then to Ironar. Finally, he shouts out, his words echos throughout the hall.

"BEGIN!"

The sound of metal clenching metal reverberated within the cathedral. Iron Hands and SnW Marines cheered for their champions. The engines in the back of Ironar blow with heat and ferocity, while Maximus held his own against the might of the Iron Hand; both it and its owner. Back and forth the two fists forced one another, appearing as if the victor was close, but the opponents manages to push back. Creaking of metal and steel came from the Marines' mechanical fists, the strain from their grips audible to everyone around the two warriors. Ironar soon gain the uperhand, pushing Maximus down to near a foot to the table. Suddenly, Maximus' attention is taken away for a moment. He looks to his left, up towards where his epidermal Comm. implant was located. In his head, a ghostly voice echoed;

... ''Finish your game, Mile'ionahd. One of your own seeks to harm your Ancients. Find them in your grand workshop. Make haste...''

Maximus lets out an exasperated sigh, clenching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Ironar looks at him confused, but then shouts, "Lamenting at your inevitable defeat!?"

"Nay, Brother. Lamenting; yes. My defeat; no. I do not be-little you my Brother, so take this not the wrong way; I have come to remember a pressing matter to attend to. So, without further ado..."

With all of his might, Maximus pulls his and Ironar's hand back to the middle, and then pushes him down. Struggle as Ironar may, he cannot push Maximus back. Finally, the Iron warriror's hand slams the wooden table. The match was over. The Iron Warrior's following roared and jeered in frustration and disappointment at this repeated defeat, while the marines behind Maximus cheer and howled in excitement and joy.

"For the Lord Lady!" shouted Maximus

"And the EMPRAH!!!" shouted his Marines, in reply.

Maximus steps up from where he sat and walks over to Ironar, clearly sullened by this repeat of defeat.

"Brother Ironar. Though you may think otherwise with this loss, know that you are worthy as an opponent. The Sons of Medusa do not dissapoint. I look forward to the next time we will fight, my Brother."

Maximus extends his open metal hand out to the defeated Iron Hand. Ironar stares at the fist, and then to Maximus. He inhales air and then grunts. With his metal fist, he grabs the astartes' hand and moves forwad, eye-to-eye.

"We will meet again. And do NOT think some 'pressing matter' will save you from defeat, Captain Omar. Victory WILL be mine!"

"I look forward to spending time with you again, Captain Steel-back. Enjoy the rest of your stay on O'Magudnis!"

Maximus parts ways from the rest of the Astartes present. When he left their view, his face grew dark. Although he was not malicious towards xenos, one stereotype was often found true: ''nothing good can come from an Eldar's warning. Ergo, always expect the worst.''

Visitation, Entry 4
It is the morning following the warp breach, news of the arriving visitors had set in motion the greatest movement of military materiel and manpower upon O'Magudnis in decades. Overnight plans were made, troops given orders and a battlefield chosen. The mile long line of war marches forth under their flight path, a great show of might and power. Vehicles grinding along roads, troops marching around them on all sides, a parade in honour of the chapters guests, to confirm it's power and to deter hostile intentions.

Not part of the column however, already halfway across the planet and hidden within another army of equal size sat the chapters most secret weapons, mastodon tanks, storm-blade super heavy tanks and far other more exotic weapons. It was hoped, that by hiding these great weapons in the midst of a war exercise that the mechanicus would never notice them.

Within the many tunnels of the underground fortress monastery there were many vehicles still, some hidden away behind closed doors, other blocking tunnels with their slow crawl supposedly to join the forces already outside. The truth was, they had parked there pretending to be broken and awaiting repairs as a way to keep mechanicus force from going down the tunnels.

Just outside the fortress monastery's gates stood a leman russ tank, it's turret replaced by a earthshaker cannon, at the crew platform behind the cannon stands a space marine in terminator armour. Captain of the 7th company, Hans the dragon, orchestrater of this all, his large cranial implant registering the spacecraft coming in for landing, barking orders to regimental commanders and space marines alike. The events which would unfold inside the chapters own doors was no longer his concern. Now it was time to make sure the troops were fit to fight, and the potential recruits be taken measure off.

Visitation, Entry 5
The Slumber Yard. A place where some of the chapter's most unique warriors are taken to, upon their fall in battle to be converted into Dreadnoughts. Literal walking tanks whom contain but a scrap of their former selves whom are called upon to serve the chapter in times of need.

Being the home of the chapter's Dreadnoughts the Slumber Yard is very different to the Gothic architecture that constitutes many of the Imperium's buildings. But, instead of cathedrals and spires, the Slumber Yard of the Cardinal Archivists is much more efficient and practical as the construction draws inspiration from the many Mecha Anime Holo-reels and Data-slates held within the Fortress Monastery's most extensive vaults of Pre-Imperium media.

Continuing with the theme of Mecha Anime many of the rooms, halls, munitorums, vaults, shrines, storage bays and crypts (where the pilots are kept in stasis) are all named to keep with the overall theme within the Slumber Yard. The ever silent halls of the Crypt NERV are nestled between cogitator workstations, Ceramite bulkheads and the labyrinthine walls of tubing. The dead silence and the smell of stale air is broken by the sound of a tech-priest and his escort of servitors, as they stay in formation emitting binary chants and fumigate the air with holy incense with orders to activate Captain Dreadnought "5mirkeh the irritable" for inspection.

The tech-priest and his collection of servitors reaches their destination after what felt like a millennium of walking, and has reached a point where the wire ridden walls suddenly open into a large hall that's flanked by ornate technology in the from of both heavy industrial equipment and banks of cogitator workstations. The tech-priest gives a large burst of machine code to his servitors as they immediately spring into action and hurry to man the various posts and panels around the hall.

The usual dead silence of the Slumber Yard erupts into a cacophony of mechanical noise that suddenly screams to a halt as the tech-priest sprints over to a cogitator and frantically dumps information from a data-slate in hand into the workstation with little regard to standard mechanicum procedures as a voice erupts from the darkened hall

"Who calls for my reactivation?"

The tech-priest emits another loud burst of machine code to tell his servitors to make haste for the exit before replying in a lifeless, monotone voice

"Your so called maintenance team has summoned you for inspection..."

5mirkeh replies "I understand that I should make haste; finally, for once, I can say that you're the first tech-priest to activate my sarcophagi within a reasonable time!"

The tech-priest replies, but there appears to be some sort of feedback when he talks.

"Because I abandoned standard protocols for the sake of the chapter needing you, what I did will forever leave a permanent mark on my soul and my mind tortured as to keep this secret from everyone but the Machine God.

5mirkeh grins from inside his Sarcophagus. A low rumble emanates from the metal tomb, like a rumble from an engine when activated

"Good."

5mirkeh begins to follow the tech-priest back into the chapter's manufactorums with the servitors in tow, for once not irritable for the abandonment of mechanicum protocols have probably saved the lives of a handful non-astartes within the Fortress Monastery.

Visitation, Entry (To Be Announced)
''To be reshuffled later, after other authors' additions. ''

"Report, lad."

The mechanic shifted the strap of the Lasrifle, and focused on the gray-haired Master.

"All exits sealed, blocked, welded shut, or otherwise inaccessible. The boys took your suggestion about the ventilation shafts seriously: they did some... modifications to the Flamer tank bits we had laying around, and uh...."

Master McFien was only half listening at best. He was tired, down to his boots, and the day had stretched long. He just managed to prop his chin on his hand, and look like he was paying attention. But even so, something about the junior's report struck a note. ''Flamer tank? Whit coods they - Oh! Oh, bugger.''

McFien rose to look at his subordinate. Tommy was a lump of meat, to be sure. Hiring vehicle crews out of the Planetary Defense Force had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Natural mechanics, he'd thought. Instead he got what he'd payed for: soldiers. And Tommy was just that, a slab of angry meat, capable of standing to attention. Even on a good day, something about him looked irritated, like a bad rash had replaced his face, given him a permanent half-snarl for a mouth. Still, a soldier could prove damned useful, McFien thought. Especially given the... contentious situation he found himself in.

"Ye - rigged a flamethrower tae th' vents?" McFien couldn't help but be impressed.

"Yes, sir. This place will be secure." It was a statement of fact.

McFien stared at the man, standing at attention even in overalls, a Lasrifle across his chest.

"Reit t'en, laddie. Carry oan, ur whit hav' ye."

"Sir?"

McFien felt himself deflate a bit around the shoulders. He nodded his chin over at the side wall of his office, and the glass-paneled liquor cabinet. Full of various bottles of amasec, and other fine concoctions. McFien watched the wheels spin in Tommy's head, clicking along. The soldier-made-mechanic glanced at his match. It was past nightfall, and McFien hadn't started drinking yet.

"Ah. Yes, sir." He saluted sharply, turned on his heel, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

McFien took a breath, kicked his feet up on a small clear patch of his desk.

"It takes time tae train them reit," he sighed.

He fished under the desk for a bit, and came up with a tall bottle, half-full of amber liquid. It had been a rush and panic of a day. And that deserved a night he wouldn't be able to remember come morning.

A shadow separated itself from the top of one of the bookshelves, and pounced down on the desk with a flurry of machine manuals and dataslates. Mittens stalked across the chaos of the desk, and leaned hard into McFien's arm, flicking it's tail across his face as he went.

"Hullo tae ye tay. Git fed up ay sleepin' aw day?"

Mittens purred like a scout bike being revved.

McFien poured himself a double of what the label claimed to be Segmentum Solar's finest export vintage. While a sniff did not tell the lie, it did cause McFien to wonder if some of the stranger decisions coming from Terra could not be explained by such a drink. Like the Rough Riders, he thought. Someone had to be badly drunk to come up with that one.

While he sipped his way towards a comfy oblivion, Mittens sniffed cautiously at the bottle. Time would tell whether the feline would take to this brand. Benthic Comfort hadn't been a favorite, to say the least.

McFien's drowsiness was interrupted by the click of the door latch. He looked up, already irritated, but found the door closed. He arched one bushy brow, and returned to his drink. Tommy mustnae closed it aw th' way, he thought. He almost relaxed again, when he saw Mittens doing the oddest thing: the cat was tracking its head across the office, as if following something. It stared directly at a chair in the corner of the office, cocking it's head to one side. Mittens turned to him and mewed at him. McFien did not stir, instead glaring at the strange creature. By th' Emprah, hoo did Ah end up wi' a xenos pet?

But he did feel something, a wrongness centered in that corner, where there was plainly nothing to see. Nah... cooldnae be.... Then again, someone had tried to kill him that day. A bomb sneaked into a weapon he'd been dead set on fixing. It had nearly killed him and his compatriots. His chest chilled at the memory, the dread thing laying there, waiting to....

McFien shifted his glass from one hand to the other, and rummaged around on his desk. Dataslates, manifests, schedules, and a single bolt from what machine he knew not. He tossed it lightly in his hand - and whipped it straight at the chair. The bolt stopped. Not fell, not bounced - stopped. It hung in mid air, suspended by nothing. And then there were gloves. And an arm, then armor. A tall helmet, with almost artful lines. The figure tsked audibly, and gently took the helmet off.

"That was rude, mon-keigh."

"Lady Alyma, hoo love'y tae see ye again. Dae hae a seat," McFien tried not to sneer, failed, and did it anyway.

"Such strange people in this place. I've seen your Astartes on many worlds, but never any so... unique." The Eldar smiled faintly, and McFien felt his pulse rise. The Eldar were, almost by definition, beautiful - exuding an unearthly grace. Indeed, even as she crossed her legs, armor and all, McFien felt his thoughts slipping.

''By mercy, if Ah waur thirty years yoonger... it woods still be heresy. ''

Forcing his mind back on track, "Aye, waur aw a bit... mad... haur."

Alyma laughed, an odd crystalline sound. "To say the least. I did not think to be amused by Astartes beyond Maximus. Interesting to see that he's not alone." She grinned. "There's hope for your species yet."

Mittens leaped from the desk to the arm of the chair, and mewed expectantly. It was rewarded with a gentle head rub from Alyma.

"We're a braw bunch, sure. When we're nae playin' host tae th' suppos'd enemy."

Alyma lay a hand across her chest, feigning shock. "Rude again, Master McFien! And you were so polite when you welcomed me earlier." She gave him a small teasing grin, and turned her attention back to Mittens, who was milking the situation for everything it could.

"Ah was sober 'en," McFien muttered. He tossed back his glass in defiance, and set it down empty. "Aam nae noo." He grinned lazily. "Can Ah offer ye a drink?" he said, already fishing for a passably clean glass. "Assumin' ay coorse, tha' yer species can metabolize alcohol... ur tha' it's nae toxic tae ye...."

"I thought you'd never ask," Alyma answered. She sniffed the glass gingerly before sipping. "Ceiba-ny-shak!" Alyma spat, nearly spilling Mittens off her lap. "It's no wonder your species can't evolve, drinking filth like that."

"Woods ye loch another?" McFien grinned from ear to ear.

"Please," she proffered her glass out.

As they enjoyed a silent moment with their drinks, McFien took the time to properly formulate his questions. The problem being, chiefly, that Alyma was Xenos. A total unknown, other than the most maniacal of the Chapter called her friend. Which was not unlike a Khornate Berserker assuring you that he gave great backrubs. Considering the amount of time and effort that had gone into securing the garage, McFien felt uneasy about the fact that while his men were off patrolling, a presumedly armed Xenos was drinking his amasec.

"If yoo'll entertain me, Ah hae a few questions fur ye?"

Alyma raised a single, inhumanly perfect, eyebrow in response. "What I'm doing in Mile'Ionahd Maximus' company?"

"Whit yoo're daein' haur, noo."

The Eldar cocked her head to the side very slightly. McFien becamse sure that were he several decades younger, he'd be helpless by now. What she was thinking was almost impossible to reckon, other than she seemed to still be smiling.

"My duties for the day are done. The Magos and his metallic kin are sequestered in the guest tower, and I can't risk watching them constantly. Never fear, Mechanic. I... have ways of ensuring that no one sneaking about without my knowing. And besides," Alyma turned to Mittens, now curled in her lap, purring away softly, "there's good company to be found."

"An' Aam supposed tae believe 'at?"

"It's the truth. Just not all of it." She smiled in an approximation of sweetness, and relaxed fully into the chair. "Anything else?"

"Aye. Hoo did ye gie in?" McFien waved his glass vaguely at the regions beyond his office.

"Air vents."

"Vents...." McFien's mind did a flip. "Didne hae any trooble wi' tha'?"

"No. Not at all." Alyma came very close to leering at him. McFien decided not to take the bait, and sipped away, brooding.

"Weel, whatever yoo're actually daein' haur," McFien raised his glass, "Ah dornt suppose there's a toast fur thes, is thaur?"

"For avowed enemies sharing a wretched drink? I don't believe so. And I won't be toasting your Emperor, either."

"Braw." McFien refilled her glass. "Here's tae Maximus, th' loony bastard, an' new friends." Alyma couldn't help but smile at that, and clinked glasses with him. McFien downed his drink in one long go, and silently added, An' th' gear worshippers gettin' what's comin' tae th'm.

Alyma stared at the reflected light from her glass. "I am curious, Master McFien. I have rarely met a human who share a drink with one of my kind. And yet I could find a dozen here, circumstance permitting. What is it, do you think, that separates the people here?"

"Too many videogames," McFien answered immediatly. He leaned back in his chair, and seemed to nod off for a moment. "An' it's Fergus."

Alyma gave another vaulting eyebrow.

"Fergus McFien. Call me Fergus, lass."

She toasted him that, and leaned back in her own chair, eyes closed. Mittens purred with obnoxious abandon in her lap, and McFien let his exhaustion take him. If the strange xenos cat thought it was fine, he couldn't very well argue. And besides - there was a beautiful woman in his office. Who was he to argue with that?