IC - Where the hell is Khadaji's ??

[Draig Enaid]

The Crossroads - Arrival

Each of you have traveled to the Eastern Crossroads for one reason or another. This massive trading station plays host to a number of species, and facilitates trade between several systems on the Eastern Fringes, sitting along the outer rim of the Trithad system, a few parsecs away from the Damocles Gulf. Humans, Eldar, Tau, Kroot, and Orks can be found, and much can be bought and sold in a place like this. Approaching it, it's easy to see from quite a distance away, it's spindle shape supporting a pair of docking rings round the tips at either end, where Frigates are able to dock. The center sports the main docking bays, big enough to easily hold several dozen medium transports and cargo haulers. Docking with the station, you find yourself herded with other passengers through lifts to the main docks, left to find your way on your own once you arrive.

Aliens of many species can be seen moving about the docks, moving cargo, checking manifests, and guiding shuttles in to unload. Hanging above it all is a large building, attached to the ceiling and accessible by catwalks and a single lift. Small building dot the periphery, most looking to have been built out of discarded cargo containers, some sporting names indicating food or drink, while others bear no signage at all. Most of the passengers seem to be following the general flow of traffic towards a large main bulkhead, big enough for two cargo lifts to move down abreast. You realize that this is what they are meant for when one of the lifts goes barreling down towards the doorway, blaring it's siren at people and knocking them aside if they're too slow.

Above the the doorway in large neon letters, you can easily see written in Low Gothic - "THE GRAND BAZAAR"

[GeoAvanti]

So, this is the brighter side of the place? Heh, I wonder what I can get my hands on if I just dip below the surface of this shining model of commerce and free-trade.

Kal Vyder tries not to stand out too much, at least for the time being. He is wearing a long, brown leather coat over what appears to be a swaddling of some kind of heavy mesh suit. Beneath the mesh cloak is nothing more than a simple matte-black body-glove to provide insulation and protect his skin from wear. Across his back is a well-cared for and impeccably maintained Ironclaw Pattern shotgun, resting tagged and safed in a simple fabric baldric. Under his coat, a side holster contains his Irontalon pistol, a fierce weapon for its size; it is a weapon historically tied to the Imperial Navy as much as the fearsome reputation of the shotgun. On his left hip is a silent chainsword, the weapon, though well maintained, still bears many marks and nicks to show that it is not just a quiet showpiece.

He is a shining beacon of the plain average of the multitudes of humanity throughout the Imperium; his brown hair and eyes glance from person to person, looking, assessing, demanding through unspoken words a sign of their capabilities and intent. The hood of his mesh cloak remaisn pulled down, jangling softly with every motion he makes.

He looks like a thug, hired muscle, but he is clean-shaven and his hair is politely combed, though it seems to be growing in from being cropped close; he is tall, but slim, and his frame is surrounded by whipcord muscle, the first indication that he is a Void-born. The second is his ghostly paleness; his skin is the white of a man who has probably never seen a sun while planet-side, if even seen the surface of a planet at all, and he seems quite at home in the massive station. The only truly unusual mark about him is barely even that; he has a large Aquila tattoo spread across his back, with the wings covering his shoulder-blades, and the double-head rising partly up the back of his neck. From the way he moves, it is clear that he intimately knows the weapons he carries; he is either a bounty hunter or ex-guard, most likely. Besides, there seem to be few street thugs or bashers willing to cause trouble with so many armed guards around. Humans, Tau, Orks, and they all seemed ready to get into a fight if someone was insane enough to start one. Kal knew better than that, at least.

"I wonder what I can find here," he muses to himself aloud, verbalizing his own worries, but hiding them in countless interpretations from anyone overhearing him.

Separating himself from the crowds, he has the unfortunate experience of passing downwind past three greenskins. Neither party gives the other a second glance, though Kal feels he has seen the bright red 'uniforms' sometime in the past at least once before. He doesn't look back and risk inviting trouble.

Meandering, Kal observes the legitimate trade of the station. He barely has enough thrones for what he needs; he can't afford to waste any on trivial baubles. Not yet, at least. That doesn't mean he can't linger and observe, however. He hadn't been fed on the flight, and he honestly didn't understand how some people could become sick on those shuttles; it didn't seem natural to him that so many healthy and normal individuals should be deprived food just because a few incontinent individuals couldn't keep their food down in zero-G. As a result of this draconian treatment, he was starving. While he hovers, nearly salivating, over some kind of pastry vendor, swift movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. When he turns, the first thing he sees is one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen in his short life. It only takes a matter of moments, however, for revulsion and dismay to rise to the head. Though she had at first appeared human, the alien in her lingers, visible just beneath the surface; she is an eldar. And, if Kal's guess was right, an important eldar, too. Not that it was a hard guess to make when she was surrounded by four heavily-armed bodyguards. Kal shuddered as they passed him. It was their hands that bothered him the most. Four long digits, each with too many joints in them to be human. Otherwise, aside from their general disdain of anything human, he might even claim, well away from anyone of authority or a love of bolt pistols, that they seemed to be quite attractive when they weren't fully armored and trying to tear your spine out.

Kal let out a breath he hadn't been aware he had been holding, and the tiny, pudgey man behind the counter turned to tend to him. Kal couldn't shake the feeling that the individual seemed like the unpleasant result from the mating of a ratling with a squat. "What kindred formulation of servicing now I can be maintaining for the benfit that belongs to you?" he asked in badly broken Low gothic.

"One of those, please," Kal said with a pleasant smile. He was pointing at some kind of pastry that was utterly indescribable. It looks like a tiny piece of fried dought surrounded by a few dozen layers of dark red icing. There were chunks of something it; Kal hoped, prayed, it was fruit. "I'm also looking for Khadaji's. Know how I can get there?" he asked as he retrieved some low denomination coins to pay for the snack.

[lampofdoom]

Aim, range, hold, fire, recharge, aim, range....

Kais repeated the mantra of his battle drills within his head as he entered the space station. He can't help but recall the fateful events that brought him here, ones that began on a station much like this one. He snaps himself out of his reverie and begins to observe the crowd. His eyes scan looking for potential threats and ranking them according to proximity and lethality. His helmet rests in the crook of his arm, but otherwise he looks fully the warrior that he is, his pulse rifle is slung across his back and his grenade launcher hangs from a leather strap thrown over one shoulder.

Suddenly his attention is drawn to a man in a leather coat. Kais can tell that the man is a killer, the way he walks as if stalking prey, and most obviously his battle-scarred chainsword. Kais, his interest piqued follow the man, not hard after he separates from the crush of humanity, to a nearby vendor. Kais moves quietly and lithely through the crowd and takes note when the man steers clear of the Orks standing nearby. He regards them for a moment then turns and almost runs directly into another Tau! Kais' eyes widen in surprise as a high ranking water caste emissary levels her gaze at him. He makes an awkward half bow to her.

My apologies Por'El. No harm was intended.

The diplomat stares at Kais, as if trying to commit every aspect of him to memory.No harm done Shas'ui. Ta'ro'cha.

Ta'ro'cha Kais responds as he straitens from his bow. So much for trying to follow him unnoticed....

Kais stands aside as the diplomat and her retinue continue along. He then takes a seat next to the guardsman as he asks for Kadaji's. Kais looks at him then says I am also looking for Kadaji's. My name is Shas'ui Sa'cea Kais Y Saumka. You may call me Kais, Gue'la.

[Draig Enaid]

The pastry shop, if it could be called that, appears to be made from a rusty cargo container that was likely discarded after it could no longer be of us. Power lines and other conduits run to it along the floor from another section of the wall. Lighting is minimal, mostly coming from the flood lamps on the docks themselves.

The man behind the counter scurries over to the back of the display case and pulls out one of the pastries using a waxed parchment. Handing it to Kal, he squeaks out, "1 throne, please." With a start, you realize it's not a man at all, but a rather pudgy Grot, it's coloring hidden partially by shadows behind the counter and a light layer of flour. It's ears appear to be partly hidden under some kind of odd hat or cap.

Accepting payment, the Grot looks startled when Kais comes up, also inquiring about Khadaji's. "Sorry, I'm not really sure. You might try asking one of the merchants in the Grand Bazaar itself. Also, I know there are a couple of seedier bars in the Lower Warrens, beneath the Bazaar itself. Ya just take one of the access stairs along the Bazaar walls."

[GrimDarkOtter]

Kanzikrans can barely stand the stench of the station. Fresh off his transport, the smell of the busy port reminded him of battle. The crowds back in the hive, they stank of humies and their spoor. But here, all the smells mixed together in the midst of blood, oil and sweat. The bulky ork set off down the gangway, shouldering aside any stupid enough to get in his way. In his head he remembered the sheer glory of Gork that once knew....and maybe he would know again.

Kanzikrans is not the only ork in the bazaar's crowd, but he was definitely the most obvious. Over a pair of garish yellow breeches, Kanzikrans had somehow managed to stretch a motley assortment of Guard flak plates across his legs and torso, held together with chains, tape and webbing. Over this gruesome assembly flaps a purple trenchcoat that would have swallowed any human who even tried to put it on. Beneath his coat a wickedly curved blade clanked at his side, and Kanzikrans openly carries what could be an autogun, beneath all the accoutrements that have somehow been bolted to it.

Pausing at the entrance to the bazaar, Kanzikrans stops in his tracks and stares up at the bright sign, his lips slowly moving as he reads the unfamiliar characters, and entranced by the shiny greenness. Grabbing the next passerby he pulls them up to his tusked face and asks "Oi, whur in dere can oi find a git whut is Kadodgy?" in a manner he considers quite polite.

[Jocularity]

Once the tide of pedestrians was dispersed enough to let a man stand still, the hunched little adept took a pause in his waddling gait to look around.

Look at what you've gotten yourself into, mister addams... He thought to himself, as he considered his surroundings. There were Xenos here. Xenos! He wondered what their customs and ways were, how he would deal with them. Granted, some of their equipment and technology that he was seeing looked quite fascinating. Heresy of course, but he'd love to have a closer look, if he could. Even so, he'd much rather still be at his old job as the chirurgeon's valet. He didn't know who to blame for it; the cults for existing, and letting themselves slip into his knowledge, or the inquisition for thrusting him into this "Mission" just for knowing about them.

I Should have been an embalmer... The dead don't tell you dangerous secrets.

Bios took a moment to make sure he hadn't had his pockets picked on the way here. Winnifried was still hanging from the side of his backpack and he still had his thrones, his Medkit and his Data-slate. He wished he had more, feeling rather insecure in an unfamiliar place with so little. But it was probably worth it to have spent so much on the mesh armor he was wearing under his red robes. And one of these people could be a deadbeat thug, ready to knife you in the gut.

Well, he thought I suppuse i'd best get to it. He turned to the next passerby to ask directions. 'Excuse me there, an associate of mine recommended some tavern or lodging called "Khadaji's". You Wouldn't happen to have any directions for me, perchance?'

Actions Inquiry, searching for Khadaji's: Probably a fail at 78

[GeoAvanti]

Kal handed over a single throne piece to the man-- grot-- and thanked him for the information and the food. He quickly became disturbed by the prospect of eating a pastry-- hell, anything at all-- made by a grot. Sure that this would be the death of him, Kal took a very hesitant bite of the confection, too afraid to ask what it was. Much to his surprise, it proved to be edible! So far, at least. It wasn't good, exactly, but it was certainly more edible than most of the desserts in the mess back on the Virulent Flames. He was just getting over his shock of a grot's edible cooking when another shock happened to befall him; a tau, obviously some kind of soldier, approached him.

Kal's first instinct was that this was one of the station's security personnel come to have a word with him over some matter. However, that notion quickly evaporated when he saw a stowed weapon and the helmet carried in hand. A social call, perhaps? Odd, but then again, Kal's life was just starting to take a turn for the odd. And probably the horribly painful and terminally fatal.

Kal nods slowly to the Tau, a Shas'ui. That sounds familiar, but it's more of a vague scratching at the back of his brain, right up there with his familiarization with the wide variety of Tyrannid geni: Shoot the big ones.

"Kal Vyder," Kal replies around a bite of his snack. "Call me whatever you feel like," he smiles.

Damn, what did the Primer say about them? Greater Good nonsense. Something about Castes. Elements. Wind? Water? Heart? Fire! That's it, isn't it? Inferior Weapons-- like hell that pulse rifle is inferior to anything but a Lance Battery; the Mechanicus can go stick those metal prods in a very private location for that one.

"Shas'ui," Kal tastes the word, trying to remember its significance. "That is rank, correct? And your gear," Kal's eyes immediately fall, almost lovingly it might be added, onto Kais' Pulse rifle. "You must be warrior caste. Fire?"

Kal's questions do seem out of genuine curiosity, and his tone doesn't appear to have any hidden malice or derision. Personally, Kal never had to fight anything face-to-face except rival squads during training drills, so his hatred of foes is simply limited to one exceptionally pissy 2nd Lieutenant.

At another glance, beneath the shotgun across Kal's back is a smooth, flat, rectangular piece of metal. It doesn't appear to have any true function besides being a large chunk of metal, as it doesn't appear to have any identifying features to it.

Sharing the scrawny frame of his back is yet another weapon: a Voss-Pattern Hellgun, a more powerful version of the common lasgun, and a weapon almost uniformly tied to Imperial Stormtroopers and the mythical Cadian Kasrkin. When all is said and done, this human appears to be nothing shorter than a walking armory, with what appears to be a weapon suitable for most any situation.

"Ah, so down to the Warrens I go, right where I belong, haha!" Kal says with a light laugh. He had wanted to see what lay beneath the surface here, and where better to start than the more unpleasant locations?

Turning his attention form Kais' lovely weapon, Kal addressed the T'au again. "So, Kais, you're looking for Khadaji's too." It was not a question. "Then let's head down into the station's bowels and see what we can find. Call it a hunch, but I doubt the place we're looking for is a five-star restaurant. I imagine its probably the bottom of this giant, floating barrel, with every problem such association will entail."

...the scum of the Imperium. Criminals, Xenos, Heretics, any of them may join you in this task.

Kal had to wonder just what other surprises waited for him. Was his new-found friend just looking for a drink and a decent time, or could he have a similar purpose? Well, only one way to find out, really.

[lampofdoom]

Kais regarded the human for a moment and ran his fingers over the scar marring his otherwise perfect features. Hmmm, a rather straitforward human. He may be useful in a fight. Although his gear looks a little... Kais' train of thought snapped upon noticing the weapon strapped to the guardsman's back. His eyes narrowed and then, quicker than a human could even register, returned to perfect calm.

Yes I am a Shas'ui of the Fire caste, Kal Vyder of the... Kais stumbled to recognize any type of unit designation, and failing to notice any continued ...um Imperial Guard. That weapon, the one on your back, it denotes a member of one of the special teams does it not? And by the chainsword and fact that you are apart from the rest of your unit indicate that you must be an officer, correct?

Kais stood and turned to look at a nearby stairway mentioned by the small green thing, some type of ork he thought. He turned back to Kal after a moments contemplation Let us examine these warrens, Guardsman Kal. Kais said. Then promptly turned and made for the staircase, upon reaching it he donned his helmet and loosened the strap of his pulse rifle. Better safe then sorry...

[GeoAvanti]

"Good guesses," Kal said, his jaw clenching briefly at every mention of the Guard. "But no." He didn't like being mistaken for a ground-pounder. Sure, he had plenty of friends in the Guard, and most of them had the potential to be nice fellas from time to time, but that didn't mean he liked being thought of as one of them. Because he sure as hell wasn't. His wars were neat and clean and fast. Most of the time. Dropships knocked out of the air simply vanished in a wild conflagration. Dropship pilots usually didn't even last long enough to be a red smear. Poof! Gone. In the split second that it takes a Lascannon shot to shoot through the atmosphere, or the nanosecond before a Hydra battery catches up with its tracer rounds and pulps anything caught in its fire.

No, Kal was not some bloody Guardsman.

Still, the Xeno was trying to be nice. Kal had to give him that much credit.

He did laugh to himself, though. Oh, what the commissariat would do to him if they could see this! It's a bloody damn good thing he didn't need to worry about them anymore, a little fact which appealed to him tremendously. Right alongside what he would do to Lyle once he got his hands on that little rat... ratling bastard.

"I'm neither," Kal began to explain, following Kais towards the stairs, still ignorantly and happily gnawing on his snack. "Right now, I'm my own man." Right, for what, the next hour at most? "Ex-Navy. Trained combat pilot . Used to be my job to ferry those Guard down into their bloody wars, and to pick 'em up once they finished. He pauses to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "I'm no Glavian, but I can make those fat-ass dropships dance a ballet when needed, and I can handle just about anything with military-grade specs. Probably even some of your toys," he added with a friendly smile.

While he talked, he quickly checked a brace on his right wrist. Content that it was fitted properly, he double-checked quick access to his Irontalon and Ironclaw. It seemed instinctual for him to reach for them, whereas the more powerful Hellgun seemed almost forgotten in his preparation. Perhaps unfortunately for Kais, Kal didn't seem at a loss for words during this time.

He finally remembered the Hellgun on his back. "The 'Voss'," he played with the word, trying to make it sound like 'boss' in a truly atrocious accent. "Yeah. I guess the tin-men usually do have these. They're nothing but over-rated glory-hounds, and it's impossible to con them into a decent game. Emperor-botherers, all of them. But, I figured those big flashlights they carry might be useful if I needed something with more stopping power than the 'Talon here. It has an unfortunate tendency to burn holes through things that keep the void outside and breathable air in with me, though, so I'm not too keen on using it. Call it superstition."

He checked the feel of his chainsword's grip with his free hand, as well as everything else on his person, a routine which seemed to be taking an absurdly long time. Given the number of obvious weapons he carried, this seemed understandable for the most part. Only the Emperor knew how he had originally figured out how to carry all of it with him at once. "You are right on part of your account. Most officers usually have these with them. But I wasn't an officer then, and I'm not now.This little treasure was a 'parting gift' from an old friend. There's a story to it, I was told, but I'll tell you that once we find Khadaji's." He wore his salesman's grin, and tapped the side of his nose twice with his final words in surprisingly comical gesture. For a human, especially one claiming to have been in the Imperial Navy, he seems remarkably amiable and sly. Perhaps a good indication of why he is no longer in the Navy.

From here, it simply begged the question of just how a simple pilot could obtain such a wide assortment of odds and ends, especially what some might consider to be prime Imperial equipment. Assuming he was telling the truth, anyway. He could probably claim to be a freeboota's half-brother, and
even that might be believable in this kind of place.

[lampofdoom]

Kais eyed the gruff man with new respect, and maybe a hint of awe. You are a pilot. I used to watch the air caste train while my men did their battle drills. I envied them, they're craft took them across the stars to visit countless worlds. Worlds I would only see from the sights of my rifle. Kais played with the mesh lining of his helmet, getting it to form a seal to the rest of his armor. He quickly checked his sights as he continued to talk. I look forward to seeing you fly one day, and to hearing you tale. Until then Kor'vre Kal, I suggest we keep on alert. There won't be much room to maneuver down there, getting caught off guard would be...unpleasant. Gunfire, screams, men and tau dying like rats in a hole, then darkness. More screams, then silence. Get a hold of yourself, Kais! This isn't like before! Kais looks into the tunnel and makes sure nothing unpleasant is waiting at the bottom.

Skill Check Awareness test Failing by 4 degrees. (Ouch)

Let's go Kal, I hope those weapons are as deadly as they look. Without waiting for a response Kais begins to walk down the stairs.

[Draig Enaid]

@Kanzikrans

Not paying attention, Kanzikrans didn't realize that the paserby was another Ork until he felt the other one's head slam into his. One of the Orks on guard detail from the looks of thing. "Oi! Watch hu ya grabbin, ya git! Oh, heh, yer a Boy das not frum rounds 'ere, is ya ? Don't see lotz a newbs 'ere, most dun in Orkton. Khadodjies ? Yeah, I tink I knows it. Go threw dem doors in ta da Bazzer. De gots stairs in da walls ya take down to da Lower Warrens. Ask a Boy dun der and de point yaz in da right diriction."

@Bios

The passerby you speak with appears to be a merchant of some kind from the cut of his clothes. His eyes shift quickly to the left and right before answering. "Khadaji's? Yes, I know of it. Go into the Bazaar, down the access stairs in the wall into the Lower Warrens, and then, " he continues on for a moment with a slightly bewildering array of directions. You get the impression this place is REALLY off the beaten path., "after that, just walk down the corridor about a dozen meters until you reach a junction. It will have the name of the place in neon over the door, you can't miss it." With that, the merchant continues on his way, seeming to be in a little bit of a hurry.

[Jocularity]

As the man spoke, Bios swiftly copied the directions down into his dataslate. "Thank y- eh, farew- eh..." The man was already gone. "Very well sir, i'll just be on my way." He mumbled to himself, and headed on towards the bazaar. He kept constantly alert, one edge about being in a place as unfamiliar as this. Any one of them... he was thinking. Any one of them could pull a knife. Or a Lasgun. Or just flip out on 'slaught and start throwing punches.

But his xenophobia and paranoia began to fade as he wandered through the Bazaar without being assaulted. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had decided to briefly browse a couple of the stores. He couldn't afford anything quite yet, but the market had a completely different variety to Ymir. There were all sorts remarkable exotic contraptions, and alien gadgets. I Wonder if Xenos Tech have machine spirits? He pondered as he continued on his way to Khadaji's. As he descended the stairs into the warrens he slowed down a little, and checked his directions. "I Hope that fellow wasn't mistaken. Must be a thousand bars on this station." He said to himself, then glanced over his shoulder. Has that Ork been following me since the docks? No, no don't be ridiculous. Why would he follow you? He couldn't be an Arbite after "Imperial Fugitives", he's Xenos. He slowed down a bit. It couldn't hurt to double check his directions. That merchant had shifty eyes... "E-excuse me there." Oh dear, he's bigger than he looked from far away... I don't suppose you could assure me that these are the right directions to a bar called Khadaji's?

[GeoAvanti]

"Down we go, into the land below," Kal chortled happily. Despite his apparent mirth, his hands never seemed to stray far from his Ironclaw or chainsword. He was happier not drawing them, and risking an open invitation for trouble; he assumed Kais was hoping to simply dissuade unsavory types by a more liberal display of persuasion. Kal couldn't speak ill of that approach: it was a straight forward, if not abrupt. Kal, however, was not quite so blunt with his intentions.

Armed as he was, and sure in his pace seemed to leave him confidant enough in their chances in the under-decks. Besides, most would see the T'au and his weapon as the main threat, giving Kal enough time to draw and be upon them before they could turn their guns on him. He assumed that Kais' armor wasn't for show, either.

"By the way, what does Kor'vre mean?" he asks at some point during their descent. "You called me that earlier. I'm curious to know what it means." He also quite liked the sound of Kor'vre Kal, but he thought it wise to know what the title meant before he admitted to that little fact. It wouldn't do to have him addressing himself as 'Ass' or 'Butt-face' or some other obscenity without his first knowing it. Not that he didn't answer to the occasional obscenity, even some that were worse than the Emperor's bed-sores. At least he knew what those meant.

He was also running a small vote in his head, wondering how long before he'd cave in and ask for directions down here. He was more than happy to wander aimlessly until his luck turned good; he doubted he'd live through this if his luck wasn't right with him all the way, and she had proven to be quite the fickle little bitch lately, hadn't she?

[GrimDarkOtter]

As the other ork ambles off, Kanzikran mutters "I ain't no grottin' newb." before turning around to find his way blocked by a weedy little humie. The black-haired adept was holding up an illuminated data-slate, and Kanzikrans bent down to squint at the glowing letters. In answer to the humie's question, Kanzikrans gives a grunted "Mebbe" before turning to stomp off, his armor clattering. A few seconds later his brain catches up, and the ork storms back through the crowd to catch the robed figure. "Oi, git!" he shouts, snatching at the human's arm for its attention, "Wut's dis 'oo know 'bout Kadodgies?! I gotz me a gig dere." Barely waiting for an answer, the ork keeps Bios in hand and starts walking towards the entrance to the Bazaar, keeping an eye out for anything resembling an ork-accessible staircase, dragging along the startled adept.

[Jocularity]

Bios, now being dragged along by a massive tower of muscle. What in the warp did i say wrong?! "I d- wh- a' a gig? A Gig! Y-you're a musician Perhaps? I've al'always appreciated the songs of my phonograph and- and- Err..." He stuttered, racing to say anything that would get him into Kanzikrans' favorable treatment. "Khadaji's, yes. Have you been there before? I Had a- Had a friend suggest it to-" He looked at his dataslate. "Take a left just here-" And back up to the Ork. "Suggest it to me... Please Don't Eat Me...."