Energy flared and a incandescent vortex of violet energy swirled outwards, the source of which was a brightly shining hole in reality, which dimmed for a moment, then a ship suddenly lurched forth, static energy crackling along its hull and arcing out into space as the vortex collapsed behind it. The ship had been deposited into orbit around a desolate rock, but if the lights were any indication... there was some habitation down there.<br/><br/>The ship was a Dominator Class Cruiser, the Rogue Trader '<em>Void Bound</em>', once a Imperial Navy vessel, it had been purchased and re-purposed many years ago. The Navy emblems had been stripped and replaced with Rogue Trader sigils, and in particular, the winged-ring icon of the Avorn family. The<strong>Massive</strong>golden statue of Saint Somthing-or-other that had once stood atop the ships hull, had been removed, and replaced with smaller iron figure of a space marine, supposedly the Primarch Rogal Dorn, who had signed the Avorn Family Charter. The statue had been the same one recovered from the Avorn Family's old ship, which had served well for over nine thousand years, before finally beginning to show its age, and now stood proudly atop the<em>Void Bound</em>his characteristic sword menacing the depths of space. Within, the ship was every bit a Imperial vessel, massive, dark, and cavernous, it was a buzzing hive of activity for about ten minutes a day, five at lunch and five at midnight, when the shifts changed, the rest of the time, you could wander the dimly lit corridors for hours and hours and never see a soul. Though some changes had been made, of course. The segmented cargo bays, and extra quarters, which once carried regiments of Guardsmen to which ever hellhole Imperial Command had decided they die on, had been knocked out, to form two massive cargo bays and were now filled with loot, wealth, and a variety of legal and not-so-legal items for trade. Additionally, a great deal of money had been spent to make the uppermost crew deck more comfortable, where stayed the Captain's retinue and any dignified official-type people who had the coin to pay for passage; the dim, ever-flickering lights had been replaced with quality ones, carpet had been laid, and other such luxuries made the deck very... home-ey.<br/><br/>The Bridge was of somewhat typical Imperial style, a half oval shape, soaring vertical planes of  plastiglass formed the walls and provided a view of the outside, each capped with stained glass shaped into religious iconry. The Upper Bridge, being a raised half circle platform that dominated the rear of the Bridge held the captains chair, and seats for her pet and bodyguard. The Lower bridge was a scatter of cognators and panels and stations, and was a buzz of activity, crew and servitors coming and going. At the base of the upper bridge, right below the Captain, was the chair of her first officer, who had served with her father, and was still kicking about, even now. His place on the lower bridge was so he could ensure the captain's orders where followed, not that there was much problem with discipline on the<em>Void Bound</em>. At the very front, on a slightly lowered deck, before the front-most window, was the Navigator's Socket. While the helms station sat just behind it, on the main deck and therefore at a level where the helmsman, or woman, in this case, could see clearly over the navigator. In the centre of the bridge was a large hololith projector that displayed a spherical tactical view of the space surrounding the ship, the outer-most edge aligned with the maximum range of the ships massive Nova Cannon, the range of the sensoria went further of course, but there was nothing the ship could do about anything outside this range, as a result, it was quite sufficient for its task, at the moment, the right half was dominated by the gently curved plane of a planet.<br/><br/>Captain Avorn grinned, disengaging the grav restraints built into her chair so she could lounge properly. The warp was (usually) relatively calm, as long as there were no hiccups in the Gellar Field which preserved a bubble of realspace around a ship, thus protecting it from the perils of the Warp. But to call the transition to or from the Warp 'turbulent' was like calling a tornado 'windy'. “Anyone crack their skull open?” shed called out, only half serious. They'd once ferried a Administatum Official who had decided the transition warning didnt apply them, and went wandering the halls instead of jumping into the nearest grav-chair. He'd cracked his skull on a ceramite bulkhead, but fortunately, since he was a higher up in the Administatum... there was nothing in his skull to damage.... and the whole event had since become a joke among the crew. Though everyone currently on board had better sense of course.... it never hurt to ask.<br/><br/>To her right was her pet, a cute abhuman shed bought a couple years back, sitting on the cushion shed had put there for him, with a built in grav-restraint for those transitions of course, and she reached out to stroke his ears... shed always felt it better to treat him well, that way hed never be inclined to risk his current halcyon circumstances by slipping a knife or something between her ribs while she slept, besides, he was fun in bed, and while she could be forceful at times, she'd never raped anyone, and didnt intend to start. To her left and alittle behind, was a Space Marine, her friend and bodyguard, his large form seated in a massive ceramite throne. Big enough to accommodate even his armoured form and inscribed with his chapters heraldry and draped with a silk scarf of his chapter's purple. She did not pet him, though she was tempted to on occasion, while he was certainly as well endowed as his massive form suggested, and thus great in bed, shed always found him abit stiff, and thusly, not likely to appreciate the humour. And lets be honest. Only Inquisitors where really completely comfortable around the massive supersoilders, even Avorn, who had grown up around abhumans and xenos and had no issues with them whatsoever, still found herself slightly in awe of him.<br/><br/>Avorn stamped her foot on the deck, to make sure she had the Astropath's attention. He was interred in a tube of amniotic fluid, under the upper-bridge, being totally anti-social as he was... it had been his request. “Contact the surface and find out the date.” which he did, and it was exactly what they had expected it to be, so she relaxed, and called out to the navigator, “Good work Benidal, but dont get sloppy, if I ever end up a hundred years in the future, or some shenanigans like that, I'll kill you” her tone was light, lacking the hard edge of a real threat and she had made a similar statement every time we came out of warp, so it had quickly faded into banter, she was only joking... maybe. It was known to occur... the warp was a senseless place, and there were plenty of stories about ships who made a trading run to the next system over, only to arrive four days later and find that a decade had passed, or for troop ships full of re-enforcements to arrive only to find their war had been over for millennia, or hadnt begun yet, and so on. Many dismissed this as wild rumours, but not Avorn, as she had lost almost eight months once, and had been positively irate about it at the time, apparently this being one of the few things that really struck a nerve with her.  She called out to the helmswoman "Helmsman! Put 'er in a nice orbit... if we hit anything, its coming out of your pay!” Then studied the tactical holo-projection for a moment, before finally rising from her chair.<br/><br/>She gave the order to at-ease... which on this ship meant the fun was over, and the crew should go back to their boring routines. Turning to her pet, she spoke again “Go to the mess hall and get the cook to feed you.... and you have my permission to bite him if he tries to feed you those stale, Guard-issue, ration bars again... then track down the others and tell them I'll be expecting them all to join me for dinner... I've got a delicious plan....” she purred the last few words, then turned to leave, calling over her shoulder to the space marine “You too, Darvius, Dinner is at six sharp!”, before the doors to her room closed behind her. Sighing, she checked her pocket-chronometer, it was about 1pm terran... about time for her to contact her source...<br/><br/>Not long after, she de-activated the ships vox transmitter, and grinned. Feeling a need to celebrate (and horny, but it was safe to call that a constant affliction of hers). She decided shed fuck the next person to come to her door. Of course, they would be using the other door, the one that was up a small flight of stairs from the luxury crew deck. Not the one that joined to the bridge, which she never let anyone use but herself.