(Carouse rolls would be appropriate to determine if the group has found any rumors from their partying)<br/><br/>As Sarah walked into the pub, a figure in a tight fitting black robe with a hood drawn over his face stalked into the bar from the back door, slicing through the crowd like a clipper ship through the void.  He walked with purpose and determination, like a pirate raider blasting towards an unprotected merchant convoy.  His target was obvious; Rogue Trader Cortez.<br/><br/>(Scrutiny rolls to determine the nature of the stranger would be appropriate here.  He could also be engaged in conversation with blather rolls, or shaken down with an intimidate check.)<br/><br/>As the dark figure passed Torvan the Fallen, the foul smelling figure suddenly shot up and grabbed Delila in a tight hug.  "Mah little one!"  He yelped drunkenly, recognizing another member of his navigator house for the first time in a long while.  The fat failure was a disgrace to his house, explicitly banned from ever boarding another warp vessel.  His warp eye was wrong, somehow; it always saw into the future, telling him of an awful fate that he could never escape.  "You gunna die."  Torvan whispered, loudly enough for everyone at the bar to hear over the din of conversation, a skill that only Torvan seemed to have.  "You gunna get blowed up."  He emoted, obviously far too drunk to even quite be seeing one of everything.  "All of ya...  into itty bitty pieces..."   A tear came to Torvan's eye, tracing a track through the dirt covering his face as his madness began to kick into meloncholy.  "I'm so sorry!"  He yelped, seeming seconds away from becoming hysterical, or possibly just asking for another drink.