ODON

ODON

Traveler

REQUISITIONED INQUISITORIAL DOSSIER

AUTHORISED PERSONS ONLY

CASE FILE 328:20U:JL1197:SSK

The last known piece of evidence linked to the character known as Odon. A transit-stub from the the Cadian Kasr-Rail system. It was in the possession of one of Odon's victims, and the item was used to recover auto-pict files at the station where the ticket was purchased.

Odon is linked to the deaths of two Throne agents, whose identification or code-identifiers are to remain unknown. The circumstances of the murders are suspect, and although there is nothing concrete linking Odon to cult activity, the possibility of an active heretic on Cadia is too troublesome to ignore.

It is possible that Odon is nothing more than a mercenary or bounty hunter who ran afoul of the throne agents during his hunt, and unknowingly eliminated them as simple obstructions. However, that theory doesn't quite track, as any field agent of the Inquisition would prove more than an obstruction for nearly any sort of hired muscle.

Odon masqueraded as PDF, which is astonishing given the famously organized and regimented society that Cadia has been bred into.

It is also possible that Odon is a gang-cell, brought far-flung to the Kasrs on some wetwork for his patrons. Regardless, PDF internal units have been called to action, and are scouring the moors surrounding Kasr Brukka, as well as Kasr Geth. There are records of a cult, active over the past century outside of Kasr Geth, though there is no link to Brukka in those files.

Odon, or the man that took up that name, appeared as a worker-type. Large, roughly six feet tall, and built like a laborer. He was seen in the auto-picts wearing what appeared to be a dark grey bodysleeve, with a worn net-weave sweater overtop and a moor-man's cable hat.

'Your acquaintance. Always to be savored,'

A figure, clad in heavy over-lapping ivory plates, bowed his bare head in deference to the sole other occupant of the private booth. She, the other occupant, was covered in layers of simple cloth, deep red and rust, all of it shrouded by a sheer structured bodice and gown. Her face was concealed by a mask of ebony, gilded with the ashes of three cleansed heretic psykers. The Woman was possessed of some far-sight, a gift bestowed by an unknown benefactor. Unlike those taken by the Black Ships of the Inquisition, the Woman had no scent of the warp about her, no connection to the Throne or any other master. That, and she spent her days outside of Imperial Space - ensuring that she was able to live as she pleased, without fear of abduction in the night.

The man, in his heavy and somewhat restricting carapace of ivory, was called Branhs. An awkward name, rolling off of most Imperial tongues. Branhs, an acolyte of the Ordo Mechanum. He had come in place of his patron, whose name was unknown even to him. It was all business. The private portico was one of two hundred, in this particular bazaar. It was Psy-blocked, and protected by audio-dampening force shields as well as heavy curtains of elaborate make, laced with gold and bone stitching. The stitching described floral patterns, broken up by stylized stags, picked out in bone. Brahs was unsure as to the significance of this - the inbuilt cogitators and data-hound in his power armor failed to turn up anything. This all happened in the background of his mind, humming beneath the surface of his focused forethoughts.

The Woman had called to them, strangely. Usually this sort of thing happened the other way round. Apparently there was business to be had. A vision had come to her, of a creature. A thing born howling, crawling from the aether into a world of men. This was, in layman's terms, bad news. She spoke,

'I crossed the river, there. Black night overtook the moon, and anything else that might have lurked in the sky. This was an evening of old things, older than myself, and older than you. Older than everyone you know, if you added their years and the years of their fathers. It hauled itself out of the moorland, from between two craggy rocks overlooked by an obelisk of black stone. I could see a lighthouse, to my back. It sat atop a squat hulk of a city, this lighthouse'

'Cadia. It sounds like Cadia, to me, ma'am. I have never been, but the description works'

'Just so, I agree. This thing must die, Branhs. I couldn't, with all of my dubious means and sources, tell you what it is or where it came from. But I know that it can't be allowed to roam.'

Branhs chuckled at the Woman's admission. Her sources were undoubtedly dubious - most sources were these days, really.

'I have a man in mind. I believe he has worked Cadia in the past, but is -'

'Hush, man. I needn't know. Just go, with the knowledge that there will be reward for your part in this'

Rain cloaked the rail-station in darkness, muffling all other sounds and limiting vision beyond the immediate. The moon wasn't visible, and neither was the gaping wound of the Eye. A small crowd fought the downpour, in rain-slick overcoats or cloaks. Along the rockrete wall that lined the walk and stopped the wind, a small boy sat, cross legged underneath a make-shift awning of oilskin and waxed cotton. The boy watched, as the press of bodies hustled by. He had seen scary, hard faced folk, and scared families. But more than that, he had watched everyday working men and women, in heavy cloth, with calloused hands.

A large specimen then passed him by. Not protected by coat or cloak, the boy watched water slough off of the skinsuit that hid underneath the man's rough sweater. He carried a heavy looking duffle, and his waist was lined with structured pouches and packs. It'd been years, but the boy remembered that one.

The man hadn't so much noticed him, as much as simply knew that he was there. That he would be there. He dropped a small piece of heavy vellum, and the boy scrambled to pick it up, before scampering off into the night.

Cadia was no world for brigands or ruffians. Odon was not, a brigand or ruffian. He stood on the rail-car, legs braced, sucking his teeth. He hadn't operated out of lucky space for quite some time, and Cadia seemed like a fools' run. But the pay was good.