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exiled_heir_of_the_eighthOne Saturday night, Sahaal walks up to the Bar and asks for something to alleviate his boredom. It's not a request you'd usually hear at a bar, but this is Milliways. When you've seen a man go up and order a pitcher of ethanoic acid with ice and lime, solutions to abstract problems seem plausible. Truth be told, he had no idea what to expect, but he's certainly not expecting a small piece of lined notepaper to appear on the wooden countertop, reading: "Check your warplate".
He rushes back to his room, worried about what the Bar had done. The idea that his armour, his most important implement of war and easily his most precious possession had been altered in any way by not just someone not him, but a sentient bar that was almost certainly some sort of eldritch being, is disturbing beyond words. He pushes open the door with almost enough force to take it off its hinges and starts to hurriedly don his warplate. Throughout the familiar ritual, amidst the clicking​ of ceramite plates and the buzz of connection cables, right up until he twists his helm onto his gorget and snaps the seals tight. It takes a moment for the suit's heads-up display to come on, and then his vision is washed in red, icons flickering into existence. Sahaal blink-clicks the rune for armour diagnostic, and then waits, impatiently tapping his midnight-clad boot on the carpet as strings of analysis code stream across his eyepieces. A minute and a half later, as his patience is truly beginning to fray, a soft chime sounds in his ears and the jagged Nostraman runes for "New Software Installed" resolve themselves.
Sahaal lets out a small murmur of confusion at this, but dismisses the notification, and is treated to the same view of his HUD as he has been for the past four centuries of life. However, he notices a small icon, a green round representation of a speaker, in the upper right-hand corner of his vision. Definitely new. He selects it, and a list of what appear to be music compositions with names like "Don't Fear The Reaper", "I Love Rock 'n' Roll", "Live to Rise" and "Guerilla Radio".
He selects one, and hears an electric guitar begin, distorted by unknown means and backed up by drums. It's not like the music of his universe, the Imperial marches of orchestras and bugles, the discordiant screams of the Noise Marines, the strange ethereal melodies of the eldar. After a few seconds, words kick in: "Hear the Rime of the Ancient Mariner,
See his eye as he stops one of three.
Mesmerizes one of the wedding guests,
Stay here and listen to the nightmares of the sea..."
He spends several hours like that, sitting in his warplate and listening to the music, adding tracks to playlists and discarding others, before he finds the mobile phone and headphones in the bedside table. There's another note next to them, on the same paper and written in the same delicate female cursive hand. This one reads: "For when you aren't wearing your armour".
He rushes back to his room, worried about what the Bar had done. The idea that his armour, his most important implement of war and easily his most precious possession had been altered in any way by not just someone not him, but a sentient bar that was almost certainly some sort of eldritch being, is disturbing beyond words. He pushes open the door with almost enough force to take it off its hinges and starts to hurriedly don his warplate. Throughout the familiar ritual, amidst the clicking​ of ceramite plates and the buzz of connection cables, right up until he twists his helm onto his gorget and snaps the seals tight. It takes a moment for the suit's heads-up display to come on, and then his vision is washed in red, icons flickering into existence. Sahaal blink-clicks the rune for armour diagnostic, and then waits, impatiently tapping his midnight-clad boot on the carpet as strings of analysis code stream across his eyepieces. A minute and a half later, as his patience is truly beginning to fray, a soft chime sounds in his ears and the jagged Nostraman runes for "New Software Installed" resolve themselves.
Sahaal lets out a small murmur of confusion at this, but dismisses the notification, and is treated to the same view of his HUD as he has been for the past four centuries of life. However, he notices a small icon, a green round representation of a speaker, in the upper right-hand corner of his vision. Definitely new. He selects it, and a list of what appear to be music compositions with names like "Don't Fear The Reaper", "I Love Rock 'n' Roll", "Live to Rise" and "Guerilla Radio".
He selects one, and hears an electric guitar begin, distorted by unknown means and backed up by drums. It's not like the music of his universe, the Imperial marches of orchestras and bugles, the discordiant screams of the Noise Marines, the strange ethereal melodies of the eldar. After a few seconds, words kick in: "Hear the Rime of the Ancient Mariner,
See his eye as he stops one of three.
Mesmerizes one of the wedding guests,
Stay here and listen to the nightmares of the sea..."
He spends several hours like that, sitting in his warplate and listening to the music, adding tracks to playlists and discarding others, before he finds the mobile phone and headphones in the bedside table. There's another note next to them, on the same paper and written in the same delicate female cursive hand. This one reads: "For when you aren't wearing your armour".
