"The first step to crushing your enemies is simple: Find them."
- The Warlord Serrato, the Twelfth So Honored

CRIMSON DEEP SECTOR
HELIA-36, FURNACE WORLD EXTRACTION ORBITAL (POPULATION: ~23,000)
BANNERSWORN GARRISON, SPIRE 8

The sound of metal grinding against stone echoes through the empty barracks and covers the already habitually-silent tread of the visitor. With data-pad in hand he approaches the sole occupant of the barracks, a veritable slab of muscle that out-massed his guest even in fatigues. A metric pushed further along by his arms being heavy-duty augments. But not for Serrato bannersworn were the crude substitutes of a smelter worker, little different from a pipe with spindly digits on the end to drag out a person's utility. Instead they were earnest works of art, the plated exterior embellished in runes and symbols that marked him out as belonging to the Yhen family. And the fully articulated fingers continued working the black axe in their grasp against a mechanized grindstone as Tybalt-Yhen of Household Serrato addressed his second.

Tybalt: I hope you have a good reason to be disturbing me.

Paxel: Like you're doing anything, trying to sharpen black iron. Anyway, aren't you the one that wanted word on any leads on those pirates of yours?

That got him to stop his habitual sharpening, setting aside the ancient weapon he still wasn't sure he deserved yet while his other hand reached out to take the offered data-pad to skim through it's contents

Tybalt: Hmph. So you do have a good reason for disturbing me-

Paxel: As if I enjoy being subjected to melodrama.

Tybalt: -these sound exactly like the ones we are looking for. Making a suicide run on the nearest settlement when faced with defeat, AND possessing strange technology? A perfect match for the thousand or so pirates who just tried seizing the single biggest mining outpost in the Outlands.

Paxel: And if this "Barille" guy's lying?

Tybalt: Then I beat the tar out of him.

Cracking his neck, Tybalt inelegantly jabbed and prodded the screen of the data-pad to access the station's navigational charts to look up the names of the places mentioned in the broadcast transcript, already dreading the answer he would receive based on his unfamiliarity with the terms.

(Does the navigational data still exist? 7 vs 75: Yes) Fortunately, as all the mineral wealth the thousands-strong labor force of Helia-36 extracted (Including it's harvests of precious, precious black iron) would be useless if they needed to re-learn their shipping routes every time, the physical medium where the data is held is enclosed within the Warlord's Palace upon the station, meant to be their residence whenever they visit for inspections that can span months owing to the sheer scale of the operation. And as is to be expected for the estate of a ruling lord of a Founder Clan, it's defenses were beyond the abilities of the pirates to breach, even if the latest one was a raid of rare magnitude.

Tybalt: Alright... Devil's Chain sector, found by settler fleet under Agryle Stubbs...damn their eyes, it's in the Expanse?

Paxel: That's...good?

Tybalt: As good as dysentery, you lizard-eyed fool! There's passages charted all the way there, but that would still take us two weeks to get there. This lead will be a month old by the time we even arrive!

Paxel: ...Does that mean we can stay put?

Tybalt: No. A bad lead is still a lead. But if the reach of this "Ascendancy" stretches out from the Expanse...we might have to share the Conclave's recognition.

The graveworlder folded his arms as he maintained eye contact, even when blinking, thanks to the transparent, vertical eyelids he possessed: The vagaries of generational radiation exposure and natural selection giving the man this reptilian mutation.

Paxel: Do I need to sit down for the history lesson? Because you speak like I should know what that means.

Tybalt gestured at the wide, circular base of a nearby support pillar, and Paxel obliged by sitting down on it.

Tybalt: The High Constellation Conclave, or just 'The Conclave' for informal reference, is the ruling body of the Circle of the Elder Stars, the greatest of the Founder Clans of which you and your folk are now a part of-

Paxel: I'm guessing 'we' gave ourselves that nomination.

Tybalt: Obviously, but hush now. Membership in the conclave is restricted, granted only as a consequence of being a noble house of true relevance. It is not enough to be unchallenged in your own sliver of the Forge, you must be able to go anywhere in the Circle's domains and be regarded as someone who CANNOT be ignored. Our own master, the Warlord Serrato and the Forty-Eighth So Honored, holds a seat by virtue of a good third of noble houses depending upon kin-bands of Serrato warriors as bodyguards and shock-troops, and our majority ownership of the black iron that is harvested from the furnace world this station orbits

Paxel: And so you're trying to impress him by getting these guys?

Tybalt: To avenge their insult to us all. Household Serrato is the very tip of the spear that the Circle would wield against the other Founder Clans. If mere PIRATES can attack our most valuable fiefdom with impunity, we are nothing to fear. So bringing the Warlord the heads of their leaders would be a feat worthy of a hero worthy to helm the Kaal-Kaaz, once long-lost, with my finding it on your dead world the providence of fate.

Paxel: You didn't "find" that Purgatory, you crashlanded in a shuttle. I still don't believe the part where you say you stole it after fighting through a pirate ship with a crew over a hundred strong, once they reeled in your old corvette.

Tybalt: I don't care, it's the truth.

Paxel: ...Anyway, I guess you want me to get the folks ready to go?

Tybalt: Yes, prepare the Kaal-Kaaz for my arrival. I will don my warplate in the meantime. And pass a message to Reaver-Captain Epathus, tell him I wish to speak with him.

Paxel: Do I have to? The guy looked like he was sizing up how to kill me and my folks.

Tybalt: Do not fret, he does this with everyone.

Paxel: That. Doesn't. Help.

Tybalt: Just do as I say, no extra effort is required. He will not kill you just for existing.

As Paxel departed and Tybalt did as he said he would, he reflected upon what he just asked of his lieutenant. His relationship with Epathus was... complicated, going as far back as when both their fathers still lived. Tybalt's father had been the previous Reaver-Chief of the Clarion Call, one of Household Serrato's newer dreadnoughts, with Epathus' father being his second-in-command. Both had perished in a skirmish with another Founder Clan, over a Garden World in Terminus, when the ship they were boarding detonated their e-drive.

"The Clarion Call was supposed to be mine." is a thought that still clings to Tybalt's mind. The surviving crew had held a vote from among the living and the heirs of the slain for command, as was tradition...but Tybalt did not even come close to contesting Epathus.

If the latter was just that much better a warrior than him, that much better a leader, Tybalt could have accepted that. But he has won against him in the dueling rings as often as he has lost to him, and he heard as recently as a day ago of how the crew has needed to rein his excesses in, rather than the other way around.

Even the act of discovering the resting place of a ship that had seen the Exodus, and taking it for his own, had not made Tybalt any more willing to learn why he was the one his father's comrades had no faith in.

But time would not freeze for Tybalt to wallow in doubt, as the armor that enclosed him ceased to weigh upon him once the back-mounted power generator was activated. So when he exited the barracks into the teeming corridors of Helia-36, Tybalt strode as a towering golem of whirring servos and armor plating of archaic-motif. The very picture of a Serrato Bannersworn, the red-handed enforcers of the Conclave.

CRIMSON DEEP SECTOR
THE CLARION CALL, HOUSEHOLD SERRATO DREADNOUGHT
COMMAND BRIDGE

As the one seeking this meeting between captains, Tybalt was the one who went aboard Epathus' ship. Like many other vessels the Clarion Call had been recalled from it's previous assignments to serve as physical assurances to the other noble houses, that the recent attack that brought production to a grinding halt was an aberration, that would not be permitted again.

The bridge followed typical Serrato design-principles, in that in many ways it resembled some pre-Spacer throne-room, with melee weapons and boarding shields lining the walls beside Barabas and Serrato banners. Tybalt did not and would not look at the old hands that manned their stations, for this was still a spaceship despite appearances.

Epathus-Barabas lounged on his command throne before him in full warplate, helmet and all to obscure his expression, staring down at him like some Iron Age king through an unblinking visor. Tybalt had intended to gain his measure, to guess at his current mood so as to better sway him with words, but the realization of what he was doing made his blood run cold.

"We had been brothers once, Epathus." Tybalt thought bitterly. "When did we draw battle-lines between us?"

Tybalt's attention would return to the man himself once he began speaking.

Epathus: So, what did you send your mutant to pester me for?

Tybalt: I have come to negotiate.

Epathus: So you've come to beg. Again.

Tybalt: I am sure the elders can attest that they witnessed me thrash yo-

Tybalt bit back his insult before it could emerge in full. He couldn't just pick a fight with Epathus here, not when the trail he followed was so old.

Tybalt: I have the trail of the pirates. There has been a sighting of them in the Expanse, crashed their ship into a planetary settlement rather than surrender.

Epathus: And the soft children of Terminus call US mad. But what does this matter to me?

Tybalt: Oh, my apologies, I was under the impression you were a warrior.

Smashing his fist into the armrest, Epathus rises to his feet in a furious clatter of armor, but Tybalt knew he was curious. Neither of them were as dumb as they presented themselves as, in their barbaric personas, but they both relished being in the thick of a fight.

Epathus: You test my hospitality, and ask me to ignore the Warlord's command? Should I take your head for both those sins?

Tybalt: We would both still be defending Helia-36, the only ones who won't see that are spoilt fools that think defense is all about standing idle

Epathus: ...You yet owe me a duel, do you not? Any weapon at hand, until submission, here and NOW. The loser serves the winner, either as warrior or as a corpse to be salvaged.

Technically, there was a standing ban on duels to the death among those Bannersworn commanded to guard the mining station, but both knew that the enmity ran deep enough for 'accidents' to happen. And without fanfare they began approaching each other as they drew their weapons, for it was the bridge where the challenge was issued, and so it was the bridge where it would be fought

Epathus favored a warhammer that took both hands to wield, even with Serrato augmetics, and so Tybalt had the speed advantage with his friction-axe. Thus the latter closed the distance with a booming war-cry, momentarily putting the former on the backfoot as the weapons clashed.

Tybalt's axe screeched against the armor of his opponent once, twice then thrice, but then his attention lapses when one of Epathus' men activate a recording of the booming drums of ritual combat. That lapse is all Epathus needs to thrust his warhammer into Tybalt's chestplate to force him back.

Staggering back to create more space for a second charge, Tybalt is surprised to feel a tug against his shoulder, as Epathus reveals a wrist-mounted mag-hook to yank Tybalt back towards him for a hammerstroke. Stuck balancing on one foot, and not at all eager to test his armor against Epathus' warhammer again, Tybalt is left idling in place while his opponent could advance at his leisure

So when Epathus strikes, Tybalt has no choice but to retaliate if he hoped to make it through this. Unable to leverage the full strength of his arms without tumbling down, his axe lashes out at Epathus' descending hammer, and in the clash the impeding hook is detached, and Tybalt leans in such that he is the one at his preferred range.

With his free hand Tybalt seizes the haft of Epathus' warhammer, and before it can be wrestled away from the former it is cut in half by a black iron axe, the severed metal and wires glowing and sparking from where the cleaving cut occurred. That done, Epathus manages to shove Tybalt away a second time with a heavy kick, and the two stagger away from each other to reassess from a distance

And for the first time since the duel started, Epathus speaks to Tybalt as he drew the long knife at his side, intent on continuing the duel.

Epathus: So where was this lead of yours?

Tybalt: Devil's Chain, out in the Expanse. Some

Epathus: Do you even think it's worth the trip?

Tybalt: It's better than waiting for them to make the first move

They measure the other's words in silence for a few moments more, before both charge for a final time. Metal shrieks as Tybalt's axe hits center mass, and the surgeon waiting on the periphery almost rushes over. But both men remain standing, and the outcome becomes clear to the spectator, and in a way it is something both contenders dreaded above even an accidental death. While Shattersky had punched through Epathus' armor, it was only just grazing his chest hairs. At the same time, Epathus' knife was poised at Tybalt's throat, having slipped in through a gap between his helmet and gorget. If the fight continued both men would be dead, and so the verdict was clear: The two had to earnestly cooperate as equals, with their honor on the line, for the length of their shared task.

Something easier said than done, when the two had spent the last few years bickering and resenting one another.

Epathus: ...

Tybalt: ...

Epathus: Is your ship ready?

Tybalt: I oversaw the loading of the final provisions before coming here

Epathus: Mmm. We leave at the end of the day-cycle. Allow the Stationmaster time to re-draw patrol routes.

Slowly, awkwardly, the two men come apart. Epathus goes to pick up his divided hammer, and Tybalt takes his leave.

Only now does it occur to him that someone has been trying to contact him.

Tybalt: Paxel?

Paxel: What the f- what was that?!

Tybalt: Determining the leader of the expedition.

Paxel: It looked like you two were trying to kill each other.

Tybalt: Oh, was the duel being broadcast?

Paxel: You going to answer the question?

Tybalt: I don't know where this is coming from, we did that when we first met.

Paxel: Back then I thought you were a Colossus-lover, and I wanted that can of beans. An-and now I'm wondering if staying behind to be trampled when that THING woke up would have been smarter.

Tybalt: Is everyone at their stations?

Paxel: ...Yes.

Tybalt cuts the connection, removes his helmet, and rubs the bridge of his nose. Frankly, sometimes he wondered if Paxel was really all there, getting hung up on the simplest things as he did. The graveworlder had saved his life, however, and that meant more than some mild frustrations.

Hours later, he was settling into his own command-throne (a humbler one than the one on the Clarion Call, owing to the difference in tonnage) in newly-patched armor, and was drifting out of the furnace world's orbit, and towards the Expanse. Though much of the way was well-charted, the distance was vast enough that it would take as long as an expedition into uncharted space. The whole time he would need to keep his crew fed & watered, their guns ready to fire, and...work with Epathus.

He was really hoping there was enough glory at the end of this road, to make this worthwhile. The last bit wasn't proving as much an issue (yet), as the two coordinated positioning and other minutiae of space travel.

Determine if the Ascendancy attacked Helia-36, and destroy them if they did
Reach the Devil's Chain Sector