To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[A.T.]

The battle was won, and now the defenders knew they had few choices remaining. Odysseus scanned across the bridge for the internal vox system lest one of the survivors sought to contact the engineerium in some last act of defiance.

 

Odysseus will look around the bridge for their internal comms. If they are apparent he will put a few rounds from his boltgun into the system, otherwise he'll go onto overwatch and shoot the first man (other than the captain) who makes a run for any of the ships controls

[Trokair]

Moving down the stairs towards the captain Brynjarr called out to him.

 

“Then by your own words your name is not John Abstemious Tragg, surrender and you and your crew will live, refuse and we will continue carrying out the death sentence you signed when you opened fire on our ship.”

 

“Talek Varn is lord and master in this region, as well you know, and the pirate who duped you will pay for their action, do not join them in death over pride. Tell us what we asked, and you and yours will be safe.”

 

 

Brynjarr spends his action moving down the stairs towards the captain, Vesalius intimidation had failed, but maybe reason will fair better. 

 

Charm Test:

Fel 43 – 30 (Very Hard) + 5 (Follow the Leader) = 18

D100: 18, pass, 0 DoS (I did not think this would work and it probably still won’t, but worth a try)

[Lysimachus]

Interesting move! Let me roll his reaction again...

 

Captain's Wp: 55, Roll: 82, Fail, 2DoF!

 

 

I think that means it worked! Give me a few mins everyone, and I'll end the fight and take us into the next bit of narrative!

[Lysimachus]

++STRUCTURED TIME ENDS++

 

++NARRATIVE TIME BEGINS++

 

Captain Tragg pauses as Brynjarr walks down the stairs, nervously watching the boltgun barrel aimed directly at him. Blood drips heavily from his shoulder down his sleeve and his face is pale with pain. After a moment, he holds up his uninjured hand to prevent his few remaining troops from firing. Perhaps he did not hear correctly when Vesalius named your commander, but he does now. He runs a trembling hand through his beard and spits weakly on the deck.

 

"By the Emperor, Talek Varn? The Iron Gods? I've heard tales of your plundering fifty light years away!" He frowns. "...So you aren't working for Von Caeryd?"

 

***

 

The battle is over. You have all suffered wounds of one sort or another, but that matters not, for you are victorious! Now it is simply a case of extracting the information you need from the survivors. At their master's orders, the remaining officers have allowed themselves to be disarmed and herded into a corner of the bridge. Captain Tragg himself is severely wounded. The big man sits on the deck, pale-faced and leaning against a buttress, his bolt pistol forgotten a few metres away. Blood pools under his ruined arm.

 

***

 

Brynjarr's unlikely appeal has somehow proved successful! But the Captain has been seriously injured and is bleeding out, likely with only a few minutes left. What do you want to say to him? What questions do you wish to ask him?

[Necronaut]

+A wise decision captain. Let us tend to that arm before you bleed out,+ Vesalius's bedside manner returning like a mask being donned. Despite his desire to finish off the tech-adept, he holstered his bolt pistol and strode across the bridge to kneel next to the seated captain.

 

Severe trauma to arm, heavy bleeding, bones likely shattered...

 

Without asking the Captain's permission, Vesalius injected a mild pain-suppressant into his injured arm and set about applying healing unguents from his narthecium to help staunch the bleeding. His diagnostor helm indicated his original diagnosis had been correct, and he unceremoniously set the captain's arm before applying a bandage. He stood once again, looming over the pale and gasping form of the mortal.

 

+Now then, Captain: you data logs and everything you know about this von Caeryd. Now.+

 

Medicae (First Aid) test

52 (int, medicae +0) + 20 (narthecium) + 10 (diagnostor helm) + 5 (lead by example) = 87

Medicae: 1d100 20

Success! (6 DoS)

 

Enhanced Healing roll (1d5):

First aid: 1d5 5

 

1 (heavily damaged) + 5 = 6 wounds healed

 

Interrogation test:

47 (WP, interrogation +0) + 5 (lead by example) = 52

Interrogate: 1d100 36

Success! (1 DoS)

Edited June 12, 2021 by Necronaut

[Beren]

Svelk's axe had swung up and to the right, carving first through a rating's arm as they attempted to aim their gun, then their neck. An instant later his left arm pistoned forwards as his mass rammed into the greatest concentration of ratings. He wasn't quite sure is his gauntlet was ramming through chest or face, but either way the effect was the same. Blood splattered over his armour. Limp bodies were sent tumbling away, one to land sprawling across the center of the hololith table.

 

For a moment he felt the urge to leap atop the table, then restrained himself. The sensible thing to do when someone made themselves a target was to shoot at them, and while most mortals seemingly had an aversion to the sensible thing to do, the machine-melded often tended to be less easily distracted. Seconds after the last body stopped moving, with the survivors scrambling away, he could hear his fellows bellowing commands at the captain, see the room balance on a knife edge.

 

Then the weapons were lowered.

 

Svelk blinked, running over the conversation that he had just witnessed in his head.

 

"You thought this bastard had space marines? And you'd still rather fight them than pay him again?"

 

Svelk activates the squad's internal vox-channel.

 

+I won't say that I've much experience with... extortion, but provoking your targets to such a degree seems a poor way to go about it.+

[Lysimachus]

Captain Tragg gasps and hisses at Vesalius' unkind ministrations. His long term prognosis has been greatly improved, but he will nevertheless be permanently maimed without major surgery in the very near future. However, the Astartes-grade 'mild' stimulants and pain suppressors pumped into his mortal system quickly have the desired short term effect. He looks up, tired but alert, and answers Svelk.

 

"I didn't know what you were when your ship attacked, and didn't believe the reports from the crew until I saw you with my own eyes. Not seen many Astartes, not sure I even believe it now…" He sighs. "I'll grant you, I wish I'd understood your intentions before we tried to flee. I'd have told you everything I knew and sent you on your way with a smile, thinking of the hell I was bringing down on that filth Von Caeryd!"

 

He smiles for a moment, then looks bleakly around at the wreck of his bridge. The pharmaceuticals are making him very talkative.

 

"Instead, half my crew are gone, and my ship is dead in the void. My family has plied this route since my great-great-grandfather's day! Aaah!!" He curses quietly, then sighs again. "Well, it's all done with now. I suppose I'll have to content myself that at least I'm doing something to take that puffed-up inbreed down with us! Ship's datalogs, was it?"

 

Tragg nods almost imperceptibly at one of the cogitator banks, this one mercifully undamaged by the fierce fighting. Holger - who has entered the bridge only now after the roar of battle has quietened - rushes over to connect his electro-graft. After a moment the technician looks up and nods an affirmative. The information will soon be his. The Captain watches for a moment, his eyes losing focus. Then he blinks and shakes his head as though to clear it and continues:

 

"His name is Arian Von Caeryd. Calls himself 'Prince of the Solios Nebula'. Rumour says he is, or was, part of some big Rogue Trader dynasty. I've never heard of them, but it's a big galaxy. In any case, seems he turned up out here maybe eighteen months ago. Saw an opportunity to make some money out of the Salient Passage. He brought in a ship, some hulk that had seen better days and beached it into one of the big asteroids. Built up from there and made himself a decent sized station. Docks, repair bays, entertainment... for such heretics as would call it that. Von Caeryd named it 'Elysium'."

 

Tragg shakes his head again, distaste plainly evident on his bloodless features.

 

"He brought in a fleet, too. No cruisers, besides the wreck itself. Maybe an escort or two. The rest weren't even warp-capable, just system boats and monitors, but plenty of them. Enough to patrol the realspace section of the Passage and 'invite' any ships that pass through to come and make use of his facilities. All at a very hefty price, of course…" Tragg pauses, his voice growing perceptibly weaker as his ravaged body sinks towards unconsciousness. "On top of that, Caeryd makes a point of demanding... any items he finds of interest… from any traveller he meets. Tribute, he calls it! He's become... quite the collector of antiquities. He isn't picky about… who he lets aboard either; mutants, traitors, even Xenos! If what... we saw... when we were... there... is any indication, he's starting to build up... some serious strength of arms…" Suddenly his voice firms and he straightens, as if his next thought has come directly from some final reserve of vigour. "God-Emperor, what I wouldn't give to see a full Naval Patrol Group sweep through and purge every last one of the scum!" He smiles grimly and leans back with his eyes shut. "...I suppose maybe… you'll… have... to do?"

 

***

[Trokair]

Standing guard while Vesalius tends to Tragg and the story unravels Brynjar is deep in thought, trying to recall details of localish Rouge Trader House and their myriad scions.

 

 

“Holger, do you think Captain Achard can spare some crew to help Captain Tragg limp into the next port?”

Edited June 12, 2021 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

Holger looks up, surprised to be asked about his Captain's opinion. He shrugs.

 

"Not my place, but Cap' don't usually have much time for those as gets themselves shot down by resisting. Sure you could put it to him, though?"

 

He looks down at the cogitator bank again and after a moment gives a satisfied nod.

 

"Exload complete, Lordships."

[Black Cohort]

Decimus stops to collect any heavy bolter rounds he can.

 

"I guess our business here is done then."

[Beren]

Svelk is slowly stepping around the bridge, ignoring the groans of the not-quite-dead victims of his earlier assault.

 

He rakes his weapon through the detritus, searching for anything of use. Where in the earlier melee his attacks were wild and destructive, here he is contained and careful, inspecting every individual item.

 

 

Search Roll:

Perception 38

Target: 24 (Perception/2 (untrained skill), + 5 (Lead by Example)

D100: 71

 

Re-roll (Shepherd of Assets demeanour)

d100: 03 (3 DoS)

 

 

 

 

"The xenos, describe them, name them if you can."

Edited June 12, 2021 by Beren

[Lysimachus]

@Svelk: As you search, you notice a hole punched clear through the armoured panelling of one of the cogitator banks and out the other side. Reliving the battle in your mind, you realise that it must have been formed by one of Captain Tragg's wild shots. But to penetrate so far into the heavy machinery, he cannot have been using standard bolt rounds in his pistol?

 

As you return to the Captain's side, he responds to your question.

 

"I saw a handful of aeldari... Von Caeryd apparently likes to dine with them when they pass through? A few of my crew even talked about 'lizards'... but I suspect they'd been drinking more than I'd allow on my ship."

[Commissar Molotov]

With a hiss of air forced through clenched teeth, the Traveller sheathes the sinuous blade of his alien sword before mag-locking his bolter to his warplate. He had been ready to eradicate all who stood against them, but it was not to be.

 

His beaked helm turns to appraise each of his squad-mates, as if seeing them truly for the first time. Already, the Iron Gods are giving in to their innate natures. He does not begrudge them for scavenging; more than once, he has been forced to resort to the same. But not for the first time, he finds himself nostalgic for the sense of belonging he felt when he belonged to a Chapter.

 

Brynjarr, gifted with a surprisingly silver tongue. Vesalius, all-too-adept at playing the role of the genial caregiver. Svelk, standing atop a ruin of his own making. Odysseus, wreathed in psychic power. Decimus, a quiet threat waiting to be unveiled.

 

Judge a warrior by the company he keeps... What did these mis-matched warriors say about him?

 

The Traveller watches the Apothecary tending to the bloody ruin of the Captain's arm. His warplate lends him an impassive, statuesque cast, but there is a glimmer of satisfaction at the damage his shout had wrought; a satisfactorily neutralised threat. But almost immediately, predictably, another enemies was already rearing its head, like a stormcloud on the horizon.

 

Arian Von Caeryd.

 

The Traveller makes a Common Lore: Imperial Underworld test to discern what he knows about the Von Caeryd Dynasty:

INT46(+20): 40 (PASS)

Edited June 12, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Lysimachus]

@The Traveller: In your years of searching and hunting, you have crossed paths with more than a few Rogue Traders. The name Von Caeryd is not unfamiliar to you, but it is a great surprise to hear it in this locale. The Von Caeryd dynasty is infamous far, far in the north, in several Sectors along the boundary between the Segmenta Obscurus and Ultima. There they are wealthy and influential. Although you never met him in person, you remember the name Mordalphus Von Caeryd, the current Patriarch and by reputation an eminently talented negotiator and ice cold opportunist. If this Arian is in any way connected to such a bloodline, he is likely a man that only a fool would trust. Thankfully, it appears he is also far from the seat of his family's power.

[Commissar Molotov]

"This Prince is far from his kin," the Traveller says over the vox to the Iron Gods around him. "He is seeking to establish himself. Left too long, he might even pose a threat to Varn."

[Beren]

Svelk knelt down, running his finger along the edge of the hole blasted into the cogitator as he considered the captain's words.

 

He remembered the scattering of xenos that had fought alongside the reavers he had once hunted, running across the capabilities and descriptions of each. No Aeldari, he only had half-remembered tales of them, whispered amongst the holds by the children of children of a friend of someone who had survived their attacks. Wraiths of the space lanes, striking without warning or detection. Leaving entire ships drifting and empty, of crew and corpses alike.

 

Suddenly he stood up and without pause strode over towards the captain, sweeping the mortal's bolt pistol off the floor and examining the weapon.

 

"Risky, using penetrating shells. You might have actually hurt one of us if you'd landed a shot."

 

With a click, he disengages the magazine and lets it drop into his free hand.

 

"I'll save one for Von Caeryd."

[Lysimachus]

The first part of your mission has been completed. You have found and put a name to your enemy. Immediately on your arrival on board the Dagger Thrust, you head for the bridge with Holger in tow, for he now carries within his internal data-storage the precise location for Von Caeryd's 'Elysium'. When you arrive, the renegade Shipmaster nods respectfully.

 

"A well-executed raid, my Lords. Consider me suitably impressed."

 

***

 

You have successfully completed the first Objectives of your mission, uncovering the exact location of the rival group operating out of the Arotil Salient and collecting important tactical information about them that will help you plan your next actions.

 

Each player receives 750XP! The next few days (in narrative) will cover travelling towards Von Caeryd's Elysium and planning your means of attack. That will give you time to spend your XP on any Advances you wish to purchase before we get into any more Structured game battles.

 

***

 

With Holger's electrograft connected and exloading into the Dagger's cogitators, Achard's technical adepts are able to collate the pict-captures and augur responses gathered by Captain Tragg's crew during their enforced layover. Using this information, they create a three dimensional hololithic display of your target.

 

The station, nearly ten kilometres in length, is built on one side of a large asteroid. Docking spars extend out hundreds of metres into the void, allowing vessels of all shapes and sizes to find berths. Smaller ships, at this point five in number and each barely a third of the size of the Dagger Thrust, dart in and out around the base, ready to intervene if a 'guest' decides to leave ahead of the Prince's schedule. There is no sign in any of the augur readings of the rumoured Escort-class vessels Captain Tragg mentioned.

 

Captain Achard examines the scans carefully. He quickly dismisses the system gunboats.

 

"Remora-class, or something similar. They are no real threat, unless you let them gang up on you... or you are crewing a battered old merchantman."

 

Then he looks at the station itself.

 

"That facility appears to be primarily constructed from a Grand Cruiser-class hull. I would guess Exorcist-pattern, based on the shape of the arches around those hangar entrances. It has been heavily rebuilt and expanded, of course. For example, that," he points at one protruding section, "looks to be part of an orbital augur station. This other area," he points again to a series of large domes, "might have been modified from part of a habitat ring? In any case, the defence systems; macrobatteries, torpedo tubes and void shield generators certainly seem comparable to what a Grand Cruiser might carry."

 

He pauses for a moment, thinking, then looks around coolly.

 

"My lords, let me be clear. We will not overcome these defences by means of a frontal assault. My Dagger cannot hope to outshoot their guns or penetrate their shields. I will not risk her by taking her within their range, and 'Lord' Varn can go hang if he thinks I will. If you wish to kill this Von Caeryd, you must find more circumspect way to reach him."

 

***

[Commissar Molotov]

The Traveller stands apart from the Iron Gods around him, the ghost-light of the hololith casting an eerie green glow over his armour. He stands with his arms folded across his breastplate and the stormcloth shrouding his form.

 

"Are your Astropaths able to contact Talek Varn and apprise him of the situation, Captain?"

 

Once he receives an answer, he begins to lay the foundation of a strategy.

 

"How long will it take the Dagger to reach Elysium? What about the Bounteous Lady?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

XP Expenditure:

As per email discussion, refunding and repurchasing the Traveller's XP:

Weapon Skill +5 (500)

Fellowship +5 (200)

Agility (+5) (500)

Command +10 (400)

Command +20 (400)

Talented (Command) (500)

2500 spent

Edited June 16, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Lysimachus]

"It is certainly possible my Lord. My Astropath can send a message immediately. Exact timetables are obviously... difficult... with such communication, but I would estimate it would take perhaps two or three days for a message to reach the Crag and a reply to be received here?" Achard clears his throat uncomfortably. "However, before we left I had heard rumours from several other Captains among the Iron Gods fleet that Varn was planning to lead a battle group on a raid to the north, into the Segmentum Solar. If that is correct, a reply may take much longer, if it comes at all. And if you were thinking to ask for more resources to complete your mission, I think that even less likely."

 

He shrugs, willing to leave the decision in your hands.

 

"As to reaching Elysium, at the Dagger's fastest sub-warp speed, perhaps a day and a half? However, if we must limp at the merchantman's pace, I would increase that to two and a half or three days, plus however many hours it takes to effect sufficient repairs to her plasma drives to get her moving again. That also assumes we can convince Captain Tragg to aid us... though admittedly at this point he has very few other options. If we do, I will certainly put a few officers and troops aboard to ensure his continued compliance."

[Commissar Molotov]

The Traveller's nod in response to Achard's responses is curt. They were alone, then. But solitude was nothing unusual for him.

 

"Very well. Inform your astropaths to send a message to the Iron Gods informing them of Elysium's location and our plan to kill Von Caeryd."

 

He looked around the chamber at the other renegades. Perhaps not so alone, after all.

 

"Guile will carry the day here, rather than strength at arms," he said to the other Iron Gods.

Edited June 16, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Beren]

Svelk is standing next to the hololithic array, inspecting it carefully.

 

+++The xenos, the Aeldari, have any of us ever fought them? The tales I've heard make them sound as much like geists as flesh and blood.+++

 

He turns to face Achard.

 

+++If we use the Bounty to get close, are there any of your crew you would trust to gather details on-station, and could a secure vox-line from them to report back be guaranteed? Even a vague idea of the target's location before we start making noise would be useful.+++

[Lysimachus]

 

 

Johan Tragg has been convinced to aid your attempt at infiltration. While the Captain has little love for either side, he has been promised that if he can get you safely aboard Elysium Station, once you are victorious all repairs needed by the Bounteous Lady will be carried out at no cost to him, and the value of all the items extorted from him by Von Caeryd with be returned. Given that his only alternative is to be left floating in the empty void - desperately hoping for another ship, preferably a friendlier one, to pass through and take pity on his plight - this is an excellent deal, despite the obvious danger involved.

 

Achard's repair crews quickly move to assist Tragg's and while their work is very much of a jury-rigged nature, it is enough to get the Vagabond-class vessel under way. The Dagger Thrust surges ahead, your intention being that it might draw away some of Von Caeryd's forces from the base and, if possible, gather more tactical information from those ships Achard is able to trick into a foolhardy pursuit. The Lady will follow, arriving perhaps a day later and looking for 'sanctuary from the terrible Iron Gods'... who are actually hidden aboard her! With a little luck, once docked the Kill-Team can wait while members of Tragg's crew visit the station. Concealed amongst these crewmen will be Holger and several other impostors, who will attempt to narrow down the location of the 'Prince' before you strike. At that point, it should be a relatively simple matter of doing what the Astartes were created to do.

 

A ciphered astropathic message has also been transmitted towards the Crag, informing Talek Varn of your strategy and its approximate timetable. Furthermore, it also carries the precise location of Elysium and all the information you have uncovered about it and its ruler, in the event that you fail in your task.

 

As the Dagger is about to leave vox-range, Captain Achard contacts you.

 

"Fortune favour you, my Lords. I will bring the ship back to just outside the range of their weapons as soon as you are docked. That ought to draw any attention away from you. Remember, should you have the opportunity, if you can disable two or three of their surface-to-void weapons platforms in one area, it will open a hole in their defensive net. In that case I may be able to move closer and deploy more troops to support you… or provide a path of retreat if things do not go according to your plan."

 

***

 

It will be a few days before you reach Elysium. How will each of you spend it? Perhaps in training? (could include some narrative relating to new Advances you have spent XP on?)

Or perhaps reviewing how the first part of your mission went? Now you have fought together, has your view of your squadmates altered in any way? How do you think your relationship as a team is developing?

Or maybe your focus is still forward, speculating about what is happening to the Dagger, or trying to prepare for whatever you might find aboard Elysium?

[Black Cohort]

Decimus seems to withdraw back into his shell now that combat isn't imminent.  When he isn't training he can spend hours in meditation, often with the bone fragment that hangs from his belt in one hand, slowly being worn down by constant rubbing.

[Beren]

The first thing Svelk does when he gets back is to take Holger aside and have the damage to his armour repaired. It's patchwork stuff, but he's used to that. He doesn't even take the vambrace and gauntlet off for the process. As he sits there, he tallies his resource expenditure for the engagement.

 

Two bolt shells expended, twelve more gained of an armour penetrating pattern. That was good. The melta-bomb... was a pain, if a necessary one. He'd prefer it if they could catch the next next target before he worried himself into such a hole.

 

Once the repairs are complete, he makes his way to an airlock. He waits for it to depressurise, waits for it to open. Then, once it's done soo, he begins to gently scrape the dried and frozen blood from his armour, where he can reach it, and lets the flakes drift into the void.

 

He returns from his habit, or ritual depending on what way you looked at it, to witness another. Passing in front of Decimus' cell, he sees the Devastator sat in his meditation. For a moment he pauses, as if to ask a query, then moves onwards.

[Commissar Molotov]

Ensconced within the Bounteous Lady, the Traveller retires to a chamber to tend to his weapons and wargear. Once satisfied that none of the crew - or the other Iron Gods - are around, he kneels, he removing the stormcloth from around his armour and laying it out, before carefully placing the alien blade and his bolter.

 

He runs his hands across the pitted surface of his armour, his fingertips tracing the undulating gouges and dents in the ceramite surface. Some were ancient, a tapestry of wounds sustained and battles fought. Others are new, damage sustained in the taking of the Bounteous Lady.

 

He feels the cratered hole in his armour's breastplate; the result of one of the gun servitors' heavy bolters. He reaches and opens a pouch of repair cement. He is far from vain, but damage as grievous as this could impair the function of his plate.

 

Depressing a plunger allows the two substances within the tube to mix and congeal into a tacky, viscous substance that left strings between his fingers. Scooping it into the crater, he smoothed its surface flat. Soon enough it would dry hard, giving him the protection of his plate as well as ensuring a proper-void seal. A properly-trained armoury serf could have done better, but those were in preciously short supply.

 

With his repairs completed to the best of his ability, he unrolled a small pouch of tools and sacred unguents. Pouring oil onto a cloth, he turned his attention to his bolter.

 

In a better time, Spitfire had been a venerated relic, carried with awe and reverence. Now, the weapon's casing was as dented and scuffed as the warrior who carried it. The Traveller had been honed and sharpened into a pragmatic soul, shedding much of what might have been called sentimentality. The bolter was a tool, and its mechanical workings were kept as unmarred and pristine as any Chapter Serf would have done.

 

As he works the oil into the weapon's casing, murmuring long-rehearsed credos, the charms he wears strung on beaded threads about his belt clash and jangle with an almost musical tone. Each had been taken from a zealot that stood against him. Silvered fleurs-de-lys and Ecclesiarchal rosettes glinted in the light.

 

He can picture the bolt round felling the frothing priest on the Bounteous Lady, his body falling to the floor to be trampled beneath his frenzied flock. He can see Captain Tragg lying on the floor, his arm maimed and gouting blood.

 

The Traveller takes an inward breath to steady himself.

Edited June 16, 2021 by Commissar Molotov