[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Spoiler

Fear Test: Wp25, Roll: 84… 
(Well, I don't think there is much option but to use a FP!)
Reroll: 23, YES!

 

The thing was monstrous, hideous. Unnatural. A Mechanicus construct of some sort? Reynard's gut told him to just run. He didn't, barely. If they had to destroy it, they'd need to work together, not alone. Plus the lift car was gone. No way to go back.

But Reynard wasn't sure about destroying it yet. Their goal was an Inquisition facility. Based on the stories he'd heard, he was sure that it would undoubtedly be guarded. Most likely by something exactly like this… thing. Hideous enough to scare away most intruders, nasty enough to kill the braver ones.

So maybe they didn't need to fight it at all?

"Gotta be worth a try…" he muttered, moving out from behind Tarrant. He smoothly holstered the sawn-off and raised his right hand, palm out to place the electoo Verdict had given them directly in the path of the crimson beams. When he spoke, his voice was calm, controlled, loud enough to be clearly heard without becoming a shout…

"In the name of the Most Holy Inquisition, you are ordered to stand down!"

…but he also made sure his steps took him towards the corridor leading to the Sanctum, and surreptitiously aimed his laspistol at the ghoulish figure. Just in case.

 

Spoiler

Actions: Move west 2m. Aim at Drone.

 

Edited September 2, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard (et al):

The Drone fixes on your electoo, and the beady lenses whir to track your movement, a scan beam plays over your hand, then dies.

It does not deactivate, indeed, head bobbing in felid-like curiosity, it looks you over again, then examines the hands of your comrades, the spider-eyed array of optics clicking and whirring as it leans. When it does, there is a clink of glass, and the robe parts to reveal a leatherwork harness carrying two large cylinders, perhaps a fully splayed hand-span in circumference, each a foot long, filled with bubbling fluid. Something dark bobs within, but the light is too dim to make out what.

Kerr Restal [ ]

 

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

Fear Test. WP 39 = 39. Result: 14, Pass 2DoS

 

Urgh! As a child of the void and the warp Kerr Restal hated the things from Nightmares.

The Weasel babbled something about the Inquisition which caused the abomination to stop momentarily and scan them. Then the Thing flashed them a view of tanks it held with body parts swirling around inside.

The abomination Corpse-Taker wasn't getting him. Kerr Restal fired at the tanks!

 

BS 35 + 10 (Semi-Auto) + 10 (Short Range) + 10 (Size: Hulking) = 65. Result: 41, Pass 2DoS. 41 = 14 Right Arm. 1d10+4 Pen 0.

Hit #1 - Right Arm: 9 + 4 = 13 Damage.

Hit #2 - Right Arm: 9 + 4 = 13 Damage.

[Mazer Rackham]

Round 1 Continues:

Drone:

Kerr Restal's Shotgun blast punches chunks from the wall shielding the right side of the Corpse-thief. Harsh muzzle flare lights up the blasphemous conglomeration of grey flesh, mangled limbs suspended in formaldeplasm, sinuous cables, and bands of artificial muscle. The shot spanks against metal plating on the machine, causing no damage, but one of the tanks is shattered in the horrific sharp sound of shattered glazing. Gloop splats out onto the steel floor, along with a pickled, perished hand.

The drone peers at the nibbled wall, and then down to the lost clutch of robbed meat. It's eyes come up, and points it's bloody claw at the Assassin - which then launches across the room, on a telescoping appendage!

Action:

Spoiler

Full Action: (Grapple)

WS: 40

D100: 86 (lol)

The claw slices past Restal's head, burying in the wall behind, before ripping out, and locking back in place on the fiend's wrist. A flex of talons shows irritation perhaps.

Scourge:

Provoked by the abomination, the ragged repentant fills his hands with shield and axe. (I'll allow this as readying before Initiative).

Spoiler

Fear test: WP 33: D100: 001! Unfazed!

"To the Abyss with thee, foul blasphemer!"

Spoiler

Full Action: Charge Corpse-thief

WS: 36 + 10 (Charge) = 46

D100: 22 Pass, Plus 3 DoS

Dam: 1D10 +1 (Dam) + 3 (SB) = 10, Pen 2

Drone Dodges: FAIL

Dam (Left Arm): 4 Damage

Sparks and oil erupt at the clash of metal on metal, as the murderer engages the sinner.

++ Round 1 Ends ++

++ Round 2 Begins ++

Reynard [ ]

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard blinked. Literally stopped and blinked. Madness! He couldn't argue with the voider opening fire - the servitor thing hadn't stood down, so best to get the first shot in. But the knight? Charging in like that? Utter madness!

He swore. The move had completely blocked his line of fire too. If he wanted to hit the enemy, he'd have to get a lot closer. Far closer than he wanted to be, that much was sure! But… the 'acolytes' had to stick together. If the thing could split them up, take them on one at a time, it might prevail.

With no other option, he strode forward at a calm, calculated walk, flapping his coat back in order to draw his shotgun again. Still muttering curses under his breath, he stepped into range, laid his arm over Scourge's shoulder, aimed the weapon directly into the construct's 'face', and pulled the trigger.

 

Spoiler

Half: Move North 4m (I think should be enough to see the Drone and be just within 3m Point Blank Range)
Half Action: Standard Shot with Shotgun
BS41 +30(Point Blank) +10(Hulking) -20(Engaged in Melee) = 61, Roll: 38, Hit with 2DoS, Scatter = 2 Hits.
Dam 1d10+4
Hit 1: 5+4=9
Hit 2: 7+4=11

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Drone: Reaction

Dodge: FAIL.

The tangle of steel and flesh attempts to avoid the close-range blast to no avail, the presence of Scourge preventing it's sinuous evasion. However, the tumult knocks your aim and instead of blowing off it's face, your weapon is wrenched downwards, and goes for the kneecaps. Not a bad trade for a hive-scum, perhaps.

Location was 38 - 83, Right Leg, Left Leg (2 Hits)

Damage: 1, 3. (Running Total: 8)

Kerr Restal [ ]

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

The Corpse-Thief had extendable metallic arms! One of them had just missed him.

Then Scourge had charged into melee with the abomination and the Weasel had moved forwards getting in his aim!

Steeling himself, Kerr Restal moved to stand just behind the Scourge so that he could gain a better shot opportunity.

 

Move two squares diagonally NW and then three squares N = 6m. Full Move

Edited September 4, 2022 by Machine God
typo

[Beren]

Stitches keeps his head bowed as he approaches the noble.

"Sire, what may I do for you?"

[Mazer Rackham]

Stitches:

Ser Fabian's considers you. His voice is firm, steady. "Ah, my thanks Surgeon, just to clarify, I am not your patient."

He gestures to one of the men, who goes to the rail carriage, and you can see a dainty, gloved hand put out for help to stand. A young woman steps out, wearing an Imperial line dress, that both hides and accentuates her femininity. High cheekbones, and almost porcelain skin of a hive-dweller are topped by piled, curls drawn back into a comb. She seems shy, wide-eyed at the scale and space of even this small portion of the hive.

"May I present Lady Emilia, last daughter of Hive Tertius. She fainted when the power failed."

He gives a non-verbal command, and you are hurried to armoured aircar, the benches rudimentary, but military tough. They bustle you and Lady Emilia inside, towards the back in private compartment. The Chief of the Guard stares squarely in your eye.

"Proceed with your examination." He drops a large leather holdall by your feet.

The Aircar lifts off with a blast, and he shuts the door on you both. Her Ladyship disrobes to modesty saving petticoats. She isn't as skittish as before, indeed she sits quite unperturbed, the disposition of a lady awaiting a professional.

Falk/Nicios:

Stitches is too far away, and you are practical men, having made practical decisions. Perhaps having a man in one of the Houses will prove beneficial down the line. Time will tell. You clamber into the road car, giving the driver of the conveyance vague directions to drop you in a square, from which you will be able to reach the Sanctum with a few alleys and pedestrian cover. The drive is long, the inner loop line being closed due to an accident. Traffic is moderate, with several vehicles changing lanes to try and save time on their journey.

This will mean you will arrive near the Sanctum at roughly the same time.

You may take a Challenging (+0) Perception Test as you are driven to the Square.

[Mazer Rackham]

++ ROUND 2 CONTINUES ++

COMBAT MAP:

Spoiler

Drone Actions:

Spoiler

Full Action: Multiple Attacks at Scourge

WS: 40 -10 = 58 Miss

WS: 40 - 10 = 28 Hit

Scourge Reaction: Parry

WS: 36 + 25 (Defensive) = 61

D100: 39 Pass.

Scourge:

"I deliver thee to my master for thy barbarity! Imperator ex Magnificat!"

Spoiler

Half Action: Half Aim

Half Action: Standard Attack Axe

WS: 36 +10 = 88 Fail(!)

++ ROUND TWO ENDS ++

++ ROUND THREE BEGINS ++

Reynard: [ ]

Edited September 3, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Spoiler

Half Action: Aim
Half Action: Standard Shot with Shotgun
BS41 +10(Aim) +30(Point Blank) +10(Hulking) -20(Engaged in Melee) = 71, Roll: 40, Hit with 3DoS, Scatter = 2 Hits on (40=04) Head and Head.
Dam 1d10+4
Hit 1: 10(!)+4 = 14
RF BS Test 71, Roll: 59, Success!
14 +3(d10) = 17 Dam
Hit 2: 2+4 = 6
Shotgun is now empty.

 

Reynard's eyes narrowed, coldly watching as the knight battled the monster like some fool hero out of underhive fable, waiting for an opportunity to fire again.

There. One of Scourge's strikes went wide, the weight of his axe swinging him fractionally away from the machine. The creature reared up over him, claws raised. Immediately Reynard pulled back again on the trigger, loosing the second barrel at the same intended target. The head. This time surely he could not miss?

Another cloud of smoke momentarily obscured the enemy and Reynard could not see whether the blast had struck home or not. Either way, the sawn-off was now spent, no more use than a crude club. No time for reloading now, so he holstered it and tightened his grip on his laspistol.

 

Edited September 3, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

+++ Round Three Ends ++

++ STRUCTURED TIME ENDS ++

++ NARRATIVE TIME BEGINS ++

Reynard/Scourge/Kerr Restal:

A thunderous belch of lead and fire crashes into the construct, mangling its face, shattering every crystal lens peering from under the grubby hood. Whatever brain and cybernetic augments were contained within said cerebellum are instantly vacated, spattered up against the wall in red-grey slime, thick with gobbets of oil.

The construct falls to the ground, a marionette with strings cut, smashing the other jars trussed to it. Ooze spills out containing lumps of flesh, a severed face, another hand.

The whole floor is sticky underfoot, and reeks of mortician-demesne.

The thing twitches, but it is likely an after-thought, a spasm of nerves and relays.

Edited September 3, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk:

Their search had barely begun and already their numbers had been cut in half, Falk could only hope the others had better luck.

His companion had been a difficult man to measure and Imperial wisdom was to not ask of the witch, but his powers at the station had been both potent and unsubtle. Despite misgivings he struck up a conversation, "I doubt the station will be the last time your abilities are called upon in the coming days. I would know of their limits... and their costs."

Perception 22 vs 47, pass and 2 extra DoS

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

Your eagle eyes shift across all the vehicles as your hired car hits the overzoom, there are cars undertaking normal manoeuvres, pushing for position. There are none which stick out to you, no aerials, no tactical driving or vehicle masking.

Neither do any air cars linger overhead at a distance, comfortable or otherwise. Everyone appears to be going about normal business.

You appear to be clear of any tail.

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

Nicios looked at the Arbitrator steadily. He knew it was difficult for most baseline humans to talk to those with psychic powers, much less actively seek to gain knowledge about said powers. It makes him uncomfortable, but he will do it because it helps him achieve his goal. Admirable. 

"I am a...specialized psyker. My gifts are designed to detect, disrupt, and pain other psykers, though they also work against those without powers. I am, for lack of a better term, a witch-hunter witch." He glances at his left hand, the missing finger and triple-banded ring prominent. "I can force flesh to heal minor wounds as well, though anything serious is beyond my purview."

"While I have training that makes my resistance to the powers in the Warp higher than most, it is always a possibility that I might be taken and turned by some Warp-spawned horror." Nicios held Falk's gaze, "I will need you to maintain a watch on me to prevent that from happening. If I am taken, you must kill me- the Throne and your own safety demand it."

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

The Weasel's shot of scattering pellets had been enough to kill the abomination.

+My congratulations on your kill 'Von Graen' an excellent shot sir!+ said Tarrant. +If you will excuse me.+

Kerr Restal set about salvaging anything of interest from the remains of the Corpse-Thief.

I wonder if his fingers survived, he thought. Could make for nice daggers.

Edited September 4, 2022 by Machine God
Forgot to add name

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Relief flooded Reynard's body as the machine dropped. Sudden tremors, after effects of combat, gripped him. He needed to do something with his shaking hands. Forcing himself to think of something routine, he holstered his pistol and drew his shotgun. He cracked open the breach, pulled out the now empty casings and slotted home two more from one of his pockets. As he closed the breach and shoved the gun back into its holster, he found himself calm. Mostly.

"In the future, I would be grateful if you first tried one of those..." he gestured to the ranged weapons across Scourge's back, "...rather than that." he pointed to the vicious looking axe.

The voider stepped past him, offering his compliments that Reynard accepted with a nod. Then Tarrant knelt, running his hands over the recumbent form of the Servitor-thing.

We could have done with having the Tech-adept here right about now. Still…

Trying to ignore the unpleasant smell, he knelt down beside Tarrant to help examine the fallen cyborg.

 

Spoiler

Not sure what kind of test might be involved (or perhaps an Assist to any roll MG is required to make?) but Reynard wants to look for identifying marks, any other information that may tell us something about the Servitor's purpose or who put it here? Edit: or, for that matter, if we can learn anything from any of the body parts that it had collected!

If it was carrying anything worth stealing that Tarrant doesn't want, he'll happily pinch that too! 

 

 

Edited September 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard/Kerr Restal/Scourge:

Since you are less searching, than say, oh I don't know; robbing a corpse, I will waive any test requirement. However, you quickly discover that without proper tools, bits aren't coming off (finger knives, scanners, the Titanic's Golden Rivet, etc).

The construct has already begun decomposing, whatever meat and flesh lingered on it is beginning to slough off, without the upkeep of the Mechanicum's augments. It is unclear if the machine was stealing the corpses to 'fix' itself, since all the body parts appear to worthless to it. Appendages of flesh are useless to hands of steel. However, one factor, among the stink, goo, and bioslurry is in evidence. Each robbed component, no matter how mortified and shrunken carries subdermal tissue scarring, and the faint traces of electrum-biometrics.

The robes are of surprisingly good manufacture, not mass produced at all. Hidden under the grime and damage is a densely woven, rich scarlet fabric. The augmetics are common, like those akin to any servitor you've ever ignored.

A Tech Adept perhaps could inform you as to the metallurgical components, but to you, it's metal. Corrosion suggests this unit has been operating without routine maintenance. Once revealed the construction is...odd, but without more Techknohow, that is all you can discern (it just doesn't look right). There are no ballistic weapons on the construct, no ammunition, no pouches.

The memory core and datacrystals are irreparably damaged - looks like delicate things in here don't react well to bullets.

You may salvage some scrap, servos, back-up batteries, that will fetch a handful of Thrones (1D10).

The quiet returns, and the gentle thrum of air-processors and light fittings fizzing perhaps gives welcome relief.

Edited September 4, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

+Not much left that without proper tools. Scourge your axe might chop off the fingers, but you might end up damaging the edge. Bar-Dass would know what to take. You are welcome to the scrap.+ said Tarrant.

No but Bar-Dass is too far away, he thought.

+Von Graen, this fight with the abomination could be embellished and added to your cover story+

 

Tarrant added more cartridges to his combat shotgun and set watch whilst Von Graen and Scourge carried on salvaging the corpse. He also drank some water from his bottle and nibbled on some emergency rations.

Edited September 4, 2022 by Machine God
Eat and Drink.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard grinned at Tarrant.

"Maybe so, my friend. Another thread in the tapestry."

The voider stepped back, not finding anything to his liking, so Reynard pocketed a few minor pieces of salvage - small gizmos and gubbins that he didn't honestly understand completely, but that perhaps might be traded for something more useful later.

d10(3) Thrones taken.

The Servitor was a conundrum. The machine parts themselves were nothing special, basic bionics - if somehow oddly put together. But why wrap a standard construct in such a piece of finery?

Unless it had taken the robe as spoils from one of its victims… Perhaps the body parts were the same? These were even stranger. The electrum-biometrics reminded him of something… Reynard looked suddenly at his own right hand, at the Electoo that he had held up for the thing to inspect. Now he shuddered at how interested it had seemed in it.

Would you have kept my hand too, you freak ?

But did that mean that these body parts also came from Inquisitorial 'assets'? Verdict had said that some of his own team had been 'compromised', was this what he meant? Or could they even belong to members of the original cell working out of the Sanctum? Or maybe someone else besides the Inquisition used similar hidden idents? Maybe Verdict would know, but Reynard couldn't see any way to ask him right now.

"We should move on to the Sanctum as quickly as possible. If it was guarding this access, it might have warned someone else of our approach."

Edited September 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Beren]

A young lady. Feth. He'd have to be careful then, damned easy for some of these noblebloods to get skittish, and that could lead to complications. Unease was still looking like the best option for now.

Stitches ducks into a half bow.

"Of course- m'lord, m'lady." He stutters out the honorifics, and proceeds with a basic, and cautiously modest, examination of the woman. He doubted he'd find anything. She'd just fainted after all - fragile.

[Mazer Rackham]

Stitches:

Cursory it may have been, but you have easily determined she is in ruddy health.

"Thank you Doctor," Lady Emilia says, her smile and manner quite platonic. "You are very kind."

She begins to cry, genteel little sobs marred by dainty sniffing. She produces a handkerchief, and blasts a long snort into it. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's-" then tears erupt again, until she's in heaving sobs. A sudden up draught disturbs the aircar, and she clutches her stomach.

The partition opens, and Sir Fabian looks in, concern writ large on his features. "Are you alright dear? Surgeon, is all well?"

"Just a little car sick, my love," she replies. Her eyes, though bleary, lock onto yours with a painful need of affirmation.

Bardas:

The rail continues to clunk and creak, steel against the hard rail wheels of your little tracktor cart. Time passes differently for the servants of the Mechanicum, days are measured in milliseconds, a long tunnel an eternity that does not drive you mad, just merely amasses data in your cortex. Time does not go slowly, nor is it boring for a tech-sentinel. Patience is a leaned behaviour for humans, for flesh.

So far you have seen evidence of no less than forty-seven different types of rivet, some of which predate the records of the hive on Damocles. The logical conclusions fill the gaps in your knowledge, the seals of the tunnel as fascinating as microbes under a medicae's micronscope.

A broad arch of light begins to peer into the darkness, and fills into a large circle. This must be the terminus. Now you must navigate whatever impediments are above, and try to rendezvous with your comrades.

You are only 28801279 milliseconds late.  What was the rush?

The cart will empty into a small railhead, a loading quay at the back of a storehouse. What is there is up to you, but it is mostly abandoned save for a few workers and servitors playing stevedore. You would not be out of place here, but you are not on the payroll, either.

Falk/Nicios:

Guys, feel free to continue conversation in the car etc if you like. You will alight at a small, down-hive market square. It is an affair that contrasts with the money spent on the rail terminal. Falk may have seen many like it. There will be informants, and scum here aplenty. Nicios will perhaps find the scrutiny...interesting?

You can spend as much time as you want on this, engaging with locals to find the location of the Sanctum will be easy. No tests, no surprises. Maybe an attempt at pickpocketing. Once you're sorted go ahead and end your narrative with going to the Sanctum. I will then pull the party back together there.

Kerr Restal/Scourge:

The tunnels to the Sanctum provide no further challenges except length. You arrive at the Sanctum to see a Sister Hospitaller conversing with your comrades, Falk and Nicios. Of Bardas and Stitches, there is no sign.

Don't engage in dialogue yet. I want the bulk of the party reformed before anything else happens. You may of course describe your journey to the place, dingy, downmarket, maybe a beggar or two. If you venture down the tunnel the Construct came from you will find a faceless corpse. He has (1D5) Thrones on him, but nothing of further consequence. His body is otherwise cut to ribbons.

Edited September 4, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard looked thoughtfully down the tunnel the Servitor had approached from. They had heard a scream… perhaps there was someone - a potential ally? - who needed aid or could give them more information? Perhaps the other members of their own cell had arrived before them?

Just around the next corner, a bundle of bloody rags lay across the tunnel floor. Not a key player by his looks, just a poor, homeless old civ looking for shelter in the wrong place at the wrong time. Skin and bones. Reynard checked the corpse's pockets out of habit, without much hope.

d5(1) Thrones taken.

Much as he'd thought. He almost threw the coin back atop the body, but what would be the point? Regardless of whether the civ had joined the Emperor in golden halls or if death was final, black nothingness, he couldn't use it any more. Didn't need it any more. Physical things served the living. One single Throne was nothing compared to Reynard's current wealth… but he could remember more than a few times when one single Throne had been the difference between life and death. Hard to forget, times like those.

Feeling an odd melancholy, Reynard added the coin to his own, wandered back down the tunnel, past the fallen servitor-thing, and followed his companions along the left hand passageway towards the Sanctum.

 

Edited September 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal 

Tarrant set off down the corridor towards the apothecary with the Scourge following behind him. 

He had routed a couple of beggars doing the old 'Nice Boots routine.' The ambushers were scared off by the Scourge. 

They stopped to wait for the Weasel, and presently Von Graen appeared. 

"You look like you've seen a Ghost?" Tarrant asked. 

 

 

[A.T.]

Falk

Falk nodded, considering the answer. He knew of sealed reports, dozens executed for the witness of unsanction psychic activity but witches themselves did not normally fall under the authority of the arbites. No interrogations, no executions, only the black ships.

"Fire?" he queried.