[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

Cistern:

If I'm understanding Falk correctly, you're going for the door marked ''. This will require a lot of pushing and shoving to get open, or the attentions of a Techpriest.

You may either:

• Have Bardas look at it, using whatever tools and experience at his disposal (plus any loaned tools) to render the door operable. This will take 15 minutes and a Challenging (+0) Tech Use Test, with + 5 mins added per DoF. As the mechanism is simple, this will just take time, and cannot effectively be failed - however, any narrative should include the decrepitude of the material, thickness of grime, etc etc.
• Force the door with bladed weapons and tools. This will entail chopping or shaving away the corrosion and can be undertaken by all players to make it fast, but it will be loud. Physically unlocking and manipulating the door will require a Hard (-20) Strength Test, which may benefit from assistance (in fact, unless you have SB 4, you will NEED assistance due to weight).
  • Note the door is immune to technical attack, its hinges are on the other side, and there is no lock (it's a rotary wheel closed pressure door with mechanical stays etc).

 

Edited October 2, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Centering himself Tarrant checked his combat shotgun.

 

The Weasel had said something about the door marked with the Skull Arrow  .

 

Tarrant examined the door in order to open it, the sooner they got away from the rad sump the better!

 

 

Edited November 27, 2022 by Machine God
Removed Pain

[Mazer Rackham]

Cistern:

Kerr Restal: The door appears to be in good condition, the seals are in good order, and the opening wheel is greased and reasonably maintained. Even the porthole which allows you to see into the corridor beyond is clear, and a dimly lit passage extends away from it. There is little dirt or grit on the handle.

As you peer through it, the headache-inducing glow from behind illuminates something behind the glass - directly behind it on the other side.

A wire.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

+++Good idea Von Graen but this door is booby-trapped, hence the skull+++

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard nodded to the Voider.

+++Understood. Well spotted.+++

He turned to look at Bardas.

+++Can you get this one open, or do you think we'll have to force it? I think Falk is right that we need to keep moving as fast as possible?+++

Edited October 2, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Trokair]

+I will not know until it has been attempted+ Bardas replied as he headed over to the door.

Spoiler

Tech Use, Int: 34
D100: 26, Pass, no DoS

Testing the edge of the door with little taps it quickly became apparent that the grime and rust were a major factor in keeping the door shut. Rummaging amongst his pockets he retrieved some scraps that would do as improvised chisel. With a bit of oil, cloth and chisel he worked his way around the rusted seam to free as much as he could from the debris of time.

Once this tasked was completed he turned his attention to the lock, the rust and corrosion was worse here, and simple treatment would not be sufficient. After a moments consideration Bardas retrieved the spare lasgun powerpack, the Rockhead train had drunk deeply from it but there was some power yet. Compromising it yet further he rigged it to deliver a flow of power into the lock mechanism. It would not operate it, but it might melt and soften the delicate components, creating enough leeway that with a heavy push there be enough give for it to open.

+On mark push+

The powerpack indicate raced to empty, as it flicker out he called.

+Mark+ and flung himself at the door.   

[Mazer Rackham]

Cistern:

The ministrations of the Mechanicum prove worthwhile. Bardas' shoulder provokes the door to move, buckling away from the seal long perished. Scraps of hardened rubber and blistered flakes of rust and cracked paint fall away.

All that needs done is to press home the advantage, and force the door open.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard watched cautiously as the tech-adept worked his way around the portal. Minutes passed slowly and he wondered if they would be forced to turn aside, risking the arrow-marked, potentially booby-trapped door.

Then Bardas finally spoke and a moment later threw himself against the hatch. Was that movement? A tiny tremor? A single flake of rust falling? Yes! Then more, it was definitely moving!

Reynard stepped up to stand beside the tech-adept, throwing his own weight against the door. He knew he wasn't the strongest member of the team, but his height still provided a certain amount of leverage. He waved for the others to join in, especially the bigger or more solidly built acolytes.

+++Scourge! Come on, push! Let's get out of this hellpit!+++

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cistern:

Scourge nods, sallet dipping, he lumps in his weight.

"And low, doth we turn our hand to the plough, and bear the yoke. And again," he breathes the scriptures of the penitent with each shove, "verily He doth say 'and if thou knockest, the door will surely be opened'."

This is all just narrative now, as the door is open, it's just a bit of cinematic waving as it creaks open, depositing you into a dark and dingy tunnel, poorly lit and reeking of machine oils.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

As they moved from radioactive brightness into the tunnel's darkness, Reynard paused and let the rest of the team pass him by. He looked behind them at the heavy door. Best to close it back up, to better protect them from the rads and to slow any possible pursuit by the men who had attacked the Sanctum? He thought suddenly of the pretty, foolish, tired young nurse, then smiled bleakly.

+++If we pushed that shut again and wrecked the hinges - maybe jammed them with something? - those thugs, assuming they were crazy enough to follow us down here, would have a hard time getting out of the sump? …I think the people at the Sanctum might call that justice?+++

 

Edited October 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Trokair]

Heading into the dark tunnel Bardas activated his glow globe, even with it illuminating the tunnel ahead  there was not much to see. At some point the area had flooded judging by the amount of rust on the lower half of the walls and floor. The air however was dry and stale, and a lack of mould and grim indicated that it had been some time since water had filled this tunnel.

He had advanced far enough in that the others had all filled in and Reynard, having remained at the end, suggested securing the door. Heading pack and passing the others to assist would not be easy, so he left Reynard and whoever else was at the rear to barricade the door while he used spare cable to attach the glow lamp to hang of the end of his staff, that way he could cast the path far enough ahead to see more as the party continued into the tunnel.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Dark Corridor:

It is well Bardas takes up his staff and lights the way, else you would all suffer a plunging fate. Along the floor, several grates have partially rusted open, the flooding long gone, but as the Tech-Sentinel rightly assumes privately, becomes apparent to you all. This chamber was indeed inundated by liquids, deposits of oil, silt and metal swarf all linger along with the rust and dried mould. The decking has weathered the corrosion well, but the lumen strips above have not, long burst and unreplaced, not even power trembles through them as you duck beneath.

The passageway is long, and veers upwards by several degrees, turning at 90-degree angles, taking you up. As it does so, the decking becomes cleaner, firmer, but the surroundings are struck by growing tremors.

It is a monotonous pounding, a strange metallic heartbeat, and you approach another hatch, this one quite formidable, in the shape of the skull and cog of the Omnissiah, which stares at you from beneath cold, rigid iron brows.

A sharp buzz slaps across the intervening space, lashing even those not of the can't with impaticence.

+01001001 01100100 01100101 01101110 01110100 01101001 01100110 01111001 00100001+

[Trokair]

+01000010 01100001 01110010 01100100 01100001 01110011 00100000 01010011 01100101 01101110 01110100 01110010 01111001 00100000 01010111 01100001 01110010 01100100 01100101 01101110 00100000 01010111 00101111 01001111 00101101 01001111 00101101 01000100 00100000 01001101 00100000 01010011 01101000 01110010 01101001 01101110 01100101 00100000 00110010 00110001 00110011 00110101 00110100+

Bardas canted in reply. 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Iron Door:

+01010111 01100001 01101001 01110100 00101110 00100000 01010000 01110010 01101111 01100011 01100101 01110011 01110011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110 00101110 00101110+

The conversation sounds like a man sawing through a steel panel with a hacksaw.

[A.T.]

Falk:

It did not take a priest of the omnissiah to identify the tone of a challenge, nor had its nature seemingly varied in ten thousand years. Still caution was needed as the response of such devices were governed only by their own laws and the passage of time could wear upon the sanity of even a machines spirit.

Such conversations seemed best left to one of the creed lest what lay beyond had been jealously guarded against even their extended authority.

[Trokair]

+We are to wait+ He translated for the others. 

Turning to look back at his companions he continued. 

+If my personal credentials are insufficient do we call upon the Inquisitorial seal? +           

[Mazer Rackham]

The Iron Door:

+01001101 01101001 01101110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100011 01101100 01100001 01100100 01100101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100011 01101111 01100111 01101110 01101001 01110011 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 01010110 01100101 01110010 01101001 01100110 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01000011 01101111 01101101 01101101 01110101 01101110 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110001 01110101 01101001 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100001+

A circular port opens, and cable extends on a mechanical arm. At the end is a socket of solid brass and silver. It glistens with unguents, the three jack-connectors quite standard. This plug will interface with any of your Mechanicum-gifted data sockets.

Edited October 5, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

The trickster watched as Bardas communed with the Machine God. While he waited he checked his rad-counter. Mercifully, the levels had dropped substantially, only a few intermittent clicks now. Reynard really hoped that regardless of who was on the other side of the door, they had a rad-cleanser - or failing that a damned shower! - so the team could rinse off and safely remove the cumbersome, stifling pressure suits!

 

Edited October 5, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Trokair]

The door had accepted his identity without having to resort to the inquisitors seal, and given that there still might be a leak in that fiefdom, Bardas thought it best to show only his original mission. Seeking out a suitable connecting cable from amongst his possessions Bardas also pulled back his hood and loosed the garments. There was a connecting port implanted part way down his back that feed directly into the spinal column.

Sitting beneath the shoulder blades it had long lain unused, for at its base function it served both diagnostic for the scholam priest in his early years and could one day be the first port for the simplest Mechadendrite , a gift that was never bestowed on him. Using this port to connect while also taking the electoos in his hand offline should ensure that no trace of the inquisitorial additions should be detected. Or so the theory went.

 Glancing back at the others before proceeding he held out the end of the cable.

+Connect me, pray with me.+

One the connection was made with the spirit that guarded the door, and much beyond it, Bardas opened communication with prayer to the Omissiah and the motive force before continuing with the long prepared report of what had befallen the W/O-O-D Monitoring Shrine 21354 and his subsequent journey. Appending his findings on the tracked bandits up to his return to the mid hive from the low markets not two days earlier.  

[Mazer Rackham]

The Iron Door:

Your vision retreats from the ocular implants, and instead looks out on a vista of harmony. The tranches of the Mechanicum are multiple and varied, and yet, everything has its proper place. You commune with voices small and large, the 36 machines beyond the door which act with perfect unity to stamp and cut rivets and bolts for the factorums, the circular, and diamond shapes of a flowchart marking the minds of the tech-thralls, Enginseers and Techmechanics.

Those who make the decisions, that make the machines, that make the components, that make the presses, that make the bolts, that provide by the Omnissiah's will.

Myriad voices, a soup of engrammatic dialogue, high gothic, low gothic, machine cant and advanced techna lingua all become a melange of understanding. You then understand why. This facility is a freehold machine shop, a Fraternis Mechanicus. Not scions of Mars or His worlds proper, but one recognised as a worthy guild by them.

Many flesh-creatures say the servants of the Omnissiah have no emotions, and that is partly true, but misunderstood. The code-tags for empathy and frustration at your experiences reach you. The destruction of the shrine flashes like wildfire through the noospheric network, but nothing is returned immediately, but an assurance is given it will be found. A note is also despatched to send an envoy to the 'Rockheads' to restore the machines there permanently.

+Designation: BarDas. Enter. Magos Yurian Krupp stands in the comptroller-basilica.+

The robust doors crack open, grinding back on heavy ratchets, and the connector gently breaks off and retreats into the port from whence it came.

Everything has its proper place.

[Mazer Rackham]

Rivet City:

A servitor meets the party at the large door, it blinks at you with a single crimson ocular implant, before turning in place and trundling forth into the machine shop. As you enter, you can see the servitors, wired into their stations, staring forever at the piston-driven presses.

The thump of the machinery is harmonised, Hisst, clank, clunk, thunk! Over and over again. The sound of hundreds of bolts, rivets and tubes tumbling into collection channels reminds you of the tumult of white noise in the Cistern.

The ceilings are high, thick with dropping power cables and communications antennae, winking green and red at each lift and slam of the presses. Amongst the machines stride, or cruise the overseers, their long mech-tool staffs all different, clamps, grips and wrench-maws. All robust tools good enough to split the skulls of thieves and offenders against the cult. Each of these clade-masters is swathed in thick scarlet robes, embroidered with the Opus Mechanicum and the sigils of Hive Primus, symbolising their dual loyalties.

In the middle of the room, a nexus of activity, lights and flickering cogitator screens stands a towering figure. He's replete with manipulation mechadendrites, and augmetic arms, the spindly hands pulling levers, and operating switches. His flesh hands, with bolted brass rods and knuckles supporting his withered digits, leaf through a massive tome. The large book is open in the middle, with a slender ribbon along the open spine. Each half of the book shimmers, the pages engraved aluminium sheets. A cluster of green lenses looks up at the new people entering his demesne.

+The quota is satisfied!+ He calls, his voice resonating from nearly a thousand vox-grilles next to each servitor-slave, sculpted from bronze, into the shape of a dragon maw.

The whole factory comes to a halt, but the noise of components falling into sorters and buckets continues. Steam continues to hiss from the pneumatic presses.

+Techwright Pollux! Refit for Consignment #2467-3698-1001!+

Once the order is given, more servitors and engineers bustle around, the giant man-machine, some ten feet tall and surrounded by the control bastion peers at you all.

+Welcome Bardas of the Minor Clade. Flesh-beings: State your designations and purpose.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

"Esteemed Magos, my name is Kerr Restal a designated Hunter. Our purpose is onwards travel and a rad-scrub, if that is possible." said Kerr Restall showing off his electoo.

 

 

 

Edited November 27, 2022 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

Rivet City:

The large Magos' head bobs dignified greeting. Or at least you think it does.

+Designation Kerr Restal. Affirmative. Fabricator Bellus: execute decontamination rite #306, #307 and #308 upon this meatsack.+

A monotonous chord replies, and one of the charge-hands marches towards Restal, an inexorable advance. He levels a long tube, which blasts a great flume of powder all over the Assassin coating everything within two feet with an odd grey dust which adheres to him, and is quickly followed with a pneunmatic arm holding a large pad, which buffets Restal all over with considerable speed and force.

Bellus then produces a smaller scrubber, handing it to the killer.

+Rub yourself down Designation Restal. The Blessed Dust of Fuller will absorb contaminants,+ assures the drone, his hooded robes plainer than the others, but no less quality. The top half of his face is human, save for a few bonding studs. The lower half of his jaw is gone, replaced with a vocaliser and augur array. You can hear the faint clicking of a radcounter coming from him.

Blot, bang, rub MG - you know the drill. 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

As the menial approached Tarrant - Kerr Restall? A fake name… or maybe his real one? - and raised the long tube, Reynard surreptitiously edged closer to the Voidsman. The great cloud spat forth and both of them were covered in the heavy powder. He figured if he could get cleansed without giving away anything about himself, that would be… wise.

After all, they didn't know anything about these cogboys. Who were they? Who were they allied with? He didn't trust them - though to be fair, his last encounter with an adherent of the Machine Cult had been decidedly... creepy, not to mention nearly deadly. Maybe it had coloured his perspective?

Suddenly the thought crossed his mind that the robe worn by the tube wielder - simple but finely made - was very similar to that worn by the clawed collector of human remains that had awaited them outside the Sanctum a few hours earlier.

"As my colleague says, we are simple explorators of this great Hive, passing through with no intent to cause disruption to your sacred tasks," he offered reassuringly as he rubbed the powder against his arms and legs. "Though I must confess I fear we have gone somewhat… off course? We travelled past the Hospitaller Sanctum on our way sumpwards. I wonder, do you or your subordinates ever travel that way?"

 

Edited October 6, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

Nicios remains silent and unobtrusive. The adepts of the Mechanicus generally did not take kindly to those with psychic powers, and he was wary of this magos. Simply stating his name and "Investigator" to the drone, he endured the rad-scrub and kept a close eye on the tech-priest and the attendants.