[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[A.T.]

Falk:

Such deception may not be well recieved if detected, it seemed best not to muddy the waters with any information not asked for. With luck the magos would not delay their passage seeking further clarifications on the fate of the sanctum now that Reynard had brought it up and he fought the instinct to signal for silence ... more likely something that the magos would identify than his companion.

[Mazer Rackham]

Rivet City:

Magos Krupp looks at the two powder-coated interlopers.

+Fabricatum involvement with meatsack repair shop equivalent to 64%. Our sworn duty is to attend to all machine spirits. Communion decreased by six Mechwrights-Errant to fulfil quota. Low percentile of concern.+

A thrall voices in harsh buzzing, which catches Krupp's attention.

+Our new quota begins. Execute locus evacuation, or submit to servitorisation. Designation Bardas communion heard. The Omnissiah will identify trespassers, and render them into useful slurry.+

Krupp begins buzzing, and the steam hammers once again begin to rise. A large archway opens up, leading out into empty corridors and the warmer bustle of human spaces.

Outside there is a market, a dive bar, and an outfitters specialising in tools and mining equipment. The passages form around a residential block, with families etc. You are currently on the right-hand side of the heat sink, in the uppermost dark grey strata, below the domains of House Grunberg (green).

These are unclassified or unalighned freehold businesses and homes, run down, but proud enough to be tidy.

Do not expect organised law enforcement down here. There are however civic patrols.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Well. That answered his question not at all. Damn the inscrutability of the Mechanicum. And time to go, it seemed? Were they being removed because this Magos didn't like answering his question?

Still, Reynard was happy enough to get back to regular people. People he knew how to work. When the archway opened, he immediately moved forward. Once out of the Fabricatum, but before they reached the street, he started to remove the thick plastic oversuit. Not exactly a low-key look. He'd appreciated the awful thing when it was necessary, but it was a huge relief to take it off.

Reynard took a deep breath of stale Hive air. The odour of people all crammed together, combined with a tinge of rust, the tang of something being cooked - it smelled a little like yakka-rat from back home? - and the stink of alcohol being distilled. Ah, civilization.

Some of the other acolytes were also doing the same. While he waited for them to remove their own protective garments, Reynard pulled out the data-slate that carried Dreyfuss' test results and personal log.

Several things stood out.

He immediately connected the number on the smashed cylinder in the Cloister with the same number identified as 'Primus' in the data. 'First'? First of what? How did it relate to the 'gene-compliant' 03303? No way to know, though presumably the lower number related to an earlier specimen? And one or other were likely the source of the 'serum' Dreyfuss had created, whatever that was. A miracle, a blasphemy, and a solution to some threat posed by his enemies, it seemed. Reynard wondered about the vial taken from the safe by Falk. Could it contain a sample of this serum? Maybe someone should get it back to the Vault for further testing?

Several other lines of investigation were evident too. Who were the Magisters? People with resources, clearly. Connected with the hit squad that attacked the Sanctum, perhaps?

And who was Drexler? Perhaps a fixer of some description? Another person of interest, certainly.

Finally, the priest Dreyfuss mentioned towards the start of his log. That sounded a great deal like Confessor Hyronimus… had the old man been involved from the start? If he had supplied the Sanctum staff, and Dreyfuss then later said that he did not trust them…

Plenty to think about. Reynard pointed out the things he had noticed to the others.

"Question is," he finished, "which thread to follow first?"

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

"Whomever the Magisters are, they have access to psykers of some talent. That is unusual this deep in the hive- I would expect any local gang or protection racket using a hedge-psyker or wyrder, not a trained mind that could put up the trap I felt in the sanctum. Maybe a cult...?"

Nicios thought for a moment.

Spoiler

Scholastic Lore (Occult) Test

Required- 38

Roll- 97!

Result= Failure, with 5 DoF 

"I don't know of any cult activity at the moment. I could possibly contact my former overseer in the Astra Telepathica to see if any new rogue psyker has been spotted, or to see what sort of official psykers are around. Concentrating on the other avenues will likely give us more information. The priest perhaps? Talking to him may uncover what exactly Dreyfuss was doing, and what he needed monetary support from the Confessor for."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Freehold Stratum:

MAP:

Spoiler

The Freehold Strata are an odd mixture of goods, services and people. Released from the servitude of the big organisations, but in league with them all, the place is quite cosmopolitan, if a little on the run-down side. Here, establishments are owned by cunning/conniving entrepreneurs, families and criminals, local chain-stores and embassy-houses where the upper-hive nobles and trading houses have their outposts.

On this stratum, you can see by the holomaps dotted along the walls, the following areas of import.

• Dug's Skullery, a dining establishment claiming to sport the finest dishes from uphive, with Good Quality provisions (eat in, or they take it away) as well as plenty of gastro-gossip
• Imperial Knights boarding house and galley, providing Common Quality bed and breakfast, plus private ablutions blocks at +10 Thrones
• The Sultry Grox, a dive bar frequented by slummers and those that like to (Common Quality)
• The Wrack, a...'club' for discerning ladies and gentlemen. (Good Quality)
• A free market, with stalls providing small sundries, momentos, tools and equipment. (Common to Good, depending on item) The Free Market is looked after by Civil Patrols, to cut down on thieving and loiterers.

Note that you are now into Day 2, and this will count as a new session, so all spent FP are restored (Burned stay burned).

[A.T.]

Falk:

Little of what was found made sense... could this all be an elabourate cover up or the precursor to one, or perhaps what escaped warranted the death of a world in the eyes of another.

"We lack the tools for analysis here, but the items taken from the sanctum may provide insight. I suggest we re-establish contact and hold nearby until our next direction is decided, if we are to face combat we should be rested and those pursuing us will likely track our egress soon enough - two man rotating watch on the fabricatum lest they are careless enough to move openly".

Pulling off his rad-suit carefully, "those with intact suits take the first watch, the rest of you scour yourselves as best as possible as the taint of radiation will alert auspices to your approach."

Turning to Bardas, "try to secure us a short range auspex or salvation auger from the market", to Reynard, "manstopper rounds and shells, anything that might tip the scales in our favour against that armour". Falk considered the thrones they had been provided, a las-cutter would not go amiss...

"Ask around, any markings that you saw, the style and colour of the armour. Let us find out who pursues us."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard nodded at Falk's shopping list. Reasonable enough. If the thugs turned up again, they could use some armour piercing shells. What he wouldn't give for a bolt pistol… not that he'd trust any bolt weapon made or sold this far downhive. Shells might have to do.

 

But first, they needed to secure beds for the night.

 

With Scourge in tow, Reynard headed for the Boarding House. The veteran had probably suffered worse than any of them during their first day… plus his wargear didn't exactly make for subtle investigative work, so he could spend the evening guarding whatever rooms they managed to obtain. Not that Reynard was expecting anything much worth guarding. He looked up at the crudely painted sign above the door. A mechanical walker - Titan variant of some sort? - under a field of stars. Ah. Imperial Knights. Imperial Nights.

 

Sigh.

 

Shaking his head, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 

Edited October 11, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Obviously, you guys will let me know where you are going. AT, is Falk wandering anywhere in particular, or would you like a detective noir montage?

For now I'll just tidy up Scourge/Reynard

Boarding House:

As you cross the threshold, a burly man stirs from his seat and begins sweeping the floor with a handmade brush, the haft smoothed from use, the head unevenly coloured, replaced many times. The establishment has a regimented layout, and it carries more than one Opus Mechanicum, polished or painted gold depending on whimsy. The steel deck is scuffed and scarred from all the different feet which have trodden here, and although there are a few rusty bolts, the floor is clean. A counter has been crudely fixed into place where a console pulpit might have stood, and behind this desk you can see a board with cardkeys hanging from hooks below room numbers.

A woman with her hair tied up gets up from her seat, discarding her dataslate. She quickly rubs her hands down her apron, and a young man, who shares a resemblance to her comes out of a door with a circular window. Steam follows him, and the smell of cooking. He opens his mouth, sees the two potential boarders, stops short, spins on his heel and disappears through the door whence he came.

The woman speaks to you.

"Hello loves, what can I do for you?" Her voice is smooth and friendly, but the weariness of hive life carries through it.

The man looks up at you, taking a measure. On his right forearm is a Munitorium tattoo below another of a miniature Maltese Cross.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard paused for a fraction of a second, taking in his surroundings. His gut impression was of a decent place, clean, family run from the look of the woman and the cook. The bruiser - with the woman? Best not to try flirting, then.

 

So, how to play it? Innocent lordling seeking shelter? Arrogant steward serving a greater authority? Criminals arriving to make a deal with the locals? Maybe best to keep it simple - say nothing, let the proprietors dream up their own story. He smiled in an open, friendly way.

 

"We need berths for seven. Happy to spread out over a few rooms, but they need to be together. Reasonably private too. With ablutions, though just the one of those will do. We'll want food brought to us as well."

Edited October 11, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Boarding House:

"Seven? Oh, yes, of course!" She brightens considerably, and it is this point you notice that all the keys are present, and the place is empty.

The burly man blinks and goes over to a section of the front space and takes the chairs off a rugged, rough hewn-table, arranging them loosely. He dresses the table with a large cloth, which is a little threadbare, but it's white.

The woman shows you through a door, and when you go into the back, you see that the rooms were obviously some kind of storage rack for Cog-stuff. 12 cells with crudely fitted end-caps with doors exist in three floors of four cells to a floor. The catwalks could have been made for servitors, but old carpet and rugs dampen the sound of the rickety scaffolding. Flights of stairs are bolted securely at either end stretch across the stanchions.

"Feel free to take any of the rooms," she says, "the ones on the end at the right have windows over the street."

She points out a passage between the lowest two bedrooms on the left-hand side, where it reduces them to smaller, single-occupancy cells. You can smell the factory-worker issue soap from where you stand. She presses the key for the ablutions block door into Reynard's hand.

"Yours is on the right love. Bit bigger." She smiles and is gone.

Peeking into the nearest cell, you can see the beds made up with thin sheets and home-stitched pillows. While it smells a little of stale air, and the mattresses look painfully thin and tired, there are no droppings or piles of insects. The only odd thing are the ground down bolts in the floor from whatever Mechanicum stuff was once here.

Edited October 9, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Trokair]

As the others followed the Magos’s direction out of the Fraternis Mechanicus Enclave Bardas lingered a moment. It seemed right that he should be the last to leave, to essentially escort his companions out of the sanctified space. This also gave him time to acknowledge the cants and burst of binary that carried the inhabitants condolences for the shrines demise. There was comfort here and it would be impolite not to thank each in turn.  

 

Likewise the assurances given where a relive in part. It had troubled him in the first weeks after the shrines defilement that he had been unable to reach the designated overseer for the far flung monitoring stations. he had taken it as a sign from the Omnissiah that his duty still persisted and he should track the raiders down for justice to the fallen shrine. Now someone else knew should he fall in the course of this new duty, someone who would in due course pass on the message to the Senior Adeptus Mechanicus administrative data-shrine in system.

 

With the others past the threshold Bardas turned towards Magos Yurian Krupp and half bowed in thanks for the passage.

 

+01001101 01100001 01111001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001101 01101111 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01000110 01101111 01110010 01100011 01100101 00100000 01100111 01110101 01101001 01100100 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110000 01100101 01101111 01110000 01101100 01100101 00101110+

 

---

 

With the door sealed behind them now, and all transmission from the enclave cut off by the enclaves own shields and defences Bardas took a moment to review the security and integrity of his gifts. He had deliberately halted his account before the current path in aid of the Inquisition, and yet they had known about the Rockheads. He did not doubt the Magos Yurian Krupp would keep his word, nor that there was any harm was intended to befall the excavating clan. That indeed the dispatch of mech-wright envoy to fix the pumps, was just that, a performance of duty.  

 

Nothing he could find indicated that information on their situation had been taken, that instead remnants of the pump’s code had still been with him from when he had connected to them and that it was this that the enclave had picked up on. Still, it would pay to be more cautions.

 

Falk was speaking on the squad comms. While he personally still had doubts as to the security of all those in the inquisitors hold they were for now directionless unless further information could be uncovered from the evidence secured. Acknowledging the request to him with a short data burst he headed towards the market.   
 

---
 

While perusing a market stand, the fifth one so far, Bardas received Reynard’s confirmation that lodging had been secured, he would head there as soon as he could, he was still tiered and sore, and Stitches offer of help earlier would be welcome in tending to his wounds.

 

Focusing back on the stand he remained the offered wares, the others so far had been lacking, but this one might have something they could use, something had certainly caught Nicios attention here. The seller certainly had a wider selection of reclaimed tech than the others so far, well at least a more eclectic selection.

Edited October 16, 2022 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

"Much appreciated, ma'am," Reynard called after the woman.

 

Comfortable enough - he'd certainly slept in worse places! He quickly claimed the right-most cell on the first 'floor'. A heavy but slightly ragged piece of fabric covered the window and he twitched it aside. Good view of the street, more defensible than being on the ground floor but still low enough to jump out and run in the event of trouble knocking down the front door.

 

He moved back out to the desk and haggled for a few minutes, but in all honesty he didn't think the price the woman quoted was unreasonable. Therefore he didn't try as hard as he would have done with the proprietor of some fancy Grand Hall. Profit margins were obviously much tighter down here.

 

Spoiler

Cost for bed(5) and food(1) and drink(1) = 7 TG
x 7 Acolytes = 49 +10(Private Ablutions block) = 59 TG
Barter Test, Fel45, Roll: 77, Fail!
59 ÷7 = 8 TG(ish) per character?

(Hopefully everyone is happy with paying that price?)

 

He handed over the full amount of coins without further comment, intending to reclaim them from the other acolytes. Maybe he'd just pick some of their pockets… to keep his hand in, so to speak.

 

"My associate will stay here. I will be returning with my other colleagues later. I imagine we will wish to eat a meal before sleeping."

 

The woman nodded eagerly, trying and failing to hide her pleasure at the sudden wealth he had poured into her hands. Profit margins were tight indeed. Good. That meant she'd do her best to be helpful.

 

"Ma'am, before I head out? I was told to look out for a man named Drexler, but I don't know much more than that. I don't suppose the name means anything to you?"

 

Edited October 11, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Boarding House:

Scourge flops down and is instantly asleep. It speaks to the hard living of a veteran of many battles: sleep when you can.

The woman meets Reynard's query with a blank, open expression. "Sorry love. Mind how you go."

The burly fellow suddenly increases his efforts, polishing a small still vigorously, buffing it to a shine it already has. The actual still itself is one common to many illicit booze-brewers found across the length and breadth of the Imperium. A slow trickle of blinding rotgut fills a bottle under the tap.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Hmm. The woman seemed genuinely unaware… but the big guy? He knew something.

 

After the proprietress turned away, Reynard headed towards the door. As he passed the tattooed man, he smiled and pulled out the packet of lho-sticks that he kept for just such occasions from one of his pockets. Reynard didn't smoke - he preferred his head clear at all times - but they were a cheap and effective way to make friends.

 

The veteran-turned-doorman frowned at the proffered box, but he nevertheless followed Reynard outside. After he took one of the sticks, Reynard smiled again.

 

"It, er… it seemed like that name might be more familiar to you, friend?"

Edited October 11, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Saint's Cut, avenue outside the Boarding House:

"Much obliged," the big man thanks with a nod. He brings out a lighter fashioned from a lasgun power discharger, and snaps the flame to the lho stick. He gently inhales. As the light flares you can see the man's eyes properly, flashing violet in the sudden flame. He extends a warding hand.

"I dunno him, but I knows of him, if you follow my stride." He pauses, looks up and down the street, stopping to assess a scuffle outside The Wrack. A thin man in a cloak is roughly ejected to tumble into a heap. The bouncers go back in, and the man picks himself up, sees the two of you looking and tries to walk past in as dignified a manner as possible.

"Evening, Hef," he says, and hurries on.

"Morning, Kurt," Hef replies, stifling a chuckle. He waits until the wastrel is out of the way, and the music from the dive bar can cover low voices. "A few lads who do business for him hang around in the Grox."

He steps closer, leans in to talk, not threaten. "Listen, your business is yours, but Drexler is trouble. Just don't bring it to Tabby and the lad, eh?"

He finishes the lho stick and tosses the butt down through a waste-water drain, moving smoothly to step back inside, leaving you alone on the street.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard watched as Hef went back inside. Then, once he was alone, he activated his microbead, glad of the secure line Bardas had created.

 

+++Digs for the night are set up at Imperial Knights. Food too. Scourge is there. Mistress Tabitha will show you around if you get there before me. You each owe me 8 Thrones.+++

 

He paused thoughtfully.

 

+++Also picked up a lead on this Drexler. Sounds like he might be a big deal round these parts. Some of his people do business out of the Sultry Grox, maybe we can talk to them and arrange a meet? Anyone else got anything yet?+++

 

Spoiler

OOC: With that bit sorted, I'm going to have Reynard shut up for a bit now, so we can see what everyone else finds!

 

 

Edited October 11, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

Tarrant had shed his rad-suit similar to the Weasel's actions, although he had made sure to follow the servitor's instructions.

Stepping out of the tunnel, he scoped out the area noting pertinent places.

 

The Weasel squawked something on the Vox.

 

+++Digs for the night are set up at Imperial Knights. Food too. Scourge is there. Mistress Tabitha will show you around if you get there before me. You each owe me 8 Thrones+++

 

++That's a Roj, Von Graen. I will check it out later, I'm just satisfying the urge++

 

Tarrant strode through the doors of The Wrack....

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Wrack:

As you step through the doors, you are greeted by the concierge, a lady with fine features and long lashes. Her jasmine perfume is as exquisite as her practiced smile is easy, within arms' reach you can sense two men, their presence and purpose brutally obvious.

The decor is surprisingly tasteful, if a little bright, and frescoes of artwork depicting vineyards, dancers and gamblers are present in ancient Ygrekian style.

"Greetings, patron," the concierge offers a small bow. As she does, her silk robes fold around her perfectly, almost concealing the needle dagger on her hip. "I haven't seen you before, sir. The first drink is free to new guests."

She takes a dataslate and silently glides across a scarlet carpet, leading you to a set of double-doors. She opens them and you are treated to a broad room set into perpetual twilight, different hues of colour saturating the dry ice spilling across two broad podiums, upon which athletic dancers, male and female, twirl and spin in silks. Seating is arranged around them for a good view.

She leads to the long bar, the music forcing conversation and orders here to be shouted. To your left is a roulette table, two small circular tables with card players, each with small, but worthwhile, glimmering piles of Thrones.

The concierge smiles, and indicates the barman. A young man with sharp eyes, and Reynard's smirk. "Toral can get you whatever you'd like. Even pleasant company."

She wanders away, and leaves you to the barman, who looks at you expectantly.

Obviously we have to bear in mind this is a family-friendly board, so we need to keep it below the knuckle. Any...negotiable affection will be offscreen. Get drunk and gamble responsibly. 

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

Nicios went with Bardas to the market stalls, looking for the auspex that Falk wanted. He had experience with merchants from his fake role as an inspector, and Bardas knew the tech. It should be a good combination to find what they needed at a good price. Maybe we can hear some info about Dexler or the Magisters too...

 

Spoiler

Trade (Merchant) test

Required- 48 (38 + 10 assist?)

Roll- 23

Result= 23, 2 DoS (or 1 if no assist)

 

Finding the auspex was harder than haggling for it, as the ugly little junker wanted well over what it was worth. Still, Nicios felt that they managed to get a good deal on the item. Now to mingle and listen...

Edited October 10, 2022 by Lord_Ikka

[Machine God]

The Wrack.

Kerr Restal:

 

Tarrant takes in the scene, evaluating and formulating a plan. "Why thank you Ma'am, what a nice establishment you have here!"

He motions to the barman, "Toral I will take a Raenka if you have it!" his gaze wanders to the gaming tables and then to the dancers.

 

"What a nice place to relax and unwind. Maybe see a tutor of foreign languages, who could give me correction on my grammar?"

 

Edited October 20, 2022 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

The Free Market:

Ikka, that Assist is fine, Bardas will obviously be putting in his Mechanicus experience, so all good.

The crowds are fairly sparse this late in the evening, or morning, depending how the cycle works in a hive. Circadian rhythms are as varied as the people in this towering Babelspire, but thankfully it is as close to the Blessed Terran norm of 24 hours.

Vibrations of fear, excitement and anticipation run high. Nicios' ears and mind synchronise as he handles the goods of the hawkers, feigning interest.

"...well she better hurry up, those coupons won't last forever..."

"Throne! Our daughter is pregnant? I'll kill that little..."

"...more of that ammo, Boss says going into the Green Zone is going to be dangerous..."

"..hear about that murder? Poor bastard was strung up and splayed open..."

"...man, my dogs are barking. Hang on, who's that over there? Some Cogger and a toff?...Better keep an eye on 'em."

The swirl of humanity, and all the petty tribulations hiding those that are greater.

The Wrack:

The barkeep smiles, and presents your drink, but withholds one of the little plastic flowers that decorate a silver cup. "Why don't you take a seat, I'll send over someone who...speaks your language."

 

Edited October 10, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

After voxing the others, Reynard took a brief walk on the streets around the perimeter of the Sultry Grox, stopping occasionally at market stalls or quiet corners to observe the people coming and going from the bar. If Drexler was as feared as Hef had implied, his subordinates would feed off it. They would likely throw their weight around, confident that no reprisal would be forthcoming. Crowds would probably part in front of them.

 

Nice to be given your space… but it did make you stand out.

 

Spoiler

Awareness Test: Per28 +10(Awareness+10) = 38, Roll: 43, Fail, 0DoF.

Pants. Peer:Underworld doesn't help you spot criminals as well as talk to them, does it? 

 

After nearly half an hour's largely fruitless surveillance, Reynard decided to move back to the boarding house. The window in his room overlooked one of the entrances to the bar, so he could keep an eye out from there just as easily. Plus the cook should have prepared some food by now, and Reynard had learned over the years that simply being hot made many underhive dishes infinitely more palatable.

 

Moving casually, Reynard walked back to the Imperial Knights. He offered 'the lad' thanks for his meal - some sort of stew with pieces of meat and fungus, both probably caught or harvested in the local area, a crust of bread and a tin tankard of thin, watery beer - and took it and climbed the metal stairs up to his cell. Leaving the door open, he went inside and stood by the window, watching the Sultry Grox from behind the curtain and taking bites of stew-softened bread.

 

Edited October 11, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Free Market:

One of the Civil Patrolmen begins to approach Bardas and Nicios, although still keeping his distance. A few ragged ne'er-do-wells with lots of pockets, scarper.

Boarding House:

I think the roll shows you're not familiar with the faces in the crowd yet. It's likely the hand-signs are different, the way the organisation operates yadda yadda. Bonus points for the use of 'Pants' though. I lol.

Your view out over the street is good for observation, if not covering fire, given the angle. You can certainly see the near end of the Grox, and the windows into it. For long minutes, no-one comes out. Then you can see Kurt, the skinny scoundrel step out, pulling his overcoat close around him and walk off up towards the market. Eighteen seconds later, another man follows him, literally. The man checks a small stub-pistol and wanders off after the late-night lounger.

The Wrack:

To prevent discomfort etc.

Machine God/Restal ONLY:

Spoiler

A tall woman wrapped in an emerald sheath robe, sits in the chair beside you. She twirls the little plastek flower the barman handled, and folds one knee over the other.

"You're my student, apparently," she says, eyes sliding from you to the dancers on stage. Her amber gaze returns, and she pushes at a long tumble of auburn hair. "A proper lesson will cost fifty thrones."

She places the end of the flower stem into the corner of her mouth.

"You know, Drussa up there could help. For one-hundred Thrones, I don't know a pluperfect we couldn't get our heads around. Seren, by the way."

She extends a petite hand to shake.

I know I'm pushing it, and I don't want to make folks uncomfortable, so if Tarrant/Restal wants to...indulge, just list your money spent on your language lesson, and make a -30 Toughness Test. Alternatively, you can avoid this by taking a Difficult (-10) Awareness test, but that will entail losing out on the 'lesson', but you keep your money.

 

Edited October 11, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk:

It seems first watch would be his. Falk picked up food and recaf from the market and settled down into a more familiar role after the chaos of the day, a chance to think through the events with a calm mind and question those things that may have been missed.

For all that had happened they seemed no closer to their goal, each new clue and question requiring time to pursue and time was the one thing they did not have.

[Machine God]

The Wrack

 

Kerr Restal:

 

Tarrant gets off his chair, he kneels down before Seren and carefully shakes her hand.

 

"Enchante! My name is Tarrant mistress, although you may call me whatever you like."

 

Tarrant rose slowly and reverentially he sat back down on his chair.

 

"Yes, two teachers would be exquisite, please call Drussa over. I have the wherewithal and the desire to be taught. 'Bambi and Thumper' as they say in the trade."

 

 

Edited November 27, 2022 by Machine God
Spaces and typo's