[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

As Nicios went to find the others, Reynard nodded to Geist.

 

"We will need a few minutes more to discuss several matters, I'm afraid. But while we wait for the rest of our colleagues to gather, I have a question for you."

 

"I think it is likely we will decide to throw our nets a little wider - in which case I, at least, will probably not be joining you to visit these Magisters. Your employer also mentioned several other names that might be helpful to us; Julo Kathago and Sebastian Lecroix. I wonder if you could tell me where I would find them?"

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Falk shook off the fatigue as Nicios woke him, if the schedule was kept this would all be resolved sooner rather than later. The attacks against them suggested that they were on the right track but still they seemed no closer to solving this mystery, not identifying who pursued them.

 

As much as they could not afford to be caught isolated in another ambush there seemed no choice but to pursue every lead in the hopes that one would advance their cause before time grew too short.

 

 

[Trokair]

Leaving the other two with the youngling Bards headed into the dark of Rivet City. His glow globe cast enough light to see the immediate area, but in so doing throwing the rest into deep jagged shadow. How much of what he was seeing was damage from the fight and how much a trick of the light?

 

To think that only a few short hours ago this had been a thriving manufacturing shrine that aided them; and no in the wake of their mission had rendered this place all but broken. Reaching the slumped red robe of Magos Krupp Bardas crouched down to more closely examine the Magos, Reyanrd had said he was dying, and indeed the evidence did not look promising.

 

There was however still life in there, week, possibly fading, but not vacant as yet. Carefully Bardas reached out and touched the exposed upper left arm, Electoos interfacing, connecting to the Magos still functioning gifts. Letting the Data-jinn reach out and assess the internal situation.

 

Spoiler

Tech-Use

Int: 34

D100: 42, Fail, 0 DoF

D100: 36, Fail, 0 DoF
Well I think the dice are trying to tell me something here.

 

Edited October 29, 2022 by Trokair

[Mazer Rackham]

Rivet City:

 

Bardas:

Even though your attempts to revive the Magos are rebuffed, you glean the reason. The Magos' data-endjinns are quite altered to your own. The subroutines and dataloops have been extensively modified with code which is as beautiful as it is baffling. The efficiency of the engrammic transfers and feedback reports are startling. Datavaults within the Magos' memory stacks, which are the only parts unguarded - since they are packaged for data transfer - show the common output (which would be known to you from previous communion) of this small facility has been exceeded by 210%.

 

The Magos, however can tell you no more. His I/O signals fade and he shuts down. The possibility of reactivation is possible, but the facilities here will not provide it, and any knowledge he has gleaned about those who desecrated your shrine is locked within him.

 

The Town/Grox/Boarding House:

 

Geist looks at Reynard. "Fair enough."

 

He steps over to the wall of Dug's Scullery, pulling at one of the plastered posters there, which relates to a shooting competition. He hands it to you. "You'll find Karthago somewhere there. Lecroix, he's slippery."

 

The flyer shows a silhouette of a stub revolver superimposed over a bullseye:

Do you have what it takes? Dead-eyes mean a deadly prize!

Purse or pistol: We aim to please!

Stratum 04, Sector 23a, The Free Houses, Kelvin's Gallery.

 

The shooting competition is a few decks below.

 

Geist looks Nicios and Falk up and down. "Lady Gwynne is going to love you pair."

 

If you guys decide who is going where (or if anyone is staying behind) I'll move us all on.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard took the flyer and grinned, his hand straying to the stock of his long laspistol.

 

"Finally, something about this damn job that sounds halfway fun… two levels down, you say?"

[Trokair]

Sitting beside the body of Magus Krupp, it was too soon to call it a corpse, Bardas had a decision to make. The others were gathering, no doubt to chase more leads, and he should join them. and yet he hesitated, there was Duty here, duty that was difficult to dismiss, despite the mission, precisely because of the mission.

 

How much time had passed, a few minutes, the others where no doubt waiting for him by now. instead of standing however he opened the vox channel.

 

++After the fight, while I was in rest cyle, an entity tried to siphoned date from me. It did not sussed, but it was looking for Locke. Someone is very instant on finding the dead man. From the specialised nature of the data thief it has to either be a Senior Magos, perhaps an Arch Magos, or someone with the influence or power to have such act for them. Beware.++

 

++I must tend to Duty here for a while, go ahead, I will follow when my task is done.++

Edited October 30, 2022 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

+++Fair enough. I can handle interviewing Kathago by myself. If you meet me at this location…+++

 

He read out the address from the flyer.

 

+++...when you are finished, then we can look into the datacrypter together?+++

 

With a nod towards the other acolytes, Reynard headed for the route Geist had indicated to reach this 'Kelvin's Gallery'.

 

As he travelled sumpwards down a twisting stairwell, Reynard thought over what Bardas had told them about his 'visitor'. It was unquestionably akin to the freak that he, Restal and Scourge had fought outside the Sanctum. Further, if these odd constructs were demanding Inquisitor Locke, they must presumably have been sent by the enemy that had destroyed Hive Tertius? That felt right. There was something not quite normal about them, or about the greater foe that still threatened Primus and Secundus. Not quite sane. Almost eccentric?

 

However, it seemed equally unlikely that these machine-things were serving the same master as the black-clad professionals? They felt too different in their methods and manner. The soldiers were all logic and cold pragmatism, and apparently they were only looking for Dreyfuss. Who were they working for? Someone with funds, certainly. Someone that didn't care about collateral damage, either, given their brutality. There was an arrogance, a sense of entitlement, in their actions? One of the local noble families? A group who had paid for Dreyfuss' services and weren't happy with his work? Again he found himself wondering if they might not even be part of some other Inquisitor's Cabal, also secretly working on Damocles? He would quiz Voyager about it again the next time he was able to contact the pilot.

 

But regardless of who they served, if his assumption was correct it meant they faced, not one, but at least two separate enemies here?

[Mazer Rackham]

I will autopilot Restal as per Ikka's suggestion. Once MG returns, he can be moved elsewhere if he prefers, although I think the idea of 'firepower' might be...wise.

 

The Librarium:

 

The journey to the Magisters' haunt is mostly uneventful. Restal, Nicios and Falk are guided through passages and corridors as different in appearance as they are in danger. Some of the lifts are out, or downright dangerous, the steel cables fatigued into scrap long ago, now replaced with frighteningly frayed rope and poor knots. Those are not the only dangers. It is no wonder Geist spoke of bribes and fees, of long travel with provisions, as you pass down long stairwells that drop into interminable darkness, and on occasion fall into the territory of minor gangs.

 

These gangs provide 'safe passage', none of them more than Juves with a bit of fluorescent warpaint, but still enough meat and metal-throwers to cause a problem in tight quarters. One or two look at you shiftily, in that way young idiots do, thinking that it might be better to rob you, but Restal's menace, Nicios' otherwoldness and Falk's manner keep them in line. The posturing of the young giving way to the fear of something possibly beyond them.

 

The Juves, hangers-on and few vagrants abandon you as you descend further. The lights here are fully powered and in good repair, no real chance of an ambush or shady dealings, but it's cold, too. So chilly in fact, that Geist rearranges his cloak, pulling it around him and drawing up his hood. Breath starts to mist, and the lights begin to glow as they heat the air around them, catching in the tiny ice crystals formed from meltwater.

 

Your cartographs plot you some way from the heatsink, but nowhere near deep enough, or exposed enough to generate this chill.

 

This is the domain of the Magisters, then.

 

The hours' worth of travel ends here. A single corridor leads down, the angle shallow, but enough that if it was frozen would have you all skidding down it to crush into the pressure door at the end of the passage. It resembles a bulkhead door on a starship, or submersible, complete with locking wheel. Geist stops you, but his eyes linger on Nicios, hand hovering over his pistol. Without a word he steps aside, leaving the decision to continue in your hands.

 

Kelvin's Gallery:

 

Ribald laughter echoes down the corridor, carrying with it the sound of revelry. Alcohol wafts along the walls, along with the stink of ozone and hard-rounds propellant.

 

Suddenly, there are a flurry of gunshots, and the snap-crack of lasguns. It takes your survival instinct a heartbeat to realise it was coming from up ahead, and not directed at you in ambush. As you pass through several arches, each painted with lurid gang signs, and carrying crude boards with white arrows painted on them:

 

"Kelvin's Gallery!"

 

Lho-tobacco smoke and booze make a heady mix as you step through the threshold. Four metres to your right is an open arch into a long room, the shadows broken at intervals by lights. Clustered around the arch are shrouded figures, and some fifty metres beyond sit three holographic targets, silhouettes themselves against a white painted wall, stained and scored by shot and blast. Opposite you is a long bar, brass-stalk barstools fixed into pleasing intervals, and behind a faux-wooden bartop with a young, wiry man with floppy blond hair. Two long scars break his face into a strange tri-band portrait, but his smile is easy enough.

 

A shout comes from the crowd as a Juve takes a shot. Even from there, and the shadows hiding most of it, you can tell the stance is off. The stub revolver bucks in his hands, discharging with a throaty roar, as it whips back and smacks him square in the forehead, driving him to the deck. The laughter is cruel, and he is quickly taken out of the shooting range and dumped on a seat. One of his bearers unloads the gun with practiced ease, and tucks it into the Juve's waistband at the front.

 

He shakes his head sadly at the lad and goes back to the range. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen! When you are ready you may begin sighting. Only one round mind you!" He warns with a finger. "Then the competition may begin."

 

There are good natured jeers to this, as the same man wanders to the bar, signalling to the blond man for a drink.

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

'Magisters' ... had they been higher in the underhive Falk would have guessed it the name of a minor gang mocking the authority of the arbites. But this far down there were scant records and those few that existed were often sealed for when the authorities were called to a place so far below the surface it was almost always for the purpose of elimination, purges of whole sectors where mutation or heresy had run rampant far from the Emperors light.

 

Turning to Geist, "you mentioned a Lady Gwynne . Do you have any words of warning for us here?"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Librarium:

 

At the lawman's query, Geist thinks for a moment, his face shifting to try and find the best advice he can give.

 

"Don't lie."

 

He shudders, and this in itself is a truth. His reaction is so honest it can only have come from bitter memory.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard smiled, enjoying the warmth and the jeering. He felt comfortable in such surroundings. He followed the man who had shouted towards the bar, and also ordered a drink from the blond man when he got there. Not that he had any intention of actually drinking any of it, not in a room full of drunken gangers with guns in hand. But holding it meant he would be less likely to be offered more, and he could easily pretend to take a swig if challenged.

 

As the bartender handed him a poorly made, almost opaque, glass tumbler half-filled with dark amber liquid, he raised a hand to get the attention of both the bartender and the man who seemed to be the organiser of the event.

 

"I am looking for Julo Kathago. A matter of business. I was told he might be found here?"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Kelvin's Gallery:

 

The two men heed the inquiry without reaction. The big, bluff man who stepped up to the bar awaits his drink. He scratches his nose before a wide glass is placed in front of him. He lifts it to his nose, closes his eyes, swishing the amber measure around before sinking it in one, smooth gulp.

 

Behind him, the shots and snaps continue as the competitors check and test weapons.

 

"Never heard of him," the man says at length. At this distance you can see his weathered face, the square jaw. His hand is large, square. Strong, calloused fingers end in chisel-shaped tips. He may be wearing townsman clothes; a waistcoat, and breeches of good quality, but this is someone who earns his money and dresses modesty.

 

"If it's business, then it's Twenty Thrones buy-in. That'll round the pot off to 500."

 

He places the glass down firmly, and gets up, letting a belch erupt before striding back to the ribald pack. "Now then Klaus, are Carpe Noctem going first?"

 

Klaus is a bald man, his left cheek sporting a gang tattoo. He's small, but rangy, and the compact laspistol on his hip sits in a quick-draw holster. His garb is dark, a long duster with a flak vest that has seen better days. He frowns at the organiser from hooded eyes, before squaring off with one of the targets, rolling his shoulders and neck.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard sighed and followed the man back towards the range. They knew Kathago, perhaps this even was Kathago, but no more information would be forthcoming until he had joined in with their game.

 

And who knew, maybe he could even win?

 

"Twenty thrones it is."

[Mazer Rackham]

Kelvin's Gallery:

 

"Cheers," the organiser pockets the Thrones. "We have three targets each, scores go over aggregate. No hotshots, machineguns or shotguns."

 

Klaus goes first, and three targets pop up at the end of the shooting range, large (+10), medium (+0) and small (-10) versions of the common Figure 11's the Imperial armed forces use. They are all at the same distance of 40m. On the tone, Klaus opens up.

 

Snap-crack, snap-crack, snap-crack.

 

Klaus:

Spoiler

HIT 35

MISS 45

HIT 24

 

Another man steps in, a stub semi-automatic in his hands. He has the look of a bounty hunter. He wears tall boots, and carries three pairs of rigid restraints strong enough to hold an Ork. His hat has a wide brim, which he strokes with a finger. He readies, and the tone chirps.

 

Dirty propellant stink fugs the space, as he fires quickly.

 

Bounty Hunter:

Spoiler

MISS 67

HIT 42

MISS 67

 

Seven other contestants try their hands, but their aim is atrocious. They all miss completely, or hit the outer fringes of the target. In one case, he jams, and misses the turn altogether, and another uses a brace of black-powder flintlock pistols that create a horrific racket and flood the place with choking smoke, but for all the sound and fury, he hits nothing.

 

He does look exceptionally pleased with himself though.

 

The organiser coughs until he hits the range fans, sucking all the pollutant away. "Looks like...ack...huff...Klaus is leading. Your turn, Stranger."

 

You may now make Three Half-Action Standard Attacks. No aiming, this is a reaction Test. You may use FP's to boost or re-roll as normal. Please record your BS Tests as above, so the 'winner' can be determined, and it saves my eyes ;p

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard strolled over, waiting for the other shooters to make room. He looked over at the targets and used his right hand to pull the back of his long coat away from his left side. For a long moment his left hand hovered above the stock of his holstered laspistol. Then he breathed out, drew and fired three times.

 

Reynard:

Spoiler

Quick Draw
HIT 48, 0DoS
MISS 89, 4DoF
Think I'll use a FP reroll on that one… 
HIT 18, 2DoS
MISS (just!) 37, 0DoF

 

 

The last target was smaller than the others and his las-blast punched into the white wall a few inches beyond its edge. Still, the first two shots had been decent, striking the targets accurately. The second had hit squarely in centre mass. Not bad. He reholstered his las and turned to look at the big townsman, his hand still resting on the stock.

 

"Now can I find Kathago?"

 

Edited October 30, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Kelvin's Gallery:

 

At your question, once again, the townsman side-steps. "Stranger wins, I reckon, Klaus."

 

"The hell he does," the little man replies. "Bring in the targets."

 

The Figure 11's roll closer, placing Klaus' shots in red, and yours in blue. Yours are truer on the medium target. (You win on DoS)

 

With a snort, Klaus wanders out, bumping your shoulder with his own. |Two others garbed just like him gather to his side, and they order a round of drinks from the blond man at the bar. Klaus looks over his shoulder at you more than once.

 

"You're a confident lad. That Carpe Noctem mob are a surly bunch. Be careful on your way out. Come with me, and I'll sort your prize purse." He ambles off into the corner of the tavern opposite the gamblers, to the immediate left of the bar. He draws back a thick green curtain, and gestures for you to follow him.

 

The Lbrarium:

 

Geist looks at the three of you. "I'm not going in there.  I'll wait for you at the junction up there." He nods to the throat of the downwards sloping passage, and slowly begins to climb back up the ramp.

 

Just a quick note to Tro, if you want to do what we discussed, go right ahead and post narratively with your single test at any point. You're relatively safe in Rivet City, so there won't be any surprises.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Kerr Restal had decided to accompany the other half of the team on their way to interrogate the Magisters. 

 

He hadn't really interacted with them, but he could tell that they needed his skills. 

 

It certainly tasked him to stay alert and guard his mind at the same time. He played the stoic silent brute hunter as he assessed them. 

 

The Arbitor, the Witch and the Little Ghost. Alert to keep the whispers at bay as a child of the Void must be, he relaxed in his chosen moment. 

 

Kerr Restal knocked three times on the bulkhead portal, he then unwound the wheel to open the door. 

 

 

 

WP39 + 0 (Challenging) = 39. Result: 21, Pass 1DoS

 

 

 

Edited October 31, 2022 by Machine God
Willpower Check

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

With a grimace, Reynard followed behind the heavyset organiser. Five hundred Thrones sounded nice, but he wasn't sure he needed the trouble that would likely go along with it…

 

He stayed close, using the big man's body as a shield, just in case he had 'friends' waiting beyond the curtain. All the way Reynard's hand stayed on his pistol and the other was ready to pull the sawn-off if it became necessary.

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Subtly checking his weapons, Nicios moved towards the open doorway. He quickly guarded his soul, it would be unwise to go into a meeting with unknown peoples who were potentially unsanctioned psykers, without protections.

 

 

Spoiler

Manifest Psychic Power- Resist Possession

Threshold- 6

Roll- 3+ 5(WPB) = 8

Result- Pass. Any time in the next hour, re-roll any failed Test to resist being Possessed by a Daemon

 

 

Right hand held loose, not quite hovering over his gun, left hand in his pocket slowly spinning his ring, Nicios walks through the doorway.

 

Spoiler

WP test

Target- 53

Roll- 06

Result= Pass, with 4 DoS

Edited October 31, 2022 by Lord_Ikka

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

The truth would be a welcome change of pace from the secrets and lies, or so he hoped. Blessed is the mind too small for doubt...

 

Falk kept pace with Nicios as he advanced, the change in spykers posture was subtle but did not go unnoticed. But they had come this far and they were all dead anyway if the threats were true. Truth was perhaps their best ally as survival was the great motivator.

 

WP test

25 vs 41 = pass with an extra DoS

[Mazer Rackham]

The Librarium:

 

Stepping through the portal you feel a wave of pressure wash over you, as though someone has stepped over your grave, but little more as you shrug it off. The walls bear fixed columns of metal cabinets, the drawers removed and turned into the furniture, with seats formed from the riveted metal. The runners are now glorified shelves, containing books, plastek sheafs of scripts, dataslates and scrolls. The floors are bare, but clean and polished. In the corner to your right as you go in, there is a small square of roughly woven carpet, with smaller shelves and a squat-trunked table.

 

Learning blocks lie scattered, along with small toys, aircars, chessmen. Some placed, some crashed. On the table there is a small battle taking place, with black Imperial soldiers chasing farming figures made of wood. One has a long coat, another a star. Still another has a bandolier of toothpicks, snapped in half - a baldrick of daggers, maybe. Lots of the little characters have fallen over.

 

The mist doesn't follow you in. Instead, it is dispelled by the glowglobes and hissing gas torches on the walls, the warmth kicked out by these naked flames is meagre, but present. As you look around, out of the corner of your eye, you see a shape, but it vexes any attempt to lay eyes on it. That you can see it at all, is likely due to your force of will, for you know what dwells within, or - can guess it.

 

A sharp tapping comes for the shelf-stacks to your left, but it is measured, and it finally coalesces into plain sight, a slim female figure, hooded.  Ashen-white hair drops from below a hood of palest grey, and you can see the broad ribbon of white silk that stretches across her face. The staff she carries is relatively plain, but atop it is the unmistakeable sigil of the Astropathica Minoris. She taps it either side of her, to gauge her distance as she moves through the stacks, until she reaches a drawer-chair upon which rests a velvet cushion.

 

She remains standing, perhaps holding audience, and she takes the staff in both hands. Her chin and lower face are young, drawn a little, pale, but you might place her in late twenties.

 

"Three of five stand here, but shadows long behind them. I see the Unblinking Eye, the shroud of death. Dost thou attend this place to slaughter us?"

 

Kelvin's Gallery:

 

Your caution is well-founded, because as you step through the curtain, you find a space sufficient to be a small managers' office, but the large, red-leather chair is not alone in here. Two other men stand in the room, although upon your entrance, they remark your intent, and fold thier arms, hands visible. A sure way of saving face, trying to be nonchalant, whilst also showing they are empty-handed. Pistol holsters are filled with guns, and long blades droop from their hips.

 

A mish-mash of flak, mesh and carapace armour, and sour, scarred faces to match.

 

Mercenaries.

 

"Hyram, get the lad the purse."

 

One of them turns, goes to a save, he spins open, and rummages.  A thick leather bag is hurled at you.

 

"Now I've paid the owing," the townsman, and shooting organiser says. "Business it is. What do you want of old Julo?"

Edited October 31, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard caught the bag in one hand, casually hefting it up and down without looking into it. Felt like five hundred, more or less. His other hand stayed on his pistol stock, but he did relax a little. The two fighters looked like pro's and he didn't want to antagonise them without need.

 

"Thank you. Made this trip vastly more profitable than I was expecting. Of course, Emperor knows whether I'll survive long enough to spend it with your friend Klaus and his mates outside."

 

He sighed and shrugged.

 

"Ah well, a problem for later. Are you Kathago, then? I'm not here looking for any trouble with you, all I want is information."
 

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Kerr Restal clicked his heels together and quickly bowed his head.

 

"Greetings Lady Gwynne, I am Kerr Restal and these my companions are Falk and Nicios. We were directed to your halls by the Lady Drexler in the course of our investigation about Dreyfuss."

[Mazer Rackham]

The Librarium:

 

A thin smile pulls her chin, but does not lift the muscles of her cheeks.

 

"Dreyfuss. A gaping wound, a bloodstain smeared on the wall, from whence rivulets doth flow and run to pool on a rancid floor."

 

Her attention seems to fade from you, invisible air currents stirring her hair. "Beware the sapphire widow in her web, pulling the strings to hang the foolish."

 

Her lower face firms. "Now, let thy next breath answer my challenge."

 

Kelvin's Gallery:

 

The man leans back in his chair and props his feet up on the desk. "I'm your man. Now what's bumping your gums, lad?"

Edited October 31, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"Killing is not our intent, though destruction has occurred in the course of our investigation. Information is needed or more may occur from those we seek."

 

Nicios was calm and collected as he spoke, but inwardly anger was rising. This woman carried an icon of the Astropaths, those who were raised and trained by a division of his former Adeptus. Trained astropaths were necessary for communication between hives, planets, or even sectors- not playing games in a low-level hive scum area. Is she a fraud or a criminal?