[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

Kelvin's Charnel House:

 

Falk/Nicios:

 

The robed man offers no resistance, keeping his hands out and up to show you he offers no threat. He whimpers occasionally in fear, but keeps control of himself. Karthago breathes deeply, savouring even this, burned, bloody air.

 

The owner and gunsmith looks up at Nicios, but answers Falk now he spare the breath. "There is, through the office over there. Your friend went that way, so can we."

 

He crunches his way to the bar, the remnants of the structure keeping him upright. "We can't just leave the device though - what if a kid comes in here, scavenging?"

[Trokair]

Bardas

Spoiler

Per: 34

D100:51, Fail 1 DoF

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

"Watch this one, he may have information." The barkeeper was right about the bomb, using his flak-cloak as a shield he made a small cut in the side of the package with his knife and brought up his lamp-pack. With any luck it was just a grenade, otherwise a second detonation was likely the best option.

 

As he did a thought occurred to him about the mans signals, "see if you can't find him a pen or dataslate".

[Mazer Rackham]

Kelvin's Charnel House:

 

Nicios: Seeing Falk's careful investigation, the man trembles next to you. You don't have to be a psyker to feel his terror.

 

Falk: The package content glint in the light. Crystal vials filled with sloshing liquid. Thin steel injector needles gleam in steely silver.

 

There are no wires, no cabling or the smell of fyceline. Instead, some kind of counterseptic, and the faint whiff of spoiled narcotics.

 

 

Restal: The one called Hyram leaves, jogging back the way he came. The other bravo stands there quite calmly, leaning on the corner of the arch, arms folded. "Listen pal, That's private property in there. You need to let me by before the fuzz get here."

 

The Dispatch Box Cafe:

 

Seb:

Spoiler

Per: PASS 2 DoS.

Bardas: FAIL 1 DoF

Unknown Agent wins by 1 DoS.

 

Seb gasps, almost stands. "The box is open!"

 

Box door 303 is indeed, swinging on its hinges.

 

This Party must now pause.

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Recalling Restals warning Falk speaks into his comms, "stall them if you can, tap twice if it's the rear entrance they are watching".

 

Cautiously but quickly he moved the light to illuminate the top of the package looking for any sign of a detonator or the bump felt by Nicios, "if any of you know what these are then speak now."

 

Common lore: underworld: 29 vs target 38 - pass, no DoS to try and identify and symbols or the colour/smell/nature of the injectors and their contents

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

You can identify the object as an injector kit, one of the vials cracked. It is Obscura based, from your memory. A relaxant, it is obvious that what Karthago felt shift were the fluid contents of the injector vials. Other than being a form of illegal stimulant, it is not explosive. The pressure against the box side, which Nicios placed the lump of plascrete seems to be the result of the broken syringe and vial, the plunger to deliver the narcotic misfired, thus bloating the side of the parcel. The spring continues to hold the tension of the plascrete lump above it.

 

It appears Karthago lives only because of a delivery mistake.

 

The man himself looks at the parcel, up at you. "I know nothing about it. I expected no package."

 

The robed and scarred delivery agent merely shrugs.

Edited November 20, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Restal:

 

"Am I stopping you?" replied Kerr Restal. "You could get a Baneblade sideways in that gap!" 

 

 

 

Edited November 20, 2022 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

Restal:

 

"Good." The bravo pushes off the corner and moves to go past you into Kelvin's destroyed gallery.

 

"Boss? You alright, you there?"

Edited November 20, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Falk stood up straight, holding the box as best as he could not to touch the contents within, "alright then, time to leave before anyone comes to check on their work. I intend grant whoever sent that bomb and whoever protects them the Emperors mercy. A name for a life as I recall, don't fall short on your end of this".

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

Karthago hears the shout from the door. "It's alright Brandt. Stay there."

 

He pulls a scorched and battered seat to fold his bulk into. He nods slowly. "You're all business, I appreciate it."

 

He shows off his tattoo again. "I know you're in a hurry, but listen in so you know. There were three of us survived Slaughter Pass. Brimlock Grenadiers. Stormtroopers," he says with a hint of pride. "Tau were everywhere, the dead piled up around us. Then the Templars showed up. Throne, I've never seen anything like the bloodshed and firepower that day. After eight hours, and half dead, we gave 'em what for, the Space Marines all around us, even saved one. Their Castellan told us we were worthy allies."

 

His gaze disappears into the din and haze of memory.

 

"We got tattoos. A Templar Scribe done 'em, put us in the Roll of Honour too. There was me, Hef Kestis, and Lucian Greyson."

 

"Yesterday, Greyson came in, spoke to Klaus, then to me. He had a problem. I guess that was you. I was to send word if you turned up, send you down to the Rat Run, where they'd wait. I saw your pal, custom gun, one of mine. One of Greyson's. I don't know who's running him now, but that man is looking for a reckoning with the good doctor Dreyfuss. He's competent."

 

Karthago looks at every corner of his place, then the ruined package in Falk's keeping. "Maybe I was just a loose end, eh, old friend?"

 

"Brandt - show these men out the back door."

 

The mercenary comes in, hands empty, and obeys, gesturing through the office, and a bulkhead door beyond.

 

The robed man looks out of his hood, gestures as though writing on his palm. Karthago sighs and passes him a well-worn and licked pencil plus a small jotting journal. The little courier scribbles hastily, eagerly holding out the note. In shaky letters it reads:

 

-am Rostek. speak slow. read lips. -

 

There's another rustle of paper.

 

-am courier. work for dispatch box. -

 

If this half of the party want to finish anything up, now's the time. You can certainly take Rostek with you. Otherwise, you can drop some narrative into moving to the rendezvous. You will once again pick up the comm-bead signals of the rest of your party. You will arrive at the Dispatch Box just as the Imperial Navy Police start busting heads. Feel free to work this into your narrative.

Edited November 22, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard moved out from the ablutions and around the edge of the melee, trying to hug the shadows and avoid any contact with the provosts. What were Navy troops doing this far downhive? He didn't believe in coincidences - this chaos smelled like a diversion. Something must be happening to box 303.

 

As he moved past the clothing retailer Bardas had visited, he saw the shopkeeper being knocked to the ground by a brute wielding a riot baton. Reynard took shelter, pausing for a few moments behind a rack displaying lengths of woven fabric. One scarf suddenly caught his eye, a bright blue that reminded him of a child's picture of an unpolluted, Agri-world sky.

 

Hmm. The pictures of him from the Sanctum - harshly and brightly lit - had shown up the lighter threads in his coat, making it look more blue-grey in the images. But if he were to wear a much lighter, brighter coloured item alongside it, by simple contrast the coat would appear darker, even black. It was just colour theory, but it might be enough to complete his makeover and trick someone's eyes?

 

As the merchant slumped, unconscious, and the provost turned back into the main fight, Reynard casually pulled the scarf from the rack. He wrapped the fabric around his neck and hurried on towards the wall of boxes.

 

Then from a distance he saw the opened, empty box.

 

Wonderful.

 

Edited November 22, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Kerr Restal caught up with his colleagues who were being guided by the hooded deaf man. They'd come out of the back of the Kelvin's Ruin; he'd triangulated their vox comms and ghosted them to provide cover from trigger happy juves.

 

Eventually they had moved in the directions that Kathago had earlier given him, to a degree. The hooded man was writing messages to communicate, he took them towards a place called the Dispatch Box. He remembered Reynard's message.

 

"Gather where we can send a message to our friends… and our enemies."

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cafe:

 

Bardas:

 

The cafe is virtually at a stand-still, well enough out of the fracas to avoid feeling the wrath of angry Regulators. They aren't being brutal for the fun of it, however, as you can see they are checking individuals they've knocked down, restraining ones who look very similar in clothing or by appearance, dark tunics with pale trousers or fatigues, blond, sandy haired or shaven-headed men.

 

The knifeman has vanished, and the clerk in her office is cowering behind her counter, the top of her head peering over, reminiscent of a graffiti cartoon popular with juves. As you search the crowd, flicking your eyes to the empty box and spying for a possible candidate, one of the serving menials approaches you, a towel over his arm, and a tray in hand with two cups of dark liqueur kaff.

 

"Master Acolyte, with our compliments. My apologies learned one, but your comrade has offended the machine spirits of the refresher with his...ablutions. Could you please apply your wisdom?"

Edited November 22, 2022 by Mazer Rackham
Edited for Lysi's paranoia

[A.T.]

Falk (prior to leaving):

 

"Can you describe Greyson?" . How much information could they afford to give out, how much help could they afford to pass up with so little time left. "You've seen the vid feeds, there is more going on and your friend is right in the middle. He cut a path through a lot of people today and there is something bigger that he is protecting."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

"He's not a friend any more if he's trying to blow me to pieces," Karthago mutters. "He's big, but don't let that fool you, because he's quick, too - and just as fast upstairs." Karthago taps his temple.

 

"In uniform his chest is broad as a battleship, and he's got medals to fill it. Pale-grey eyes, dark hair. Scars on his face, nothing special, but handsome enough for a wife and daughter. Always loyal, never a break from the Emperor."

 

He shakes his head sadly. "I can't believe it. Lucian...what have you done?" For a moment, the shrewd businessman looks lost. "If he knows I'm still alive, he'll try again. He won't stand for loose ends. I have to vanish."

 

Karthago pulls up to full height. "Brandt, you'll have to come with me. We'll blow the charges, cover it all up." He looks at Falk. "I still owe you. Use the Dispatch Box to send messages to Drexler. He'll know how to find me."

 

If Falk wants to respond or ask more questions, use Interrogation for specific matters etc) go right ahead. I can fiddle with Bardas/Reynard without breaking the Rendezvous.

Edited November 22, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

+Sanitational spirits and their homes are beyond my ken, the only aid I can offer is a suggestion, application of NaClO balm to the ailing parts, with perhaps a rinse of heated H2O.+

 

Bardas politely declined the offered drink.

[Mazer Rackham]

Bardas:

 

The waiter has moved close enough so he can keep his voice low. "Mea culpa. Maybe ser would reconsider."

 

He deposits the plastek tray onto your table. On it is a handkerchief. Peeking out from below it, is a very familiar holoslice. The waiter shifts the towel on his arm, revealing what the locals call a bell-pistol. A modified and refurbished 37mm flare launcher. The blunderbuss muzzle is short enough you can see the 160 plasteel ball-bearing flechette shell gripped in the breach. "Interesting item in your pocket. Maybe those Regulators would like to find it too?"

 

"Don't shout. I saw that man you're with," the waiter advises, leaning over, a show of obsequious obeisance to an important patron. "Seen him before. Didn't trust the bastard then, niether."

 

The barrel of the bell-pistol retreats, but still covers you as he stands up, the fixed customer-is-always-right smile does not reach his eyes, buried within his gaunt face. 

 

"You're looking for Tracer. You found him. Now, go and plunge my sink before I paste you over this wall."

 

There is a strange buzzing in your ear now the man is close. Your comm-bead is being interfered with.

Edited November 22, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard edged back around the naval troopers. The scrum was beginning to calm as the last of the locals were either subdued or fled. He hurried back over to where Seb was standing at the door of the cafe, still looking towards the empty box.

 

"What happened?" he hissed. "Who emptied the box?"

 

He looked around, his eyes searching for some sign of whoever had taken the bait but got away. He looked past the young hacker into the eatery, where he could see the back of a waiter standing in front of the tech-adept.

 

"And why the hell is Bardas still just sitting there getting served kaf?"

 

 

Spoiler

Per Test: Per28 +10(Awareness+10) -20(Hard) = 18, Roll: 57, Fail with 3DoF.

 

Edited November 22, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

Reynard: (brain go derp).

 

The sudden shift in fortunes has obviously distracted you. So much confusion and tumult makes it hard to see who is up to no good, and who just wants to get away. Indeed the tide is ebbing, and the \regulators are now mopping up. The Sergeant looks incredibly annoyed.

 

"False alarm. When we get that bloody deserter, I'll hang him with his own guts! Fingerprint ID the lot, then let them go. This is why I don't like it when we stop at port. Too many bloody shipjumpers."

 

He looks around.

 

"And grockles."

 

Seb looks up at you. "I don't have a clue. One minute we were drinking kaff, the next, I thought someone was popping the box, but it was 304. Bardas moved, but then the waiter caught him. Badgering him about drains, I think."

 

Opposed Test:

Spoiler

Tracer: FAIL 3 DoF. Tracer wins tie with higher Stat, but this is not a DoS

 

As you peer at the waiter, now you're closer to him, you find something...familiar about his poise. You're not sure where it's from, maybe you just haven't noticed him in the cafe until now. You can't place him, but you know his face from...somewhere.

Edited November 23, 2022 by Mazer Rackham
Opposed roll outcome

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard looked again around the dispatch office, the clothes store, the provosts dealing with their prisoners, searching for the thief.

 

But something kept niggling at his mind. He looked back again. Why was that waiter familiar? Reynard didn't know anyone here…

 

"Something's not right there…" he whispered quickly to Seb, giving the lad his hat and surreptitiously loosening his laspistol in its holster. Then he turned and walked boldly back into the cafe, putting on an uphive accent.

 

"My dear fellow, I hear I've clogged your basin! Shocking behaviour, I'm appalled at myself! Had to tidy myself up, meeting with the Canthuses soon, couldn't turn up in that state, dontcha know. You must allow me to apologise profusely. I'll have my boy here get it cleaned up for you immediately, it will only take a moment…"

 

As he yammered on, he moved closer and closer, trying to draw the man's attention away from Bardas. The stiff way the tech-adept was sitting confirmed his suspicions that something was wrong.

 

Why did he know the man?

 

 

Spoiler

Blather Test: Fel45, Roll: 29, Pass with 1DoS.
 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard:

 

Blather:

Spoiler

Tracer: PASS, no DoS, Reynard wins by one DoS.

 

Your unexpected jabbering draws the waiter's attention, albeit he continues to point his towel covered arm at Bardas. You recognise him at last, the eyes give it away, that faint spark of recognition as you remember a bowl, a limp, an alabaster statue. He knows you just the same, but beads of sweat start on his brow, cheeks and chin.

 

"Stuff your bloody Canthuses, and shut your trap, idiot!" he half growls it from slitted lips, trying to smile. He licks his lips. "Of course you are forgiven my dear friend," he adds, loudly.

 

His eyes dart up to a brace of servo-skulls who drop from above the cafe, where they carried out their routine flyovers, to start circling.

 

You sense Seb get closer. He angles your hat, preparing to throw it in case you need the feint.

 

"Perhaps you would like to see the wines in the cold-store? Or help me clean the mess?" the waiter says.

 

A servitor detaches from its maintenance alcove, and begins to trundle towards the Dispatch Box. It stops often to regard the movements of the Regulators and injured citizens.

Edited November 23, 2022 by Mazer Rackham
Typos

[Trokair]

+You are not going to shoot me.+ Bardas replied in the same low tone.

 

+That would attract far too much attention.+

 

Turning to properly face him he continued.

 

+We are seeking information that will hopefully save many lives, yours included, so thank you for meeting with us.+

 

Glancing at the approaching Reynard and Seb.

 

+My companions are returning, shall we head inside, a table at the back should do nicely for our discussion.+ He said the last bit just loud enough for Reynard to hear as well.    

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Got it. The beggar from the spaceport. Working for Tracer? Or even the man himself? Then he realised what the serving cloth concealed and why Bardas was not moving. The beggar's response to his chatter was odd though, like someone convinced they were being watched? Simple paranoia, or something more?

 

Reynard looked around. Perhaps the provosts' presence might be making Tracer nervous? He also noticed the sudden movements of the machine constructs outside - recent revelations about their enemies had made him far more... aware... of such things.

 

Pulling back his coat, he rested his hand on the stock of his pistol. Quietly, speaking in barely a whisper, he replied to both men.

 

"Lower that weapon, now. I think my colleague makes an excellent suggestion, let's move somewhere a little more private. Somewhere with a back exit, too?"

 

Then slightly louder.

 

"Wonderful, old boy. Always happy to see the wine store!"

 

Edited November 23, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cafe:

 

The waiter keeps the smile, although this time it pinches the corner of his eyes. He regards Bardas. "What do you think my exit strategy was? Being arrested by Regulators is safer than the Arbites."

 

The servitors circle closer, their gravitic levitators now audible. The skulls, bedecked in parchment and seals, hover down to begin a sweep of the cafe. The waiter sighs, his attitude changing now to one of desperation as he places the towel in such a way across his arms, that he covers all three of you. The trio of servo skulls examine pipes and conduits in the cafe, as though looking for damage.

 

The waiter's face relaxes with a silent decision. He speaks to Reynard. "Dear friend, I have just remembered, the wine cellar is a terrible mess, I shall go and prepare it for you. You should come back another time perhaps. If you follow me, you will definitely hurt yourself."

 

His face loses all false humour, and he slowly backs through the door adjoining the ablutions block. The towel shifts just enough, and he menaces you with the muzzle of his bell pistol. His face is fixed in a determined grimace through the circular window in the door, staring at Bardas, and then he is gone.

 

The servo-skulls take to examining chairs and tables, but after sweeping around several times, finally cluster together and leave.

 

Unless Falk has anything more for Karthago, I'm going to move the whole party to the Dispatch Box (plus Rostek and Seb) as the crowd thins out, and the Regulators finish their business. Couriers and civilians will return to normal duties as well, so there will be enough people about not to feel exposed.

 

The Party may now regroup, and all PC's can catch up, knowing the whole story of both segments.

Edited November 23, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Eventually the Naval Thugs left the vicinity, allowing everyone to meet up. Even Bar-dass was here, somehow. 

 

Life returned to the Rat Run around the Dispatch Box and a little Kaff bar. 

 

People went about and the beggars reappeared, the same Hive over no doubt. 

 

Kerr Restal tossed one of his remaining Thrones into a random bowl. 

 

"Emperor guard you, and spare you from my fate!" He muttered.