[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"The Magister's believed that Dreyfuss was looking for a cure, to something they call the rot. He was taking both blood samples and possibly people to test and experiment on. This angered the one they call the Dark Sister, as he was taken members of her coven, and she seems to be a powerful psyker of some sort."

 

Nicios' voice was shaky, as the reading of the scroll had been difficult and unpleasent, for he was a telepath and sensitive to mental anguish. 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cafe:

 

Seb shrugs in response to Bardas. "No, I'm sorry, I don't really know anywhere else that could help us."

 

Rostek looks exceptionally ill at ease, even with only half of what was said discernible, he's put enough of it together to decide he could be in over his head. His shrinking manner describes this better any words would. He puts both hands on the table and knocks with his left to get attention, before scribbling on the paper.

 

-Can. I. go?-

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard frowned, thinking about what Restal and Bardas had said. They were both right, of course. 'Von Graen' was burned. Reynard was probably burned, if anyone looked at him too closely. He needed to stay in the background, let someone else take the spotlight.

 

Rostek made his mute appeal and Reynard looked thoughtfully up and down at him, especially the long grey cloak that was his uniform. Though the material was dark, it drew the eye because it identified the wearer as a courier. Hmm. One of these message bearers could go anywhere in the Hive, be invited into any compound… and no-one looked twice at the anonymous gunslingers who were paid to follow and protect them…

 

If he tied his coat back, shifted his holsters round to make his guns more obvious, kept his hat on and his head down? Didn't speak. Brooded.

 

I can make that work.

 

He waved a lazy hand to get Rostek's attention, then spoke slowly and clearly.

 

"We'll let you leave. But we want your cloak."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard:

 

-swap. for. scarf?-

 

Rostek scribbles some more, points to his scars. He reddens, embarrassed.

 

-to. hide. these. -

 

Just to add on to Bardas' query. Seb doesn't know of any workshops or machine shops here, but that does not mean there aren't any. It will require 1D10 x 10 minutes, minus 10 Mins per DoS (to a minimum of 10 mins) on a Challenging (+0) Fellowship Test. Any DoF will add cumulative 10 mins to your time. Once you have located the machine shop (deal with this narratively) the tools will provide assistance to a Routine (+10) Tech Use Test (for a total of +20).

 

You may crack the servo skull open here with your rudimentary equipment to hand, but this will incur a Challenging (+0) Tech Use Test. Other Characters may assist if they have the Skill, as normal.

 

I also understand that Rostek may be asked other questions, this is up to you, and once he has the exchange, he will wander off.

 

Reynard: You are beginning to approach encumbrance/Agility Threshold. Please consider dropping at least one heavy item, or distributing a handful of lighter ones. I will check your sheet with you if you wish.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard's smile was not particularly warm.

 

We could just shoot you and take the damn uniform… still, I suppose the scarf is a bit flashy for playing the role of hardened gutter-scum guard…

 

With a sigh he unlooped the length of fabric from around his neck and passed it across to the scarred man. While he was at it, maybe it was time to lighten his pockets a little - all the bits and pieces he'd picked up were starting to spoil the stylish line of the coat's cut?

 

He started pulling items out and placing them on the table. A small stack of ration packs and pills, mostly. A scrap of cloth wrapped around a bottle of liquor so cheap as to be undrinkable… probably.

 

Spoiler

4 Ration Packs (3 Best Quality)
Caffeine Pills
Sugar Pills
1 Fire Bomb

 

 

"Help yourselves to anything you want, gentlemen. Now…"

 

He took the cloak Rostek had removed.

 

"...who wants to play a courier?"

 

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

On a roll with talking to other people, Kerr Restal had an idea. He moved across to Reynard's stash that was on offer, he scooped the ration packs and pills over to his side of the table. He put one of the good ration packs in his dump pouch for later and put the rest in a sack that he had to hand. He then got up from his chair' leaving the table.

 

"You can keep the Grog!"

 

He went over to the Kaff bar area and sat down with some other patrons that were being served by the proprietor, who he also beckoned to. He emptied his sack of goodies onto the bar counter and started his spiel.

 

"Greetings, you see that man over there holding that servo-skull?" Kerr Restal pointed back at Bardas. "He's my friend and he could also be yours; he is a wandering Tech-Seer and a wonder at fixing things. We just need access to a workshop nearby, do any of you excellent persons know of such as place nearby? Of course, if you could help us, you are welcome to this gear."

 

 

 

FEL 25 -5 (Ill-Omened) -0 (Challenging) +10 (Fate Point [Charmed: 1 (Fate Point used)] = 30. Result: 19, Pass 1DoS)

[Mazer Rackham]

D10 = 5 (50 Mins) - Pass plus DoS = 30 mins travel time.

 

Kerr Restal:

 

The few people in the cafe take a look at your offering, before snatching it and running off. Dissapearing the goods whilst managing to vanish themselves.

 

The only person left is an old-timer in a patched and faded miner's guild uniform, with a length of battered copper pipe. One end of the crutch is fitted with a t-piece wrapped with cracked and patchy leather trussed to it by jubilee clips.

 

"Well young 'un, you might want to check over in Sector 12b. There's a workshop run by a Cogger. He takes gold...or parts." He looks at Bardas.

 

He gets up, struggling to get the crutch into the pocket of his armpit, before pegging across to the Dispatch Box. He starts laughing in a strange, disjointed manner when he's a few metres away, not stopping until he reaches the clerk.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"Two more things," Falk raised his arm in Rostoks path, "firstly speak of this to no one, I would suggest that you make yourself hard to find for the next couple of days. Secondly any information you have on the individual who sent those packages."

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

-Understand. I can. keep. quiet.- He smiles, ruefully, albeit interrupted by the scars and tightened tissue. The man pauses to scribble again at some length. -Pick. up. from. clerk. Two. packages. Klaus. Karthago. go to gallery. - He shrugs.

 

-Job. sent. dataslate.-

 

He goes into a pouch, and produces his dataslate with a list of orders and destinations on it.

 

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

A while later, Kerr Restal returned and chatted to Bardas and the group.

 

+++ I've just been talking to an old miner, who told me about a workshop nearby. It's about a half journey from here in Sector 12b and run by a Cogger. The miner said that the Cogger takes payments in parts and gold, so your Thrones would come in handy Reynard. As to the matter of who gets to be Courier well the way I see it, there are really only two candidates. Falk and Niciois. +++

 

 

 

 

Edited November 26, 2022 by Machine God
Typo

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

"After the incident in the underhive too many of the mercenaries know my face", Falk glanced down at the dataslate he had been handed, "though a change of clothes would not be amiss if we are to move further up the hive, we stand out and we do no know how deep this rot has spread."

[Mazer Rackham]

The dataslate contains names, strata and sectors for several different residences as well as clothes, food and equipment vendors. Nothing immediately seems out of place. The data packets all have the same origin points for the job orders; a terminal at the Dispatch Box.

 

END OF PART FOUR

 

PLAYERS DO NOT POST.

Edited November 28, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Mazer Rackham]

CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT A DEADLY WEB WE WEAVE

 

MISSION CLOCK: 1200HRS ZULU.

REMAINING: 300Hrs.

 

+++++++

 

The World of Damocles, The Dispatch Box Cafe, Day Cycle, 2nd Segment .999.M41:

 

You have had some short time to rest and recuperate from your exploits, sharing the information, the fruits of your labours and trials. It is now you must decide what direction you will take, and how the Emperor's Will must proceed.

 

It is into the gentle humdrum of the cafe, that the news bulletin erupts. One of the victims has been rescued from an attempt on his life by terrorists. Flanked either side by Adeptus Arbites plain-clothes investigators, sits Old Man Lecriox, his face bruised and singed, sallow around his sunken cheeks. He looks drawn, and the effort of keeping himself upright is taking a toll. Even so, the thick wrappings of bandages and cataplasm packs are evident, and he doesn't look malnourished.

 

Just pained.

 

"I make this appeal on behalf of the citizens of Hive Primus," the old man begins, "somewhere, these criminals are holding my son. They tricked us, Seb. They are not who they claim to be. I acknowledge my sin, and in repayment have been given clemency. I am redeemed in co-operation. Son, come into the light of the Law, and the beneficence of the Golden, Terran Lord."

 

His image is replaced by a stern-faced man of middle-age, whom you've never seen before. His brown eyes are the cold, hard earth of the graveyard. "I am Commander Kraevus Aldario, Praefectus Secundus of this hive. We extend amnesty to anyone who can give us the location of these miscreants, who steal men's sons. Further, a bounty of ten-thousand Thrones will be paid for information leading to their capture..."

 

"Or death."

 

"That is all."

 

The screen goes back to an advertisement for corpse starch and Oaty Bars cereal products, Seb staring at it, eyes trying to pierce the images to see his father once more. When he breaks from the reverie, he looks at each of you in turn. He is clearly wavering.

 

That isn't all, as Commander Aldario so eloquently put it. On the other side of the square, a few heads keep turning to look in your direction. Couriers mind their business, but the Mercenary bodyguards, paid to be vigilant and to intercept trouble both, begin to take a keener interest in all and sundry.

Edited November 29, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard smiled. It was not a happy expression.

 

"Well gentlemen, I believe I have officially become a liability here. People will be actively looking for me. Therefore, I intend use that courier's cloak to bluff my way as far uphive as I can. When I can go no further, I will hand myself in to the authorities and demand to speak with the Lady Governor. Perhaps I can convince her to stop hindering our efforts to save her home?"

 

He turned to look at Seb. The kid needed an explanation to keep him on side. Deserved it too.

 

"With that thought in mind, if we are asking for your continued support, I think you need to understand what it is we are actually doing here."

 

He gestured for the boy to look beneath the edge of the table. Then carefully, masked by table top and coat so that it could not be seen by anyone else in the cafe or square, Reynard opened his palm and activated his electoo. He spoke softly, barely a whisper.

 

"We are not criminals. We are not terrorists. Our 'employer' is the Ordo Hereticus of the Emperor's Inquisition. Hive Tertius was not destroyed by xenos, but rather from within, its power core detonated by traitors. These traitors have threatened Secundus and Primus with the same fate if the Inquisition does not meet their demands. We have been tasked with finding them and stopping them. The lives of your father, your friends, everyone you have ever known, depend on us doing so."

 

Reynard frowned, closing his palm.

 

"The doctored footage from the Sanctum proves that someone in power here is working against us. I mean to go find out who."

 

He smiled again, more wryly this time.

 

"I wonder if I can lay claim to the bounty on my own head? Ten thousand Thrones isn't bad at all! Come with me if you like, kid. We can try to get your da out, too?"

 

 

 

And if we can't get in to see Magda Aldario, we'll be close to the spaceport again. Maybe I'll just find myself a ship heading away from bloody Damocles…

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard:

 

Seb watches, gawps, pales significantly.

 

Then he claps a hand over his mouth, and mutters what could be an apology before dashing through the door to the back of the cafe, heedless if a shotgun is waiting for him. The stall-doors of one of the refreshers slaps open, followed by tortured retching.

 

It goes on for quite a while.

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Yep. Pretty much the same as I thought when I got involved in this mess.

 

Reynard shrugged at the other acolytes. Necessary, he was sure. The boy would otherwise have turned them in almost immediately. He might still try to run out the same way Tracer had gone. Quietly he stood and followed Seb, stopping outside the stall door where he could see the boy's hunched back, but still allow him a moment's privacy. He waited for the sounds of vomiting to stop.

 

"Sorry kid. Not fun to hear, I know. If you want to stay down here, I won't force you to come with me, as long as you can keep your mouth shut. Maybe you could help the others get hold of Tracer again? We still need to know what he knows."

Edited November 29, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard:

 

There is the sound of sniffing and clearing throat. He spits into the fresher bowl.

 

"If, if I have the choice," he pauses to hawk up and spit again. "I'd rather just be some pleb down here. I'll..." he gasps, gulps air down which is rancid with bile. The smell is quite strong. "I'll try and find Tracer."

 

Eventually he slumps back against the stall partition.

 

"I'm just going to sit here...a bit. That way if you leave, I don't know where you've gone, do I?"

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

+++ If you are off up top Courier, you might want a Bodyguard! +++

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"Smart thinking, kid. And thanks. I'm sorry Dreyfuss got you involved."

 

He stepped back into the hallway, still able to see the youth sat on the floor under the stall door. He reflected again, with something approaching sorrow, about the way the lives of good, simple Hivers were being hurt by this madness.

 

Then Restal voxed, volunteering to join the group going to the Spire.

 

+++Much appreciated, Restal. Two guards aren't impossible for an important courier, I suppose? Nicios, are you still happy to play our messenger? I guess in that case we should find a transport heading uphive? If anyone else wants to keep looking for Tracer, Seb has offered to work with you.+++

 

Edited November 29, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Trokair]

+Welcome to the Mushrooms+ Bardas directed at Seb when he returned to the table.

 

Turning to the others and tapping the skull he added.

+I’ll be looking into our Omnissian opposition and what trace they may have left in here. I suspect they are also in competition with the stratified layers. I’ll circle back to hear Tracer’s tale in time, unless you want that entertainment Falk?+

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"I'll play the courier, though I'll caution you that my skills due  not lean especially towards conducive, charming conversations. "

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"More believable than making you one of the guards, though?"

 

Reynard grinned at the shorter man. Though Nicios was almost certainly the deadliest of them all, he didn't look threatening.

 

Which was precisely why he would be useful.

 

"Don't worry, I imagine most of these messengers let their protectors do the talking - at least while they're travelling? I'll handle the conversations."

 

He looked around thoughtfully.

 

"I wonder if there is a transport hub near here that the couriers use?"

 

 

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"I'll accompany you Bardas, the closer we move towards the truth the more will be thrown against us and we cannot afford to picked off one by one."

 

He placed the package he had retrieved earlier on the table, "contraband, I would not object to its destruction but time is short and some use might yet be found for it."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

As they headed for the caravan station, Reynard kept his head down beneath his hat and his coat swept back to reveal his laspistol and shotgun openly holstered on either hip. A little Hive dust rubbed into the dark fabric made both items of clothing look far more worn and aged than they actually were.

 

A quintessential Hive gunfighter.

 

He walked a few feet ahead of Nicios, with Restal a few feet behind the 'courier'. When they reached the station, he stepped forward to speak to the clerk that presided over the lift doors.

 

He loomed over the man and made his voice gruff, poorly mannered, even surly.

 

"Need private car up t' Upper Hive Terminus. Three riders."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The lifts:

 

The clerk is exceptionally thin, with an oddly bulbous head. His pate is protected by some kind of hiver cap, a flattened wedge of cloth tapering towards the front.

 

"Aye up, lad. Linger theyer fer five minutes of th' Emperor's hour. Twenty Pieces please. Una'll look after thee."

 

He gestures to one of the guards, a small woman with a carbine lasgun, stock folded, and a wicked looking grin to match a needle-sharp poinard tucked into her belt. Her chin carries the scars of repeated dust-ups. She bites a bobble between her noticeably well-kept teeth, tying her bobbed chestnut hair back. Her clothes are a mishmash of Guard surplus and hiver utilities.

 

"Una Weslock. Ex-333rd. The Half-damned," she introduces herself to Nicios, identifying him as your principal. Her grin returns as she makes ready and nods respectfully to the two killers flanking him. She watches the lights of the stops creep towards the floor. You get the impression this is the exciting bit of her job.