[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

Lift Car 013:

 

"Bloody trouble. Could be frieghtbaggers. I'm going to have a look. Stay there," she demands of Restal with a stern jerk of her chin. There isn't much to Una, but what could be mistaken for small stature is in truth, just compact muscle. She's across the car in a heartbeat, and braced on the seats either side of the Killer's shoulders, which she clambers onto.

 

"This is the only time you're getting between my knees, boyo. Now, boost me up, kindly."

 

She slaps the hatch loops, undogging them, readying herself to lift the hatch up with her shoulders to expose as little of her head and body as possible.

 

The thumps of metal-on-metal contact multiply, there now sounds to be two, maybe even three people on the roof of the car.

 

"Please be frieghtbaggers, please be frieghtbaggers," she whispers as she clamps her ankles under Restal's armpits. She looks down at him. "You know what a Spyrer is?"

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Kerr Restal stayed where he was whilst Una knelt on his shoulders.

 

He resisted the urge to assist her with his hands on her gluteus, instead he inhaled. 

 

"Do any of you know what a Spyrer is?" Una asked, trembling. 

 

"No, but it sounds bad" 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Cal Ferrina's Spyrers had been the source of all kinds of horrific ghost tales in Reynard's youth. He'd heard of similar monikers on other worlds. Same monsters, though. He'd never come up against their kind himself, but he'd heard enough stories to never want to.

 

"More bluebloods. Manhunters for the fun of it. All the gear you could ever imagine and vicious -ers with it."

 

He looked up at Una, bitterness seeping into his tone.

 

"Don't they stick to hunting down in the underhive? This far up they might accidentally kill someone who actually matters."

 

 

 

Edited December 3, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Lift Car 013:

 

"Ha! Like me!" Una's laugh is a bark.

 

She braces the hatch with the back of her head and shoulders. "They're young Bluebloods, what the hell do they care? Kill some poor prat, and be home in time for venison burgers."

 

There's a hiss of pressure as she pops the lid, peers out. She gasps and drops back into the car lust as a ribbon of gleaming gossamer slices through the plasteel of the hatch. Una drops into the floor as the cool air rushes in, thick with the oil stink and machine-heat of the lifting gear above your heads. The creaking and squealing of poorly lubricated metal cabling.

 

Una breathes hard as she sprawls on the floor after kicking free of Restal's shoulders. "Two of 'em. Spiders."

 

A headless body drops through the hatch in a crimson mess. You recognise him as a courier who paid for a 'seat' before you got on. His body is trussed in a steel net, the monofilament strands dicing the flesh slowly as the body thuds back and forward in the lift car.

 

Gentlemen. Initiative.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Combat senses kick off as he looks for the Spyrer's, combat shotgun ready for targets.

 

 

 Initiative D10: 10 + 3 (AGL) = 13 

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Hmm. Armored intruders?

Nicios draws his stub automatic, flipping it from safe to fire with a flick of his thumb. The thumb of his left hand begins to spin his ring, and the Psalms of Castigation fill his mind.

 

Spoiler

Invocation Test

Target- 53

Roll- 46

Result- Pass. On the next Psychic Test, add an additional WPB to the manifestation roll.

 

Those that profane my path, suffer his Wrath. For I am the armored fist of He Who Watches from Terra, the God-Emperor of Man. Let His Glory and Will fill my mind and my limbs, let His Fury guide my hand and eyes. Praise to Him, for today I bring down mine enemies.

 

Edited December 4, 2022 by Lord_Ikka

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

How the hell were they going to get out of this? Stuck several miles up in a dangling plasteel box, menaced by two peerless hunter-killers with all the casual cruelty of spoilt children.

 

Not like we can threaten to cut their allowance, though.

 

Still. Authority might prove to be a better weapon than lasfire. Even the spoilt scions of the Imperium's nobility understood that there were a few who were above their reach. It was earlier than he had intended to reveal himself... but with the right motivation, they might even provide a way past the Spire's security?

 

Worth a try.

 

Even as he aimed his shotgun at the narrow hatch, with his other hand he holstered his laspistol. Slowly he opened his now empty hand, palm out and pointed at the hatch. With a deep breath he activated his electoo, sending a beam of light up through the gap. What it displayed couldn't be seen inside the car, but those in the darkness above should have a clear view.

 

In the sudden silence that immediately followed, he spoke. He kept his voice low, controlled, even a little bored… but also with a skein of stinging contempt weaving its way through the words.

 

"I think even ignorant and wasteful children like you must be aware exactly what that symbol represents. You should, or you will quickly find yourselves responsible for bringing shame and ruination to your parents, your Houses, your entire damned Hive!"

 

The contempt in his voice became stronger, his tone brooking no argument.

 

"Now. You little fools will both shut down all your weapons systems and present yourselves for my inspection. Am I making myself clear?"

 

 

Spoiler

Deceive Test(?) Fel45 +10(Deceive+10) = 55, Roll: 14, 4DoS!

 

Assuming the ploy fails:
Initiative Roll: 4+1 +d10(4) = 9.

 

 

If Verdict's 'gift' was legit, Reynard didn't see that they could refuse… but just in case, he kept his shotgun aimed at the hatch and nodded to Nicios and Restal to show that he was ready to fight.

Edited December 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

As Reynard spoke to the intruders, Nicios prepared for the most likely outcome- violence. From what he had heard, Spyrers were nobles who hunted for sport, occasionally drugged with sense-enhancers and reflex boosters, little likely to obey or even recognize the authority of the Holy Ordos if they were in a kill-stupor.

 

Spoiler

Initiative

Result- 6 (3 + 3(roll))

[Mazer Rackham]

Lift Car 013:

 

Spoiler

Opposed Scrutiny: Reynard wins by FIVE.

 

There are he sounds of furtive movements, the feet sure, but lightly firm on the steel ceiling. It is more akin to the subtle redistribution of weight than a felid scrabbling across a hot roof. Vox clicks. The car lurches a fraction and pistons pop as the strange ring of something climbing the cable reaches your ears. Then a vox, and laser sights drop through the hatch, bisecting the floating hologram.

 

+Your reach is long, Acolyte, but we are not some wilting scum, to be threatened so easily.+ The rich, clear voice of a high-quality vox unit carries the blue-blooded superiority with a silken rasp, but without heat. The hint of smugness is laced with something else: curiosity. Those of you who are aware of this kind of Spyrer, have heard they sport a strange mentality. Killers and hunters of men, they also display the inquisitive behaviours of the creatures they mimic.

 

Perhaps that just means they like to find out more about their meal before they kill it.

 

There is the sound of twanging strings, thin threads both deadly and strong striking the sides of the metal box in which you dangle, before the sounds of clambering rattle from the port side wall. Before you realise it, the air filter is torn out by the sawing, hooked blade of the spider outside. A helm stablight blazes light through the gap, before the man removes his helm and holds it. A young face, untouched by war or disease peers through the hole. The lights within are sufficient to illuminate his high cheekbones and straight nose. "It is only polite we should speak face to face."

 

The superiority is there, in a porcelain figure perhaps, but his pale blue eyes are hard. They sweep the cabin, linger a moment on Una, before fixing Reynard.

 

"You are a brave man to tell a Redback how high he should jump. My brother stands ready to slice the cable if you prove false. Speak, then."

 

Initiative has been rolled; hence Structured Time is still prepared, but Narrative Time remains in effect. This forms part of the success and failures of the exchange between the Spyrers and the Party. Let's see how silver your tongues are...

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard stared back, eyes just as hard. He would show no fear. Fear was an invitation to bullies like these. You had to make them realise that, however much they liked to pretend it was not so, there were greater sources of authority than their own. No negotiation. No conciliation. Only strength.

 

And who knows when a hiveborn kid like me will ever get another chance to tell such blueblood inbreds what I really think of them?

 

Reynard doubled down.

 

He spat scornfully on the lift car deck, not having to fake his contempt at all.

 

"As I said, you are children. So obsessed with playing your pitiful games that you have not even noticed the storm that is about to strike! And how brave and skilled you both must be, preying on lone, unarmed couriers riding grav-rings… pathetic! Do you have any idea of the troubles such indolence and wastefulness has brought upon your world? Have you no shame?"

 

 Then he shrugged.

 

"Tell your brother to go ahead and cut that cable. You and he will die in the nucleonic fires in a matter of days. Or perhaps weeks. If our enemies - who I am here to stop - fail to bring it about first, you can be sure that my masters will rain them down soon after. You two will have brought annihilation upon yourselves, your Houses, your entire feeble 'dynasties'. What a grand way to be remembered…"

 

He smiled then at the noble hanging outside the car, his expression utterly devoid of warmth or amusement.

 

"Or you can do as I have ordered. Stand aside. Submit yourselves to the authority that you know has been given. Assist us in our task. Perhaps you might yet be the saviours of your little kingdoms… rather than their destroyers."

 

 

Edited December 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Lift Car 013:

 

The Spyrer absorbs both your fury and contempt, but he nods in some polite measure of understanding, even acceptance that you are worth the authority you carry. His eyes glimmer with both amusement and appreciation, a look that considers fine wines, courtesan partners, or implements of torture in a similar manner.

 

Maybe it's the look of a boy who enjoys pulling the wings off flies. It shifts to something far more dangerous.

 

"Help you? My dear Acolyte, what could a pitiful wastrel like me do for the mighty Inquisition?"

 

He dons his helmet with a practiced twist, and once more the killing, blood-spattered mask, stares into the cabin, fixed upon Una. +Have I doomed you now, pretty one? Or would you care for a lift?+

 

"Shove it up your arse!" she cries.

 

+That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day. I'll see you later. Oh, and Acolyte? Never threaten a nihilist with a good time.+

 

Then he is gone, the sound of metallic wires tinging and twanging in a strange musical-cum-mechanical rapture. The sensation of the two spiders clambering onto the lift cable judders strongly, then fades, until finally, it vanishes altogether.

 

Una looks at the hole, then the hatch, and finally the bleeding corpse. She rounds on all three of you, and she backs into a corner, knuckles white on her shuddering lasgun, all the confidence, defiance and braggadocio gone. "Are you really the Inquisition? Are you going to..going to..?"

 

She can't finish. Her jaw clamps shut.

 

Structured Time is dismissed. Narrative Time is restored. Don't worry, there will be another chance to squeeze gats. Soon.... 

I took Reynard's speech as an Intimidate Test, but I must be using Tro's dice, because the Spyrers failed horribly, but it gave me more opportunities for conflict down the road...so...

Edited December 4, 2022 by Mazer Rackham
Bloody vocative commas!

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"God Emperor, but I despise 

 nobles…"

 

As the brothers left, Reynard swore and blew out the breath he had been holding without realising.

 

Then he looked over at Una. Damn. Solve one problem, another one pops up immediately.

 

He moved slowly closer and spoke quietly, relaxing into his own gentle voice rather than the harsh, gravelly tones of the courier guard or the stilted, formal air of the Inquisitorial Acolyte.

 

"I truly admire your courage, Una. It condemns snivelling cowards like those two."

 

He rolled his eyes upward.

 

"And we mean you no harm whatsoever. We are here to help Damocles. However… you must forget everything that just happened here. You did not see anything other than a courier and his guards take an uneventful ride, you did not hear anything other than a simple game of I-spy. This is for your own safety, and that of this Hive."

 

"Do you understand?"

Edited December 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Lift Car 013:

 

Something of your manner cracks through the wall of panic.

 

"Uneventful? There's a chunk of me car missin', a sack of murdered burgermeat - and, oh,  it!" The dam breaks and she slumps into the corner, abandoning her gear and any hope of threat, great heaving sobs welling up as her shoulders heave.

 

"I just like to ride the lifts..."

 

Any more is unintelligible.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

As quick as the threat came about, the quicker it flew away.

 

Bullet time receded towards the normal paradigm, but Kerr Restal still in its fleeting embrace drifted stylishly to the headless corpse in its meshed embrace. He set about searching for anything of value.

[Mazer Rackham]

Restal:

 

The body sags into a mess, the tight wire the only thing keeping it together, now freed as the tension ebbs to let you get into the horrid cocoon.

 

You find:

•  A small silver locket (damaged) of nominal value, which contains a cameo of a woman.
• 1D10 Thrones
• 1 x Khyber Pass type stub revolver with four live rounds, plus two empties.
• 1 x set ruined clothing
• 1 x small knife
• 1 x reciept stub for a 'fast seat'

 

I'm going to skip ahead a little as otherwise Falk is just left hanging.

 

The Machine Shop:

 

As Bardas and the shop owners barter, a man stumbles into the machine shop, his clothing bedraggled and smelling of excrement fouling. He takes in the whole scene, his eyes open in wonder, before levelling his attention at the Ordinator.

 

"Where's my watch?" he demands in a broken voice, slurring, "I done gave it yer last week!"

 

The occupants of the machine shop respond with confusion, which only seems to drive the man on. He belches, quite loudly, before declaring his intentions. "I'mma...I'mma get the law, on you bloody thieves! Just you see if I don't!"

 

He drops a bottle of amasec, the stench quite enough to pulverise the lungs of an Ogryn, proving it comes from an illicit still, likely tapping some coolant or other. Not content with his tampering, he gestures to the female Adept. "She's a witch! By the Emperor's hairy arse, I'mma get the law!"

 

The ruffian staggers some more, knocks a tray of tools over and sticks his fingers up at Falk.

 

"And what are you gonna do about it, schoolboy?"

Edited December 4, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Falk regards the drunk, all bluster but likely looking for a fight... or perhaps as a cover to pocket something without suspicion. Either way the local law would have no time for him, "if you have issue then speak to the regulators". It seemed no task here would be simple.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard sighed. He'd thought the girl was made of stronger stuff. Perhaps best to give her a little time to… process. Maybe if they got rid of the body at least? Once Restal was done, Reynard carefully wedged the door of the still-moving lift open. Together they shoved the torn and bloody mess out, letting it tumble down into darkness, then he let the door close again.

 

The lift car continued to rise, ever closer to the grand concourse of the Terminus Station. Reynard took out the microbead that was set to create a secure line with the Vault and discreetly slipped it into his ear. The spaceport was close by - logically so, allowing the swift movement of people and property arriving from orbit up into the Spire and down into the depths of the Hive - so he was confident that the signal would now be strong enough. He spoke softly into the mic, quietly enough that Una would not hear his words. No point in distressing her any further.

 

+++Voyager, Vu… Virtue.+++

 

He'd nearly said Vulpine.

 

Careful, Reynard. Probably not smart to openly mock their use of words starting with only one letter for all their codenames…

 

+++Please stand by to connect me with our employer. I will make contact again in one quarter hour.+++

 

That should give them enough time to get off the elevator and find a quiet spot. Then he could relay everything that their cell had discovered so far and ask if the 'all-seeing' Inquisition had anything useful to offer in return.

 

Edited December 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

In the flow he seized some knick-knacks from the corpse, which he secured in the pockets of his trench coat. A silver locket, a small knife and a fast return ticket receipt stub.

 

He holstered the stub revolver in a spare holster of his webbing.

 

Wealth came to his fingertips.

 

 

 

 

1D10 Thrones: 

Result: 10 Thrones 

 

 

 

 

He re-tied the mesh about the corpse and deftly he managed to throw it out of the escape hatch so that it fell as they rose. "Goodnight sweet prince!" he remarked as the corpse flew through the hatch.

 

 

He pressed seven of the Thrones into Una's hand. 

 

"You got this Toots, stay salty. G was Guard!"

 

 

Edited January 10, 2023 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

Lift Car 013:

 

Una comes back to her senses. In a world where the Inquisition is a half-breathed myth through fear and the threat of vanishing to damnation, your familiarity with, and contempt of it as an organisation is not what the other half live. Guard trained, with Commissars, Provosts and even their leaders shooting anyone for even thinking of asking for a new pair of combat boots, in the worst cases, can breed a slight chink in any armour.

 

It is one the Inquisition can exploit, and rely upon.

 

And to survive, so have you.

 

She takes the purse, and grips Restal's hand, coming to her feet. "I'll get off with you. Maybe I can find a way back down with an Ecclesiarchy caravan."

 

As Reynard transmits, the message flits away, only to come back with an audio recording.

 

+ SIGNAL LOST +

+ CARRIER ABSENT +

 

The Machine Shop:

 

The drunk stares at Falk, open-mouthed, foul breath spilling from him in great wafts. You can smell garlic, and other spices mixed together, but the alcohol itself is weak. The incensed sot fumbles another bottle, and it rolls across the floor towards Falk, the man chasing it until he bumps into the lawman.

 

"Apol'gies guvernor! I demand you take my statement outside, where we will 'ave no consti...consti...pators!" He realises the error. "Conspirators!"

 

You see the brass muzzle of a cut down flaregun poking from the robe's sleeve.

 

"Boy Lecroix says hello," the drunk mumbles, perfectly.

 

"I done, insist - outside!" he roars, then belches for effect.

Edited December 4, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"You are in my way", flaregun, single shot, careless to get so close. Falk stepped towards the door but only to clear the line of fire behind him... he was done with these games.

 

In one swift action he extended his stride throwing his cloak open as he brought up his shotgun like a baton against his assailants arm preventing him from aiming true, or at least he hoped. The manoeuver had been drilled into him in basic, hesitation only weakend your position.

 

Free action quickdraw and guarded attack clubbing attack (which curiously gives a larger defensive bonus than full defense) - using a fate point for +10 to avoid being boltgunned :p

 

Falk will be going on his Arbites instinct to try to surprise the other guy into wasting his shot

 

Parry: 49 vs 55 = pass

Attack: 86 vs 25 = miss

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard hissed at Restal and Nicios.

 

"I have no contact with Voyager. We're easily in range but the signal is gone. Are we burned?"

 

There were still a handful of stops to climb through before they reached the Terminus itself.

 

"Do we pull the emergency cord, get out early?"

 

Edited December 4, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Machine Shop Corridor:

 

Your assailant recoils from your sudden assault, his weapon clattering down the corridor as you both go over the threshold. The butt of your gun misses only because the man falters and slips, tripping on his ragged robe. He tumbles to lie at your feet, completely under your power. He makes no sudden moves but nods in acquiescence.

 

He raises his hands slowly, the sleeves slipping down to show bare arms, but for a brace where he must keep the oddball weapon.

 

"Mercy, your honner," he calls out past you, keeping to his vaudevillian cameo whilst smiling. "I din't mean nothing, I swear."

 

He slowly pulls up to a seating position and shakes his bruised wrist theatrically. He keeps his hands up as he checks down the passageway, both ways. "My name is Tracer. We don't have time for finesse. Seb told me you're investigating something big. You have no idea. Can we go somewhere quiet? And quickly?"

 

Lift Car 013:

 

An hour after your arachnid encounter, the lift decants into a public square. it is not unlike the other places, shops and stalls, and plenty of crowds milling about. Private security details surround wealthy notables going about their business among the hoi polloi of the upper hive. Fine raiment and wealth are in evidence, and while your clothes blend in enough, you draw a few looks which have the dismissive flick of rich hivers regarding outlanders and best, and under-dwellers at worst.

 

The air and ground car taxi ranks are plying a high trade, with ladies in fashionable garb not wishing to get their feet tired or dirty, and large men swollen at the waist, fingers thick with rings not wishing to dare the unwashed, or those of the Trading Houses, whom they deem inferior.

 

A small parade of Ecclesiarchs trot through the crowds, reasonably unmolested, the bishop on his palanquin tossing out alms to beggars and indulgences to those who crave them. Beseeching and grateful arms raise and lower as he passes. What is truly stunning is the light. Massive windows of battleship-length armaglas split the hive sides, rapidly shrinking to tiny arrays of smaller windows, portholes, so to keep the strength of the walls high. It is a powerful sight, and reminds that the Mechanicum may build for function, but the great minds within also allow for form.

 

The sunset is glorious. It scatters a brilliant crimson fire through the clouds, painting everything in arterial scarlet. The large glowglobes draping from the ceiling in battletank scale chandeliers, glimmer and only reflect the depth of colour, hardly diffusing it. At this hight, the cloud cover is paler, the poisonous smog dropping away below, leaving and entire red carpet of mist across the shoals of burning, polluted sand beneath the feet of the old and new rich.

 

Hive Primus stands as the jewel in a blood red crown, the dominance of man and the seat of the Emperor's government in his name, are made manifest in this display of might.

 

And so below, above.

 

Stars which catch the light and move with terrible purpose. The sleek battleships of the Imperial Navy, in geosynchronous orbit.  Slivers of steel and alabaster adamantium plying high orbit. Is not the reach of man grand? Are his subjects not mighty and worth his benevolence? Are the stars not his with all their beauty and power?

 

You realise that this last comes from a human, female throat. A figure swathed in a tabard to match the sunset, she stands tall and proud, her voice a golden whisper. She is attended by devoted servants, flagellants amongst them, who continually whisper mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa at her armoured feet. Light pours from the amulets and halo above her head, and her sable power armour, engrailed and chevroned in the subtlest silver filigree carries the words of the Emperor's praises.

 

A bolter is slung around her armoured bodice, and the chaplet passes through her clasped hands.

 

Silver-white bobbed hair dips and sways as she prays and speaks, the fleur-de-lys dances on her high cheekbone.

 

Valkyrie.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Nodding to Bardas, "Work quickly if you can, i'll deal with this one", lowing his weapon slightly though never away he nods towards the door, "outside then".

 

Whatever was going on it seemed more and more people were feeling a desire to stop or escape from it before it consumed them as well, which usually meant time had run short.

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Speaking softly to Reynard, after holstering his pistol and re-shackling his powers within his mind, "Let us keep going, for now. Whether or not we can escape the reach of an enemy that can destroy a hive is questionable and leaving the Inquisition's service in...uncertain circumstances may also prove unwise. We should keep attempting contact, but be wary."

 

The rest of the journey is uneventful, and they reach their destination within the hour. The brightly clad nobles and servants ignore Nicios, both expected and welcome, his Magistratum greatcoat being an item of casual, though polite and slightly fearful, avoidance. Valkyrie's appearance is unexpected, and his mind whirls with suspicions. 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

The agent known as Valkyrie. Had to be. Scourge had mumbled a few words about her while they'd been travelling downhive from the Templum. The Knight had sounded half besotted - and oddly embarrassed?

 

Looked like a little too much starch in her britches for Reynard's taste. While he'd had more than his fair share of experience of women shouting about a deity, it wasn't usually a religious thing… though there had been that beautiful little Prioress on Maroc's Landing…

 

Anyway, enough reminiscing. Business. If Valkyrie was here, all well and good. The spouting of Emperor-bothering nonsense he could take or leave, but power armour and a boltgun would even up a lot of odds.

 

He didn't move towards the Sororita, unsure what her cover story was or who might be watching. Her little entourage was certainly drawing a fair degree of attention. Again, not necessarily a bad thing, if it kept people from looking for the other Acolytes?