[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Beren]

Garvek looks up at the comment, a grin on his face.

Aye, he's dangerous.

For the moment, he makes no attempt to further conceal the other package. It's just a satchel, trying to hide it would just draw attention to it.

"Could never manage much more than keeping some heads down myself, but that was always good enough for my squad. As long as I was around to patch them up afterwards that is. Still, don't feel quite right without em."

 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Ah… medic it is then.

Definitely one to make friends with. He nodded and replied softly.

"True enough. Sounds a bit ominous that they think we'll need you along, then, Doc? In truth I'm not much of a warrior myself. I can just about shoot straight in a pinch, but I'd rather talk my way out of a fight. Not like some of those fellows outside. My name is Reynard."

He looked over at the psyker, then back to the Doc, speaking slightly louder.

"Have either of you got any idea what this is all about?"
 

[A.T.]

The import of and implications of the seal set Falks mind racing, the lasbeam seemed inconsequential compared to the meaning behind it. When he had first seen the symbol of the Inquisition he had assumed merely the demand of duty but not this... burden.

A thousand thrones... a large enough claim for those born to the closed walls of the hive but Falk had once before seen the power of the Inquisition brought down, albeit at a distance, upon the head of one of the Ecclesiarchy and knew that the price of such a thing could only be measured in ambition and damnation.

To have given such a thing to all here suggested a need for haste and a trust of none of higher station. He made quick inventory of the men around him as they moved to the barracks with little sign they knew what was to come, save perhaps the scion of Mars in his silence.

Securing the seal within the front pocket of his uniform he considered his next move and how to take the measure of those tasked with him, if indeed they were to work together and not apart. The inquisitors gaze had lingered on two specifically, and so now did his own.

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

"We all must have some sort of skill or talent that the Inquisition will use," Nicios replied without opening his eyes. "It is not an organization that acts without purpose. The question is... are we here because our skills are unique to this place and time, or are we just the most expendable assets that could be gathered at shortest notice?"

Opening his eyes, Nicios looked at the gambler and the medic calmly.

[Trokair]

Rest was fleeting, so after while Bardas looked toward the other in the room, and retrieving a small speaker unit from within his robes addressed the other.

+ I am Bardas, what do they call you, and if i may ask, what path led you to today? +

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

The first to enter the Briefing Room was the Tech-Freak who had sat down at a chair and rested.

Kerr Restal was content to observe him. It was not wise to anger the machine people, they kept the ship and the food machines running.

 

The other produced a speaker and addressed him from its grill.

+ I am Bardas, what do they call you, and if I may ask, what path led you to today? +

 

Silence is golden he had heard and knowledge is power but a two edged sword. His name was his own.

 

Kerr Restal said nothing to the Tech-Freak, but humoured him with a gesture.

He interlocked both hands and showed the Sign of the Cog to Bardas.

 

 

 

Edited December 11, 2022 by Machine God
Acknowledge Bardas

[Trokair]

Bardas nodded in reply, though the other was either new to the faith or not one at all going by how he had formed the sign of the Cog. With no other reply forthcoming the other clearly was not minded to converse.

With a slight shrug Bardas pocketed the speaker again, it would soon be time for the briefing, and then they might know what this was all about, or maybe not at all.  

Edited August 9, 2022 by Trokair

[Beren]

"Stitches, 23rd Veridian infantry. Guard, so eminently expendable."

Why not? Barring Lady Shapeshifter herself, everyone who had heard him use that name on Horon was dead. Even if they hadn't been, it was probably a common enough name for a rudimentary medic.

As for the 23rd, that was a slightly longer story. See, the 23rd had, like most guard regiments, departed on board a mass-bulk hauler being used as a troop transport. Like many guard regiments, the 23rd never made it to its destination. What had made the 23rd unusual was that the transport itself, its crew, and indeed the three other regiments onboard had all reached their destination. None with any explanation for the disappearance.

Ever since, the legend had often been used for convenience. Additional supplies requisitioned on behalf of the absent regiment, a dozen truly terrible backwater posts all assigned to it at once, whenever a guard had to make up a spurious identification in the heat of the moment. Honestly, if the 23rd really was to turn up one of these days, it was quite probable that no one would notice, such was the tangled web of falsified reports, requests and assignments wrapped around its name.

"...and no. Rather hoping one of you did."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard smiled to himself at the doc's response. Smart, giving a moniker rather than a name. That meant the regiment was dubious too, otherwise your real identity could be found easily enough. He understood. Reynard was just one of many names he'd used over the years since leaving home.

Reynard turned to focus on the psyker. He didn't like the idea of having his mind read, but if the man did possess such abilities, there wasn't much he could do to prevent it. Therefore, it was wise for him to maintain a level of courtesy, at least.

'Stitches' and the bald little man were quite right about the possible reasons for their selection, too. Not that such logic made for a very pleasant conclusion.

"Most likely a bit of both, I suspect, gentlemen," he agreed grimly, then addressed the psyker. "I was more wondering if you or the Arbitrator might have specific information about our task… but I guess you know just as much - or rather, as little - as the rest of us do?"

Disappointing. He'd hoped to go into the 'briefing' with a little more advance information. Still, he'd take what he could get.

"In case you missed it, I'm Reynard."

 

Edited August 9, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

He lifted his scorched palm to stare at the rapidly fading circuit paths of the electoo, newly implanted into his flesh. He was still a prisoner, it seemed, though his shackles had changed shape and he had been given their key. His new gaolers apparently did not fear he would attempt to escape, and truly he would not, but it gave him pause nonetheless. 

His journey was over? Welcome home? 

He pulled the bronze cruciform from its leather case and stared at the strange device for a time.

Who were these people? What new and terrible purpose did he now serve? Was this a new phase of his incarceration or something more?

Troubling thoughts. Whoever these new servants of the God-Emperor were, they certainly did not want for resources. From what little he knew of such things it looked as though no expense had been spared on the construction of this fortress, and this was confirmed when he set foot into the dormitory. He followed some of the others, utterly bewildered by his changing circumstances, and watched as they located satchels and packages of equipment and weapons.

He cast his gaze around the room, at the comfy looking cots, and shook his head to himself. If this was prison, he'd take it. A crescent blade with curved hook on the reverse side of a shaft caught his eye peeking out from a bundle on one of the bunks, and he strode over to it. His arms! They would leave each of them armed in this place?!

He reverently touched each of the weapons which he had borne into battle since first being taken from the place of his birth to bring war to the sea of night. Each of these implements had brought death to numerous enemies of the God-Emperor, each had been anointed with the blood of the wicked. 

A dagger slid into a sheath in the small of his back, and a laspistol dropped into a holster at his side. A wooden-hafted lasgun, a relic of the world of his birth, and a shotgonne were laid side-by-side on the bed. Both had been polished and rebuilt recently; all of the holy rites had been properly observed to his eye. A battered heater shield had been laid respectfully at the foot of his cot. Its surfaces too looked much shinier, and the remnants of the original black-and-white paint somehow looked brighter. 

His cleaver was last, and rolling up a sleeve he tested the blade, sending numerous arm hairs drifting to the floor with a single pass. It was sharp, razor sharp, far sharper than he could ever have hoped to hone it himself. Baffled, he held the edge up to the light and noticed a wavy pattern etched into the steel that had not been there before. Had it been reforged? His eyes widened when he realized what was called a monomolecular treatment by the machine-smiths had been applied to his trusty axe, ensuring it would hold a keen edge that would be virtually impossible to dull. It was an arcano-smithing process far beyond his ken, and one which only the blades of legend possessed. He stood there in awe of his new gaolers, nay benefactors and their largesse. Amongst the people of his birth this would have been considered a kingly gift, a symbol of power and an ancestral heirloom to be passed down through the generations. Amongst the kin of the tribe whose scars he bore, this would be regarded as a weapon of the gods, crafted to slay all who would stand in the way of an ascendant god-king. 

He swallowed as he secured the axe in a loop in his belt. His new masters, it seemed, regarded then as beneath contempt to leave him and the others so armed, but for what purpose were they all here? What manner of evil required such potent arms to be brought to bear?

He did not speak to or even acknowledge the others, and departed immediately to find a place to offer his prayers of reverent thanks to God. 

 

Edited August 10, 2022 by Necronaut

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

"I am Nicios. Unfortunately, the Arbitrator shared no information after I was transferred to his care." 

[A.T.]

Falk:

Nicios words caught Falks attention, "There was nothing to share", he paused, "all things considered the Inquisitor has said far more in the past few moments than I would have expected to hear in a lifetime. When you speak with the authority of the Emperor there is no question of explanation."

He looked about the others here, though Nicios still seemed out of place, "perhaps we were chosen because we do ask the question."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

Reynard looked over at the lawman who had brought him in, cuffed and at gunpoint. He sat back down again on the nearest bunk, one of his knives appearing in his hand to help cut through the thick purple skin of the fruit he'd taken earlier.

"You didn't seem much interested in asking questions yesterday when you picked me up and dumped me in a cell?"

The Arbitrator hadn't treated him badly, but that was probably more to do with the fact that Reynard hadn't tried to run rather than out of any inherent kindness in the man.

"But as you said, it's not like they were giving you any explanations… and I guess if it wasn't you, they would have just sent someone else? So no hard feelings, right?"

Reynard looked up and smiled, then casually lifted a segment of fruit to his lips with his knife.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

"Bar-dass" Kerr Restal spoke the name stretched out into its syllables. 

"Excuse please, Machine Tender."

"I am an agent of the God-Emperor. He guides my hands in my art. He told me to be here!" 

[Trokair]

"Bar-dass"

So the other was minded to speak after all. Retrieving the little speak from within his robe ones more Bardas considered the man.  Ofworlder, though that was no surprises, even in the depth of the Hive he had encounter people from far and wide.

"Excuse please, Machine Tender."

To this he nodded in acknowledgment, if the other thought apologies were required then he would accept the courtesy. No doubt they would all have to work towards whatever goal  lay ahead of them.

"I am an agent of the God-Emperor. He guides my hands in my art. He told me to be here!" 

Bardas smiled, though  the other would not see it, instead he modulated his voice output to be warmer in tone.

+ We are all the Omnissiahs people, by whatever name you venerate, and tread the path laid out before us. Though your path appears to be a little more ... direct in its guidance. Dose it by chance give you an inkling on what is to come? +

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

"I assume we will get more information soon, when we are called to the briefing room. Until then, speculation would be unwise, as we should be prepared for anything." 

Nicios smiled slightly and closed his eyes again, re-entering the trance-like meditation state. 

An interesting group here. I wonder what we will be doing?

 

[A.T.]

Falk:

Reynard: "You didn't seem much interested in asking questions yesterday when you picked me up and dumped me in a cell?"

"I suppose that was the first clue that something strange was happening", he sat down, "Unsanctioned Assassination, two days precinct interrogation, judgement execution. Intent to commit Unsanctioned Assassination, two days precinct interrogation, judgement execution. Suspected intent to commit Unsanctioned Assassination, two days precinct interrogation, judgement execution." Eying Reynard, "Failure to confess guilt, two months precinct interrogation, judgement discretionary."

"But you were not to be questioned." Falk looked down at his palm, perhaps a taste of your future.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Penitent:

The votive candles have their own scent, burned wick and tallow, but the hazel in them to drive away impure thoughts is as well known to you as any other. As you enter the apothecarion, the Angel looks up. Her face is one of concern, and she comes to you, taking your wounded hand and guiding you to a tall seat. Valkyrie places your hand over a surgical basin, and massages unguents into your palm, a palm criss-crossed with sword cuts, and scars of fighting.

"I am proud of you," she says as she works, "not all have your faith or humility."

Her smile, and aura lights up the room, albeit a small thing, her presence is sunlight compared to cold shadow.

"Do you wish to wash yourself before prayers? Clean inside and out, Mother Agatha used to say!"

She chuckles to herself. "There's a shower and towels in the ablutions block back there." She jerks her head, leans towards you, nose wrinkled in mischief, voice dropping to conspiratorial whisper. "I use it when no-one is about. Don't tell anyone."

She taps her nose.

"All done."

Your hand is comfortably, but professionally wrapped in a dressing.

[Mazer Rackham]

All:

The door at the long end of the habitation block grinds open, and the sound of boots rapping across the polished floor approaches, suddenly drowned out by the same door closing with a solid bang of metal on metal.

The footsteps smartly truncate, marking the disappearance of the new arrival into one of the far rooms.

Bardas/Kerr Restal:

A man abruptly steps into the briefing room. He is slight, older than his spry gait would convey. He is attired in an armoured bodyglove, which has a long duster of black duracloth falling from his shoulders. He carries two scabbarded swords, one shorter than the other, both forged with a shallow curve. His round face shows surprise at the sight of you both.

He drops into a shallow bow, clutching the dataslate he was carrying in both hands.

"Greetings. I am Vigilance. You are early!"

His smile does not reach his eyes, but the wrinkles around them flex, at some internal amusement. He steps don the tiered stalls with great agility and begins to prepare the hololithic projector, coaxing the cogitators to life.

"Quickly," he urges you, as the projector flickers into life, "you must take the best seats!"

The symbol of your new masters erupts into coherent life, spinning slowly in place as he studies his dataslate.

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Cocking his head Nicios speaks, "I believe we will get some answers if we move toward the briefing room."

Suiting actions to works, the small psyker walked out of the bunkroom and into the auditorium, sitting in one of the seats on the middle row. He saw an older man, unknown to him, as well as one of the warriors and the Machine-God's man. He folded his hands in an aquila, and made a short, sitting bow to the room. 

Edited August 10, 2022 by Lord_Ikka

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

An armoured man entered the Briefing Room carrying a data-slate in both hands, as he entered he noticed Kerr Restal and Bardas. He gave a shallow bow.

"Greetings. I am Vigilance. You are early!" said the man, a smile playing about his lips.

 

"I am never early Sensei, nor am I late. I arrive precisely when I mean to." said Kerr Restal.

"I was here first and then Bardas entered."

 

The man proceeded down the steps of the amphitheatric briefing room and fiddled with a holo-lithic projector which after a while came to life.

"Quickly," he urges you, as the projector flickers into life, "you must take the best seats!"

 

"One seat is much the same as another Vigilance," said Kerr Restal. "I will take a seat when everyone else sits. For now I observe!"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Briefing Room:

"Ah, many apologies. You are a wise man, Novitiate Restal."

The data slate in his hand illuminates and the =][= is replaced by a hololith of Damocles Hive Primus.

"The first bite is always with the eye, learned killer, but it rarely fills the stomach."

He accepts Nicios' greeting with an enigmatic smile.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

The trickster's grin widened as the Arbitrator listed crimes.

"All unfortunate misunderstandings…" he replied, waving his knifepoint airily, '...but like I said, bygones, yes?"

Then the door slowly ground open, followed by the sound of booted feet entering. Reynard quickly got up to head for the briefing room, winking at the lawman as he passed.

"Saved by the Most Holy Inquisition… again... I could get used to this."

 

Edited August 10, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

By the God-Emperor – this woman! What manner of hellish test was this?! Surely she wasn't…! But she…! He swallowed and uttered a silent prayer thanking the Throne that his slitted helm hid his crimson complexion. 

He managed to stammer out, "Ah, uh, my-my thanks, Lady Valkyrie. Mayhap I will, ah, avail myself of the ablutions, erm shower. Forgive me, I, uh…"

He offered a stiff bow and fled, searching desperately for the door to the ablutions and shower, which he hastily shut behind himself, letting out a heavy sigh. He doffed his sallet and caught a whiff of himself which contrasted sharply against the otherwise pleasant smells of the apothecarion. Prisoners were generally expected to maintain a minimum level of cleanliness, but he had been constantly on the move for the past few weeks, and had given little consideration to his personal hygiene during that time. A quick scrub before meeting his new warden seemed a good idea.

He shook his head again at what the white-haired angel had told him. And the way her nose wrinkled. He would take her secret to the grave. 

+++

Following a wash and some time spent in prayer, he felt refreshed, a new man. Thumbing the tip of his battle-axe, he strode out of the apothecarion in search of the briefing room. When he arrived most of the rest had already arrived and taken seats. A slight man in a dark bodysuit and trenchcoat was fiddling with some contraption which was soon projecting the strange cruciform onto the wall.

Not wishing to draw attention to himself, he took up a position in back and leaned against the opposing wall with his arms crossed. And waited.

 

Edited August 11, 2022 by Necronaut

[Beren]

An arbitrator then.

Of all the fething people...

An arbitrator?

Ah well, Reynard was looking more sympathetic by the minute.

Sighing, Garvek rises to his feet, shouldering his lasgun over his shoulder, bundling up the remainder of his belongings and taking them with him as he makes for the briefing room.