[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

The Spaceport:

 

Falk:

 

The warden examines the writ quickly, a touch of shock mixing with quick understanding. "Ah, uh sorry. Just with how you came in, you know? The uh, notables like to write a lot of complaints about how we don't do things fast enough."

 

He shrugs, perhaps seeing in you, a fellow civil servant. "You know how it is, right? Anyway, is there anything we can help with?"

Edited February 23, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"Just your discretion and information about anything or any one taken from the wreck. Best any blame is placed on the right shoulders."

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

"Sure, I can do that. I'll tell control it was an airbrake failure. See them all the time on these models."

 

He relaxes and waves away a couple of other wardens with a knowing cock of the head. He turns back to you. "Yeah, there were three folks taken from the wreck, One of them was in some kind of flight gear I was told. This group of Frateris Militia come out of a transport, I remember because I was the one checked their details."

 

"I was checking them in, right? And I saw some of them had wandered off, so I called to them, but then, bang!"

 

He waves his arms about for emphasis. "I was knocked onto the floor, there's bits everywhere. Thankfully the rest of those Floggers pile over, pulling the guys out."

 

"Took them all to some hospice-shrine, I heard. We had to sweep up. My ears are still ringing." He offers a lopsided grin.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"Where did the Fraters say they'd come from?"

 

Reynard moved towards Falk and the warden.

 

"Apologies for the noise. We'll need to examine the wreckage. Do you think a couple of your techs could give our craft a quick... check up... while we work?"

Edited February 23, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

He approached the port officials that were talking with Falk and the Weasel.

 

"Excuse me gents, is St. Iacinda's Cradle tavern around here somewhere?"

 

 

 

 

Edited February 23, 2023 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

The Spaceport:

 

The warden scratches his head. "I'm not sure where the Floggers came from, I'd have to check the logs, but they were fairly quiet."

 

"The writ is good for the recovery," the man calls after Reynard, " so shouldn't be a problem. I'll get the droolers - er, I mean the sevitors to clean up the hauler after we've had a look at it."

 

He winks at Falk.

 

When Restal asks about the Cradle, his face changes, frowning as he makes a quick mental calculation. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I don't want my name on anything to do with that. Look, I got kids, right? You can find that groxhole on your own."

 

He looks at Falk. "I need to get on." The man moves to the hauler, whistling to some of the other wardens and Enginseers.

Edited February 23, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

"Good man. By the by, did one of these Frateris seem about this high", Falk gestured with his arm and he described Greyson, "cold eyes, would have been the one looking like he was running the show".

[Mazer Rackham]

The Spaceport:

 

He screws his face up, concentrating. His lips purse. "Yeah, there was a big guy, I didn't see many faces - most of them were cowled, you know how the Sects are, but they did wait for him to get out. The one I dealt with mainly was about my size, five-eight."

 

"Funny. None of them had guns. Bags, satchels, staffs." He bites his lip, winces. "Any use?"

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"Possibly."

 

Interesting. Not the description, that could mean almost anything at this point. But...

 

This warden was dutiful, respectful of authority and eager to help. However, he absolutely refused to reveal anything about the Cradle tavern. The mark must be even worse than his rap sheet suggested. Reynard again wondered if trying to kill this 'Pirentus' was the best approach.

 

Still, a problem for later. Moving around the warden, Reynard headed for the wall of fire curtains.

Edited February 23, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Falk gives a non-commital shrug, his tone somewhat philosophical, "We'll see. I'll not keep you from your duty any longer but if any of your men remember which shrine it was be sure to let us know. Emperor be with you in your work."

 

Keep focussed on the goal, in and out quickly. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Reynard was after in his most recent house of disrepute.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Spaceport:

 

The warden makes a sign of the aquila, and goes about his business.

 

The firewall curtains are tall enough to screen the whole of the lander, although it lies in somewhat of a crestfallen state. Panels are blackened from fire, torn and bent around the port wing and gangway. The door which Voyager bid you farewell from is structurally damaged, with the hinge which the door pivoted on bent out of true. Fire also took hold within, the panels you can see blown out, wires hanging from them like drawn intestines.

 

Edited February 24, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Nicios moved to the lander and sat down in an unoccupied and unobtrusive spot. He placed his cane on the ground and began to concentrate on the ether surronding the destroyed ship.

Spoiler

Psyniscience Test

Target - 36

Roll - 36

Result = Pass, no DoS

Nicios' mind slips through the murky Warp-space, seeking any unusual traces or effects.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard first walked around the shuttle, looking for anything that might confirm whether its destruction was deliberate. He was fairly sure it must have been. The only way the Vault could have known it was an attack would have been because Voyager had told them so. If he had time to do so, then perhaps Stitches also had a few seconds to hide his valuables? Reynard climbed aboard over the broken hatch and looked around the interior.

 

 

Spoiler

Awareness Test to look for anything useful, either in terms of information or for items that might have been left behind - in particular Stitches' medical bag/the security passcard:
Per28 +10(Awareness+10) +10(HS:Sight) = 48, Roll: 17, 3DoS.

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Lander:

 

Reynard:

 

The stowage boxes have been broken open, perhaps with a tool. The pillaged bins spill their partially burned contents onto the deck. The pilot's chair is ravaged by fire and shrapnel. It is facing the door, likely where Voyager turned to face what was happening. Blood browned by heat and air splatters the cabin, matching the shotgun spread of red hot fragments. Inside, two of the couches are setup for people about to travel. The broken panels are the result of wanton vandalism, perhaps in an effort to prevent the pilot trying to take off, or maybe incurred as the occupants fought.

 

Stitches medical bag is there, blackened and ripped. It lies empty.

 

Everywhere has been ransacked in a hurry.

 

The stink of fyceline stains the cabin along with the acrid soot.

 

Nicios ONLY:

Spoiler

There are residual echoes of desperation and panic. Recrimination. Only supposed to blow the bloody doors off, fool! More panic. Where is it? Where is it! Then something to blot it all out rampages in like a titan. It is huge bolder, rolling in to crush all, a maul of duty thrashing at the wicked...a mute angel, not of mercy but of judgement. Fear drives the weak away...the emotions fleeing as though you can hear the slap of their feet on the plascrete with your ears...

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"I don't think they were trying to destroy the lander or kill anyone, I think the Frateris Militia were searching for something. Then something else happens."

 

Nicios relays the impressions he gets, trying to make sense of the jumble of emotions that reside in the area.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Spoiler

OOC: As before, I'll assume that means we can now read the spoilered bit.

 

 

Reynard nodded as Nicios spoke. That sounded like Greyson. Interesting that the man seemed to absolutely view himself as on the side of the angels. A soldier devoted to duty. Maybe, if they encountered him again, they should try talking instead of fighting? Something to consider for later.

 

But it seemed Reynard had been right. The doc did have enough time to conceal things, and the attackers had minimal time to search for them. Maybe they had missed things. He began to search, slowly, methodically - tipping Stitches' bag over, sifting through the items from the stowage, looking beneath the passenger couches and digging into the soft cushions, pulling open the vandalised panels. Maybe not all of the damage was caused by the enemy?

 

Edited February 24, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

It was unclear if this was Greyson or a third party, doubt that would slow them. If not the mercenaries then a fresh trail might begin here and a choice would have to be made between Canthus and this new faction.

 

There would be witnesses, countless eyes watching every landing sight on the hive for the different factions in competition here. "Any ransacking would have drawn the ire of the local smugglers, this would look too much like a rival to led slide. A few well placed questions and thrones should probably be our next move".

[Mazer Rackham]

The Lander:

 

As Falk finishes his observations, Reynard's hand brushes across the edge of one of the carpet panels, questing fingers finding the thick plastek card sliver for Canthus Medical. It could not be here by accident, wedged so tightly.

 

As Stitches bag topples over, one of the protective caps from the unknown serum rolls out, but the heavy-duty phial itself is nowhere to be found.

 

There will be people about: Maintenance menials who sweep up, Servitor Comptrollers, Civilians waiting at the luggage conveyor. Baggage porters who eye you suspiciously...

Edited February 24, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Aha… well played, Doc!

 

Reynard opened his microbead to address the team.

 

+Got the card. How long will it take those techs to check the hauler over?+

 

He paused, frowning, and then muttered quietly to Nicios and Falk.

 

"Maybe we should follow Restal to that bar? Stop things from getting too… loud… while we're waiting for our ride?"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Just to push thing along a bit.

 

Restal (Autopilot):

 

The voice called from a different direction. One with eyes that were guilty as bulletholes in a Mark.

 

"Hail fellow," sidle, speak fondly. "My hands shake. I need libation. Where is the Cradle?"

 

The porter looks up from his sturdy brush, which has passed down for three generations of sweepers, peers at the team. "Out of the Port, take a left, follow the signs for the Traveller's Lodge. Take a right. Five minutes' walk."

 

The voice spoke, and Restal nodded. "Silence abodes between us, fellow." He taps his nose and wanders off to find the drinking den, confident all behind him will be well.

 

It Will. His Will.

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"More like to keep Restal out of trouble," Nicios grunted. "Might as well go, I don't think we'll find anything more here without a lot of specialized verispex gear anyway."

[Mazer Rackham]

The Spaceport:

 

Falk:

 

As the group seems to stretch out in Restal's wake, your comm-bead comes to life on the emergency frequency.

 

"Falke, Haldane. We just got word from a reliable nark in Jessop's Arcade. Male answering Kraevus Aldario's description has been nosing about, after false documents. Seems like he's trying to hitch a ride off-world."

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Switching to local comms, "we have a possible sighting on Kraevus, it's unverified but Haldane thinks he may be trying to get off world."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard sighed.

 

"At least one of us had better keep an eye on our colleague. I'll follow Restal, up to you two whether you join us or go look for the Secundus?"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cradle:

 

As Restal and Reynard follow the directions of the dock menial, they pass through streets which are recovering from the hive-quake. Several knots of servitors and builder-drones are on hand to repair the facades and clear away any debris from the terrible tremors. Here though, it is clear that the upper hive, with it's proximity to the strong capstone of the hive spire, and regular sized construction has suffered less.

 

Arbites patrols are few, paired off for regular foot duties, it is obvious the Praefector has concerns residing elsewhere.

 

As you follow the people on your side of the street, the foot-traffic flow dictated by holographic glyphs, you find yourself stood at the door, looking in. Two men and a woman stand without, attired smartly in formal robes. Each wears a breastplate, a electrum-silver cuirass with a series of wax seals affixing their credentials as hired security personnel, and experience. Each carries a stout cudgel, and their boots are capped with the same mirror-finish as the breastplates.

 

The loud sensory music spills out into the street, although stumm barriers eliminate it after a few yards. The sound draws people to stop and stare in through the goldfish-bowl windows, to see the waiters and waitresses strutting about in expensive uniforms, doling out drinks and recreational narcotics, both of which are held in long, archaic vellum tumbling from the leftmost doorsill, signed by an old Governor you don't recognise by name.

 

All manner of people are within, trade house executives, pilots of different stripes, Imperial Navy officers, and the occasional daring rogue. The tinkle of crystalline goblets and brandy bowls eke out into the porch, and the scent and sights are alluring. No card or table games here - this is an establishment where people talk business or society, and possibly both.

 

The smaller of the two men approaches with a dataslate, although this model is quite pricey, having a haptic interface, and holoprojected screen. It sits in his palm, and he dabs it with a finger, before stopping a span from you.

 

"Gentlemen, welcome to the Cradle. Do you have an invitation?"

 

The Arcade:

 

The trip via direct maglift is easy to secure, since as Falk and Nicios reach the end of the street, where they part company with Reynard and Restal, they are approached by an Intelligencer Agent, who displays his badge and offers a password. A couple of vox clicks later, and Haldane certifies the man. He speaks little other than to advise of the directions he is taking, and soon, you reach the maglifts. He commandeers one immediately, turfing out the occupants, and all their luggage, before sending you down.

 

"Falke, Haldane. our informant still has eyes on. Says the suspect is moving erratically, looks desperate. Has a couple of minders with him. House Troops. Informant will be by a Sleeker Steak stand. Whatever the hell that is."

 

The time passes swiftly, allowing you to converse as you will, or prepare yourselves mentally for what lies ahead. The lift finally smooths to your destination, a completely different experience for Nicios from his travel up hive as a messenger. Disembarking into the maglift foyer, beyond is the neon flourish of several different stores and establishments, with the red-clad workers of House Borodi swimming over everyone who wishes their attention.

 

One man in a dark grey robe, looking more like a clerk than a cop, languishes near a street-food vendor, eating what looks to be a pink, rubber steak, trapped between two crisply grilled bread baps. Soylent prickle lettuce sticks out of the sides. A sign reports the cuisine is indeed 'Authentic Sleeker'.

 

Questions/details/outrage in the OOC as usual.

Edited February 27, 2023 by Mazer Rackham