[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Nicios took a breath, let it out slow. Speaking quietly to Falk, he said, "There is your man. Let's go."

Spoiler

Manifest Psychic Power - Resist Possession

Threshold - 7

Roll - 2 + 5 (WPB) = 7

Result = Pass, no Overbleed

Whispering the 43rd Catechism of Sanctity to himself, he let the sacred words and patterns wash over himself and strengthen his spirit. 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"Alas not."

 

Reynard's brow crinkled in faint irritation at being halted. He looked down distastefully at the little man.

 

"Bertram Von Graen, of House Von Graen of Cal Ferrina. I am newly come to your world, and have spent most of my time here thus far exploring on the lower levels. However, I was told this… hall… is one of the few places where I might get a half decent vintage and some civilized conversation?"

 

He sniffed haughtily.

 

"I'm not quite sure I believe Fabian yet… but I haven't found anywhere better, and my feet are sore. So be a good man and step aside, would you?"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cradle:

 

The smile Reynard receives can only be described as grox-dung eating. "Of course, of course your worship. You can certainly come in and rest your feet. Apologies, but the landlord, who is loftier than I, demands a cover charge. 100 Thrones. Each."

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"We verify that it is Kraevus first, not bait, and we want him alive." Nicios had proven reliable thusfar but his witch-powers tended to leave chaos in their wake. Given the circumstances it might be best to isolate Kraevus with false promise rather than attempt to pry him free of his companions by force.

 

The disguise would help at least as Falk had never met the man in person, "find a scarf or some way to cover your face, stay turned as if watching our backs."

 

He motioned towards the vendor and struck up a fresh conversation over a suspected gas leak in the lower segmentum, nonsense to Nicios but coded indicator to an informant to respond in kind.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard's frown deepened. Exorbitant, and nearly two-thirds of all the funds he had remaining. Thankfully, he had always found that the richest nobles tended to be the worst penny-pinchers.

 

"How tiresome. My retainer is not here to enjoy revels, he is here to be my shadow. Did you charge any of these others to bring their shadows in with them? I will pay you fifty Thrones as a 'cover charge' for myself, but nothing for my man."

 

He started to turn away.

 

"If that is unacceptable, I will simply find another establishment to receive the honour of my patronage."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Arcade:

 

The vendor shows a quick interest, before masking it. He makes the usual platitudes and clucks under his breath. The stall is spotless, and orderly, no stains or smears mar the man's apron, but the sizzle of the grill is quickly attended, and the scent of the seared meat is pleasant. His hands are deft, and yet he manages to keep an eye on the area, quickly shifting his gaze to anyone approaching or passing.

 

The man in the dark grey robe casually turns. "Yeah, nasty. Lots of folks injured. All over the news."

 

He breaks off to chew some more of his burger, reflecting.

 

"You know, there's a fellow came by a while ago, saying he'd lost friends in that gas leak," he says past a mouthful. "Awful explosion apparently." He reaches around for more sachets of sauce, ripping them open and fumbling the bun back to squirt it onto his meal.  "They've got the culprits now though."

 

"Perhaps your master is missing you, Otto?" The vendor looks at him sidelong before returning to Falk and Nicios. "Would sirs like an authentic taste of the underhive? I can offer quiet seating free from gas leaks, explosions or uninvited guests. All with an excellent view. No extra charge."

 

He gestures to a small table with a couple of chairs under an awning, which faces the long boulevard of the arcade.

 

Th Cradle:

 

"Oh, well, seeing he's just your help, your worship, I am authorised to let him in with you as...baggage. Fifty Thrones will be more than acceptable."

 

He holds out a collection bag.

Edited February 28, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Replies

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Fumbling for a few thrones from his pocket he turned to Nicios, "hungry?". Delaying... Haldane had only indicated one informant and the stall seemed freshly opened.

 

(is the correct countersign missing from the chatter?)

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

It is missing, but it would not be unreasonable for that to be deliberate if there was a third party at hand. OPSEC considerations for example.

 

The swift and sure hands of the vendor seem to pinch and juggle as he prepares two fresh baps from the grill.

 

Please make an Easy (+20) Perception test.

Edited February 28, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Clarity

[A.T.]

Falk

 

(+20 Perception Test) 55 vs 67, pass with an extra DoS.

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

You discern that the vendor has made the hand sign for 'dead drop' and the number '13' which is your code number for the vox. No-one else but an experienced informant expecting you, would know such things.

 

"It would be a pleasure to have your custom, sirs, and the juicy results of what I offer will surely satisfy such stout hearts!" the vendor continues, still eyeing the other patron, who happily carries on munching.

 

 

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Placing the thrones on the counter, "alright, and some kaff then". Kraevus was an experienced member of the enforcers, or at least had been, best to be cautious no matter how assured things might seem.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Arcade:

 

"Of course, sirs. If you wish to take a seat, I will furnish you with your purchases."

 

Otto finally finishes his meal and bins whatever scraps and container pieces remain, before waving to the vendor and wandering off. The chef waits several heartbeats.

"Thank Throne for that, I was hoping he'd go or choke. I don't know your names, and don't want to," he confides, voice just discernible over the sizzling grill. "I know who you're after and leave it at that."

 

He serves up the burgers and kaff, pushing bottles of salt and sauce towards you. It feels a touch more than just like going through the motions for him.

 

"He spent half an hour in Bevan's Brokers, walked out with his two stiffs, one of them with a hardcase. The Brokers lends cash gelt on referral, but hey, he's the Big Man right?" He sweeps up a couple of spots on the counter, making it pristine again.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Falk takes a sip of the kaff and turns as if talking to Nicios, "I was told he was moving around, where was he going?"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Arcade:

 

"Where he's going, I don't know, but he's been into Outland Excursions, it does tours and travel around the Damocles Cluster. You know, package holidays, safari's that kind of rubbish."

 

He puts two more burgers on the grill as a couple of well-clad tourists approach. "Hail friends, a taste of the underhive? All the benefits of a man's labour without any risk to yourselves!"

 

The patrons pay for the meal and wander off after five minutes, exchanging pleasantries.

 

"He's been into Deadbolt's as well. An armourer - legit, mind. Does a lot of holdout las-shooters for the executive classes. As far as I know, he's still in there. Mr H told me to keep an eye out, let him know. Then he told me to let you know." The vendor shrugs. "He did stop for a burger, but he was...agitated. Irritable. Swore at one of his men for holding him up. Didn't want his change. Pale, sweating."

 

As the vendor has been talking, you see the truth of the words, you haven't seen anyone wandering about resembling Kraevus or anyone who looks like a goon in his employment, with a case. The neon sign for Deadbolt's is a straight shot down the arcade, some fifty yards away. The glazing is frosted, but you can see patrons moving within.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"Know of any way out the back?" Falk finished his burger, the best approach still appeared to be deception and the autogun he carried might serve him here. But the guards would be a problem.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

More than acceptable, eh?

 

Reynard looked down into the simple bag full of cash and calmly took one of his money pouches out from a deep pocket. Without pausing, he upended it into the collection bag. A stream of small denomination coins poured in to join the rest lying within. He put the empty pouch back in his pocket.

 

"Fifty Thrones, or perhaps a little more. Keep the change, good man."

 

Reynard actually knew for a fact that there were only thirty-eight in the bag, but there was no way the doorman could have counted them quickly enough. Nor was there any way to prove later that any shortfall was Reynard's fault. It served the little man right for trying to gouge paying customers.

 

Plus it was a pleasure to get rid of the extra weight of the small coins. Almost worth it.

 

"Now, if you'd please be so good as to get out of my way?"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Arcade:

 

The burger is indeed very tasty, and well cooked. You feel a bit perkier. Consuming this foodstuff not only satisfies any sustenance obligation, but also provides +3 Toughness and Perception for one hour.

 

"Yeah, there is," the vendor winces as he explains. "Each one of the stores is supplied by a service tunnel. That's where Otto works, the lazy bastard. He's a gossip though, so I get a lot of scraps."

 

He gestures with his spatula. "The service tunnels are all connected, but they're fairly well laid out in a big u-bend. That door there will let you in. Shouldn't be locked."

 

True enough, next to some refuse skips, a door bursts open. Otto appears, deposits a trash bag in one of the bins, and vanishes inside.

 

"Look at him, like a bloody tunnelweb."

 

The Cradle:

 

Perception Check vs Reynard's Sleight of Hand: FAIL.

 

"Thank you very much, your worship. Please enjoy the delights of the Cradle."

 

They move out of your way, turning to other people they can fleece as you go inside, and the music volume goes up a notch, to the point where you can feel the bassline through your boots. A short woman in a black velvet evening gown slit down one thigh clears her throat, steps from behind a greeter's pedestal, and approaches, her step a little direct, perhaps more suited to long patrols in combat boots than heels. Her hair is pulled back tight, but there's something familiar about her.

 

"Take your coat, sirs?" She indicates an alcove. There's a burr of accent there, in recently practiced words, and suddenly all three of you make the connection.

 

It's Una! 

 

Her eyes go wide, the amateurly applied lashes batting. "What the  are you pair of dingles doing here?" she hisses in her native vernacular. She quickly catches herself, and describes a mocking curtsey. "I mean, my Lord Inquisitor."

 

The latter looked like it hurt to say.

Edited February 28, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard caught the girl's arm and held her up from curtseying.

 

"Thank you kindly, miss, but no I'll keep hold of my coat. Perhaps you could show us to a private table instead?" he replied quickly and loudly, gently pushing her towards one side of the huge chamber.

 

"I-spy, Una," he whispered. "Nothing else happened, you didn't see anything, remember?"

Edited February 28, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cradle:

 

She frowns at your sudden grip, and a man moves from the bar, a powerful, stocky man with shaven head. His dark skin carries few tattos, but his poise is smooth, assured. A thick gold chain drops around his neck, and he adjusts a pair of spectacles with a firm hand.  He smoothes down his moustache.

 

"Trouble, girl?"

 

Una recovers, and takes Reynard's arm as though he is escorting her. "No Dek. He's alright."

 

"You give me a shout if you need me?"

 

"Will do," she replies as you mutually steer each other to one of the quieter booths, where she ushers you onto one of the leather seats. The benches are well padded, and very supple leather. Expensive.

 

"One of the better perks of this job," she continues, shock fading. "Anyone pinches me, Dek makes a jigsaw, and I can pretend to be a lady. Now, what do you want?" She readies an order slate, looking about furtively. No-one seems to have noticed the interruption.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard looked around thoughtfully.

 

"To drink? Wine will do, but only a small glass. I'm working. When you bring it back, a few moments of your time. Oh, and I apologize sincerely for putting my hand on you. I didn't want you to say anything too loudly where others could hear."

 

He looked up from his seat at the tiny woman. Not up that much. Even in heels she didn't stand a huge distance above his current eyeline. She did look remarkably good though. He grinned impishly and shrugged.

 

"Tell Dek we're… friends… and you need to take a break for a few minutes to talk with me."

Edited February 28, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cradle:

 

Una sighs, after following your gaze. "That'll be a drink for me as well, then." She pushes her knee out through the slit dress. "And that's all you're getting of my legs, boyo."

 

She wanders off, tottling to the bar on her unfamiliar heels, before leaning over to shout to the female bartender. Two thin glasses of amber liquid are poured and placed on a silver platter. She leaves her dataslate on the bar, and calls to Dek. What she says is obliterated by the music, but he looks over to you, laughs, and waves her away.

 

She returns, and places the drinks, before gathering her dress demurely, and sighing in sheer relief as she sinks into the seat.

 

"You've got me for twenty minutes."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard took a small, slow sip of wine. Not bad.

 

"First of all, not Lord and not... anything else. I might work for… certain groups… but I'm not one of them."

 

"We're still working our main case, same as before, but we've had to pause here before moving on to the next step. Waiting for a ride."

 

"But the boys in black needed some help with a private citizen causing trouble in these parts, and we figured while we were in the area…"

 

He shrugged.

 

"Hell, when I first saw you I wondered if you were here undercover for the same reason, casing the joint or something?"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cradle:

 

Her right eye pops open, fixes on you. "No, I got fired. Dead body, wrecked lift car..? I was lucky to get this job." She shrugs. "It's not bad. I get paid more, but I hate skirts."

 

She opens her eyes fully and joins you in the drink. "So, you still haven't quite answered me. What do you want? Wait. Casing the place? The boys in black? Are you telling me there's about to be a raid?"

 

She looks pained, but she keeps her voice down.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"No, nothing quite so dramatic. Just us. Looking for this guy."

 

Reynard pulled out his dataslate that showed the active warrants, and surreptitiously flashed the picture of Tarkan Pirentus.

 

"Crimelord. Nasty. Last seen in this bar. Perhaps he runs his 'business' somewhere around here? That's why I wondered if you'd taken up bounty hunting. You've got the skills... though I'll admit you look damn good in the skirts."

 

He grinned warmly, then shrugged again, feeling a little conflicted about Una's misfortunes. Of course, if her passengers had been anyone else, she probably wouldn't have made it out of the lift shaft at all.

 

"It's a decent payout, if we can bring him in. If you've got any info, it might be worth something?"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Cradle:

 

Una smirks at Reynard's bantering charm. She looks at the picts, frowning in concentration. "I've seen this fella today. I know I have."

 

She drains her glass of wine, pulls off one of her shoes and massages a rather petite, if calloused, foot. "In fact, that's his coat."

 

Her finger straightens, pointing to a large black jacket. The cut is immaculate, worth a fortune. It has red House Borodi accents that push it from functional to classy, and modern. Whilst many of the hive would have to deal with stitched together scraps of tarpaulin, or a flak-coat, the folds of the fabric give away it has the properties of both. It lacks any external pockets which would spoil the garment with bulky items if they were carried.

 

"What's the bounty? I might get some new shoes."