[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Holstering his now spent pistol, Reynard hurried on through the noise and smoke. Between them they'd done everything possible to avoid detection or retaliation, now it was time to get the hell out.

 

Rushing towards the barricade with Scourge and Lady Gwynne not far behind him, he waved his arms wildly to warn the Arbitrators of their approach.

 

"Friendlies!" he yelled as he drew close. "Don't shoot! Here, the lady is coming, help her over this barrier!"

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Square:

 

Falk, at least, can hear Reynard's shout from both sides, as much as he can Judge Molena's reply/

 

"Get these people over the barricades!"

 

She rapidly charges her shotgun, before letting off a flurry of buckshot into the nearest thugs. Her Cadets, looking a lot worse for wear, reach out to take Lady Gwynne's questing hands, and staff. They clumsily half-drag her over the sturdy cover, before hustling her to the back of the van.

 

"Jensen!" Molena calls, and the armoured patrol vehicle, engine already turning over begins to rev, as the Cadet gets behind the wheel. She takes one look at the motley crew who have...reinforced her position, spots Falk for what he is. "Sir! Your orders?"

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"Command, but we aren't here to relieve your position if you have orders to hold this access point." Pulling out his cartograph he assessed what was at risk is this position was lost, whether there was a second line behind.

 

Glancing up, "anyone hit?"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Square:

 

"The patrol leader, Arbitrator Lasko, chest wound, serious. He's in the vehicle, sir. We're all carrying minor lacerations and burns. Orders were to escort locals out of the zone, to the greenline, here," she points at a junction within the hive, 750 metres along the carriageway leading from the square. Your cartograph does indeed identify it as a bastion of control.

 

She grinds her teeth. "We got a call, but it was a hoax for this...trap. We erred on the side of caution. Innocents were in danger - you know how it is."

 

Another one of the Cadets smashes a yob in the face, breaking the woman's jaw and nose. Molena pulls a canister of lychrymal gas, sticks her tongue out a bit as she aims, and tosses it well into the mass.

 

"That's where I wanted it," she chides Jensen, before turning back to Falk. "We can extract at your order, Magistrate."

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"Take me to the Arbitrator."

 

Nicios speaks to one of the cadets. Moving quickly to the vehicle, Nicios looks at the Arbitrator inside. The man is seriously wounded, his carapace armor removed and showing a deep gunshot wound to his left torso. Bandages covered the wound but were being rapidly soaked through. 

 

"Leave me, I will attend to him."

 

Summoning his power, Nicios attempted to stop the bleeding and knit back some of the damage.

Spoiler

Manifest Psychic Power (Staunch Bleeding)

Threshold - 8

Roll - 5(WPB) - 10 (gas) +10 + 8 =13

Overbleed x1 (5 more than threshold) - Another target is effected.

Result = Blood Loss is halted. If there is another friendly within 10m suffering from Blood Loss, they are also effected.

 

Manifest Pyschic Power (Healer)

Threshold - 7

Roll - 5(WPB) - 10 + 6 + 7 = 8

Result = Target removes (9/2 = 5) points of damage, Critical damage first.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Square:

 

The shallow sucking noise ebbs away from a death rattle to heavy, pained breathing. The Arbitrator's eyes, scrunched shut in semi-consciousness, open to slits. The look of relief, and surprise, lights his face. He takes in where he is, looks at Nicios kneeling over him. Lasko's enforcer training makes him look at your hands, and seeing no medical equipment, some form of understanding passes.

 

He nods, very weakly before relaxing into a restful posture, instead of a tense corpse.

 

A petrol bomb smashes into the front of the patrol vehicle, spattering flaming alcohol over it in a wash of heat and shattered glass fragments. Time to leave or stick.

 

The vehicle can carry the Arbites patrol, and a few passengers standing etc, but with the wounded man taking up a bench, a couple of them will have to walk (Jansen and Molena). There will be room for Nicios to remain with the casualty if he chooses, plus one other from the Party. The vehicle is not rated for Power Armour.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard snarled as he reloaded his laspistol. He'd hoped they could all ride out of here.

 

"Fine. Nicios, have you done everything you can for him? In that case, I say Gwynne, Lasko and a driver. Slow reverse. Everyone else, we form a gunline. We retreat in good order, at a walking pace. Use the van as a mobile bunker. In this tunnel they can't encircle us, and shotguns are the perfect weapon to keep a poorly armoured mob back. We can walk half a mile in ten minutes, tops."

 

Ten minutes of hell, probably, but we might just make it.

 

Edited April 18, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Nodding, "Close up the hatches. Two runners, two flank, everyone else ten steps back from the transport and provide suppressing fire. Open comms - I don't want anyone going under the wheels".

 

Turning to the others, "Reynard take one of the rookies and stay ahead of our path, Scourge hit every side street and entrance as we reach them."

Edited April 18, 2023 by A.T.

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Once Lady Gwynne was safely on the transport, Scourge raised up and cast down the ferrocrete barricade with a great crash and bellowed at the rioting gangers through a tear gas-seared throat, "Begone from this place, thou brigands, thou knaves! Return home and pray for forgiveness!"

 

As the truck started to rumble backwards, a knot of gangers clad in a riot of stitched-together leather outfits detached from the pitched battle and sauntered toward Scourge where he stood with the others, taunting him and laughing at his archaic speech whilst brandishing various bladed implements and automatic pistols. The leader amongst the youths, egged on by his dim-witted comrades, flashed a crooked smile and raised his hand cannon towards the grizzled veteran only to find the cavernous barrel of the enormous, jet boltgun suddenly yawning open at him.

 

"Do it, thou yaldson," Scourge snarled as he racked back the charging lever with a horrifyingly loud click. "Giveth satisfaction."

 

 

OOC: channelling Vile Harold, constable of Terra, ca. 971.M2… 

 

Intimidate test (S): 37 + 20 (Power Armor) - 10 (Fatigue) = 47 (unsure if hulking size grants any further bonus)

Intimidate: 1d100 10: success, 3 DoS

 

Edited April 18, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"Understood."

 

No half-mocking salute this time. Reynard would have lined the whole team up at the rear, facing the mob, but he had to respect Falk's tactical acumen. The Arbitrator was absolutely right to put a few of them ahead, just in case someone among the mob was smart enough to have dispatched fighters to circle around the Arbites barricade.

 

Besides, even if Falk was wrong and they had a clear line of retreat, it would put more distance between himself and the rioters. Reynard wasn't going to argue with that!

 

As Scourge bellowed intimidatingly at the enemy behind, Reynard moved towards the front, nodding to one of the trainee lawmen. He noticed that the youngster held his gunstock in his right hand, with his left ready on the pump. So when Reynard drew his own shotgun, he held it on the opposite side, left to right, mirroring the Judge's pose.

 

"You, with me. Take the left side, I'll take the right. Steady pace, keep your eyes open for flankers, and anything that could snarl up the truck. Got it?"

 

 

Edited April 18, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Square:

 

On Falk's orders the lawmen take up position and partner as directed. The arbites vehicle remains facing the crowd, reversing at a steady foot-pace. The driver knows his business, keeping the heavier armour of the vehicle facing the mob, and not turning to expose the rear compartment, which, if damaged, would cook alive all those within unable to escape - and prevent those in need of shelter entering.

 

The confidence of the youths deprecating Scourge for his proper manners and courtly ways, suddenly realise he's more trouble than they are worth. As the numbers of the guttersnipes eke away from his malevolent brandishing, so does their spine, and they hurry away, fit only to throw jeers and insults form a better distance in the smoke and fug of the gas-sodden square.

 

As the embattled team begins to pull free of the battle, a bloodied arrowhead, pulled from a sopping wound, the clot begins to break apart, and individuals take sense before fleeing into the gaps, but running away from the Arbites vehicle. The leaders curse them for cowards, and continue to trade buffets with their enemies, until finally they are a knot of fools, ten, then twenty, then thirty metres distant.

 

Bottles and missiles still pelt you all:

Spoiler

OOC: Multiple Attacks

BS: Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss, Hit

 

With a single lump of plaster, the half-smashed head of a decorative cherub, slams into Scourge, breaking apart in off-white powder. (OOC: Dam insufficient to Wound).

 

The odd idiot false-charges the line, but when Molena breaks a skull with her shotgun butt, the recreants fall away.

 

Fifty metres, then sixty.

 

The noise of the violence dies down, the innocents watch on from the shadows as the beaten and battered caravan trundles past, burned and blackened with soot and smoke.

 

You have escaped.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Gallows:

 

Scourge, Nicios, Reynard, Falk.

 

Safely out of the way of the rabble, the last part of the journey is more comfortable, with the ability to ride on the struts and boards of the vehicle. The fresher air being pumped down the carriageway takes the sting out of the lachrymal gas, letting you breathe and blink without the fiery, grainy sensation filling your innards or outers. The armoured van trundles to a stop at an Arbities checkpoint. This is a busy intersection, and this block contains residential, commercial and transport hubs, which are, at the moment, doing a booming trade in the footfall of all the lawmen.

 

Having voxed ahead, the barricade gate opens and admits you without fuss. Molena drops down off the running board, and comes to the back of the van to wave over a stretcher party, who help load the wounded Arbitator. He manages to weakly offer a half-aquila to Nicios as he is borne away.

 

With the vehicle parked in the laager, Molena dismisses the Cadets. As she does this, a man with the helmet crest and epaulettes of a Magistrate approaches. Like all the officers of recent days, he's got dust and tears in his clothes.

 

"Magistrate Falk?"

 

The Spaceport:

 

Having picked up the Assassin, and both of his crates, the Voivode soars into the blistering heat of a sulphurous sky, disappearing from view as it breaches the smog. Matthias Beckett, or 'Cutter', the pilot can be heard replying to the chirps and buzzing of the hardwired servitor co-pilot. Bickering may be the best word Restal might choose. The flight is uneventful, clearing the air pickets by Navy Thunderbolts, this time on station courtesy of the Crimson Dawn, a Mars Class Battleship in orbit. Civilian traffic is virtually non-existent, that much is clear from the Voivode's scanner array and the view from the portholes.

 

There is enough time, and lack of entertainment to warrant a nap.
 

The Voivode is equipped with six bays for just this purpose.

 

No matter the circumstances of how the hours are spent, the Inquisition gun-cutter lines up on final approach to the Spaceport, and glides in to land in the reserved spot, significantly lighter than it left.

 

+Restal,+ Cutter calls, +I have to get the bird refuelled. Give Locke my regards?+ The pilot grins as he makes his excuse.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"I am. What news Magistrate?"

 

The situation shifted with each passing hour, Gwynne now secured the focus turned to Canthus and Greyson as much through clarity of target than anything else, but Falk knew that actions and searches elsewhere meant the ground was ever shifting beneath their feet and any plans beyond the immediate were subject to change.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Gallows:

 

The other Judge nods in greeting, drawing a dataslate from his coat pocket. "The news is mixed, I'm afraid. The Praefector has been gifted reinforcement in the form of Naval Armsmen, to help beat back some of the tide, and our colleagues have restored order to key sectors. However, many good men and women lie dead containing outbreaks."

 

He powers the dataslate, but you can see it is DNA locked, awaiting your fingerprint.

 

"I was instructed to give you this by Proctor Haldane, and to ask no questions. Secure holoterminals have been established in the control centre," he says, pointing to a building in the middle of a hastily erected compound. "Forgive me, I'm back out on patrol in a few moments."

 

He offers you a quick salute, one common amongst equal ranks, before marching away, calling to his Arbitrator team.

 

GM: When you open the dataslate it will contain orders from Locke to rest and recuperate, and an addendum from Haldane to contact him. The Gallows is well enough stocked to provide food and rest cots in a secure environment as well as commercial and military grade supplies from licensed vendors.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Weakening potential opposition with in-fighting or simply seeking enough chaos to escape notice and escape. Whatever the golems objectives it had all but paralysed the ability to take widespread decisive action against it, for now at least.

 

Looking to the others, "rest and prepare, I will advise command of our situation", to Reynard, "what of your leads?"

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard nodded. Falk would need to report back to Haldane, or perhaps even Locke himself.

 

"Drexler said that the Golem was definitely not operating from the territories of any of the Hive's criminal syndicates. She suggested the logical place to find it might well be within the facilities controlled by the Adeptus Mechanicus. Perhaps we need to look more closely within the demesnes of House Tirant?"

 

"In addition, I spoke to Greyson. He was looking for Dreyfuss' serum - I wonder if maybe he is now working for De Grassi? He sent Sebastian LeCroix to search Drexler's lair. It seems he and his men have taken refuge in the Canthus medical facility, and appears that they are penned in there. If our masters will allow it, I am inclined to keep my word to try and get the boy's father out? And deal with Greyson, while I'm there. 'Yet not my will…', of course."

 

He smiled. Oddly he thought he was actually coming to like the solid, dependable Arbitrator. Another surprise.

 

"Are you happy to relay our findings to our sponsor? I would like to replenish some supplies. Come find me when you know what our next assignments are?"

 

When Falk agreed, Reynard moved on towards the military supplier. He'd used one of his hotshot packs on the spotter in the Square, just to be sure of a clean kill, and he wanted to stock up on a few more of the high-powered charges. They might be useful... especially if he had to get through carapace plate.

 

Edited April 18, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

+It seems that you can have your meeting after all, my friend. Do you want me to accompany you?+

 

+No thank you Kerr, I can handle this+ replied Bardas, as he walked off over to see Aydam Khosh. +I have much to discuss with him+

 

Kerr Restal waited a moment in thought, he then turned and went back inside the Voivode.

 

As he was stowing his gear, Cutter informed him that Bardas wouldn't be returning to the Hive with them. He would be returned by the Khamsin..

 

 

Strapped into a crash couch, the Voivode soared into the blistering heat of the sulphurous sky. The flight was uneventful, clearing the air pickets by Navy Thunderbolts, this time on station courtesy of the Crimson Dawn, a Mars Class Battleship in orbit. Civilian traffic was virtually non-existent.

 

There was enough time, and lack of entertainment to warrant a nap.

 

A few hours later the Inquisition gun-cutter landed at the Spaceport, in its reserved spot.

 

+Restal,+ Cutter calls, +I have to get the bird refuelled. Give Locke my regards?+ The pilot grins as he makes his excuse.

 

Kerr Restal carried the cases to the waiting Arbites suppression vehicle. +Wilco Cutter. Fly the Friendly Skies!+

 

 

A while later the vehicle arrived at the Halls of Judgement, where he de-bussed and went for the de-brief. In the Inquisitional Facility he reported to Inquisitor Locke.

 

"The Khamsin Brotherhood scour the deserts clean and keep people safe. These cases belong to you, holy man" Kerr Restal said. He then gave his report.

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Halls of Justice:

 

Locke smiles as each of the crates is taken by his Frateris. He offers Restal a blessing and the sign of the aquila.

 

"Excellent work, Acolyte. If you haven't already get some rest. We await the return of the Lady Gwynne Aldario." He steps up to the stasis crate, and places his hand on it. The electromechanical locks immediately pop, and with great reverence, the old man opens the casket, which sits at three feet in length, eighteen inches wide and a foot in depth. The stasis field crackles as the air hits it, but Locke presses a pattern of runes within the case, and the swirling purple vortex ceases to reveal a broad-headed hammer.

 

Taking the full length of the case, the hammer is a good eight inches across the face. A stout, square head is acid etched with runes and detestations of the daemonic. Pentagrammic and Hexagrammic wards blend into these holy writs, and the great head is bound and pinned in place with an Aurumite brace, which matches the butt of the haft, which tapers from a teardrop into a bulbous bell. The shaft of the weapon is sheathed in two layers of tightly wrapped Phoenician leather, and carries long parchment scrolls of more litanies and prayers. A power generator sits at the neck of the weapon, fine filaments and arcane circuitry blending into the giant slab head.

 

A masterwork - and yet, the weapon seems dull, lifeless, mundane.

 

Locke's hand traces over the weapon, tip to stem, in one, long and reverent sweep.

 

"We must pray Acolyte, that Lady Gwynne is returned safely to us, that she may restore the spirit of this weapon, Hywelsbane and so we may banish the Golem of Antares, forever."

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"Tirant, perhaps... Bardas had been pursuing his own investigations and had taken care to insulate his works from the wider mechanicum." What had he learnt? What had he been hiding...

 

"We have also twice encountered directly the agents of the golem. Modified servitors operating deep below the hive amidst communications relays and the other that you spoke of, the corpse thief. What was said of its nature bares too close a resemblence to the golems servents below, the arms that lash out beyond the reach of any common servitor." The similarities could be no coincidence and the lead needed to be followed.

 

"Was that not when you first encountered Locke, the servitor lurking not far from from the sanctum?"

Edited April 19, 2023 by A.T.

[Lysimachus]

"Locke was up at St. Iacinda's, pretending to be 'Confessor Hyronimus'. We travelled from the Templum straight to the Sanctum, though we hadn't told him we were going to go there directly. The servitor attacked us just before we met up with you. I assumed it was hanging around the area because it knew about Dreyfuss, and knew that someone would be coming to investigate?"

 

***

 

Reynard entered the hardware suppliers and went first to the vendor to arrange the recharging of his spent hotshot packs. It would take a couple of hours, but that was fine. After this stop, he intended to find some food and rest up, as per Locke's instructions.

 

But before he left the store, he found himself wondering again if the old Inquisitor would allow Greyson as a worthwhile target. Reynard had to admit he really just wanted to bring the arrogant bastard down, and rescue LeCroix as promised, but he could definitely see that the mercenary would have value as a source of information. If Locke agreed, maybe there were other things he might need?

 

He had Stitches' passcard to get him inside, but what if it had been damaged or even had its authority rescinded? A multikey like the one carried by Falk might come in handy.

 

The firebombs he'd used before had also been very helpful, but he doubted he could buy such crude things in a proper shop like this. As a military supplier, they did have frag grenades, however.

 

Hmm, what else? Greyson had previously gained the upper hand by playing with the environmental controls. How could Reynard undo that particular trick? Aha! Photo-reactive lenses, much like those worn by Restal. And a Rebreather, in case Greyson managed to turn the air supply off. Or if they had to run through clouds of tear gas again... he could still taste the filthy stuff in the back of his throat.

 

Finally, in case things went badly, Reynard added a small, one shot Injector with a dose of Stimm. He didn't really like the use of pharmaceuticals, but this once it might make the difference between failure and success.

 

Each item was added to a growing pile of items on the vendor's counter. All of them small, totalling only a few kilos of extra weight, but potentially very, very valuable. At last, Reynard returned to the shopkeeper.

 

"Ring that up for me, would you? Oh, and did I say I'm here working with the Adeptus Arbites?"

 

Spoiler

Purchases:
Recharge of 2 Hotshot Charges 20 (–) (1d3 Hours: 2)
Multikey 150 (–)
Frag Grenade x2 20 (1kg)
Photo-Contacts 100 (0.5kg)
Rebreather 50 (1kg)
Injector with 1 Dose of Stimm 25 (–)

 

Total: 365 Thrones (2.5kg)

 

Barter Test: Fel45, Roll: 29, 1DoS = 10+5=15% Discount?
365 x 0.85 = 310 Thrones.

 

 

As he made his payment and turned to leave, Reynard heard a snatch of conversation from a back room, a voice that seemed familiar. He stopped suddenly, turned back to look beyond the seller.

 

"Karthago, is that you?"

 

 

Edited April 19, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Another fragment of the mystery and little time to gather them. Leaving Reynard to his business and Scourge to watch over Lady Gwynne, Falk made his way to the secure holoterminals to report in. By what he had seen of Lockes demenour he would likely be in preparation for a direct assault but their target was still shrouded and many more - Greyson and De Grassi amongst them - had yet to show their full hand.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Halls of Justice (Strategium):

 

Proctor Haldane joins Locke and Restal as they consider the Daemonhammer. For a moment, the Arbites Spymaster loses himself in the artefact. "It is magnificent."

 

Locke nods. "You did not come here to tell me that, old friend."

 

Haldane offers one of his wintry smiles. "Report from Captain Polsten of the Gehenna. They're on picket at the Mandeville. They've detected an Imperial signature warp translation. The ship was challenged, but cites the...highest authority. The Lunar Class had to stand down. Outmatched in displacement as well, apparently."

 

"Understandable." Locke sighs deeply. "Do we have the ship Ident?"

 

"No, they're spoofing it. The Gehenna was ordered to close all ports and drop all scans. The unknown ship will reach Damocles in the next twelve hours."

 

"They're fast. I wonder who that will be," Locke muses, giving a long, lingering look into space. His face shows it's rhetorical. He knows. "Someone talked, my friend. We just have to find out who."

Edited April 19, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

He had already been given permission by Locke to leave and gain some rest. However he had waited to see what was in the stasis crate.

 

Inquisitor Locke had unlocked the stasis crate and withdrew a large ornate hammer.

 

So he's a club user? Thought Kerr Restal.

 

 

The later arrival of Judge Haldane, enabled him to leave. He made his excuses and left the simpletons drooling over a club.

 

He was an artist and whilst he preferred firearms, he wasn't adverse to melee or the silent kill.

 

A swordsman would fight, stab and move on. An Axeman would hack, kill and seek fresh meat - but a mace user aimed to spend time on his victim, to crush, break them.

 

 

He went via the refectory, where he grabbed a hot meal and a drink of water. He'd refilled his canteen and then set off for bed in the dormitory.

 

He set up his trip wires and locked the door. Prior to getting some sleep he amused himself by reading a Penthrift Dreadful that he had found at the back of his crash couch on the Voivode.

 

 

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Nicios left the reporting to Falk, the Arbitrator was well suited to dealing with others of his calling. He would rest and meditate on what the witch Helene actually was. He hadn't specifically encountered anything like the abilities she possessed, but the implanted memory-engrams of the Telepathica may lead to answers. It may be useful in the future, if there were more pysker perils to come.

 

So, rest and then meditate.

Spoiler

 

Forbidden Lore Test (Pyskers)

Target - 53

Roll - 21

Result = Pass, 3 DoS

 

 

Edited April 19, 2023 by Lord_Ikka

[Mazer Rackham]

The Gallows:

 

Reynard:

There's a pause, one of those awkward ones, where nobody wants to answer, but somebody must, if nothing other than to break the tension and head off questions. The licensed hardware merchant accepts your price, busying himself with the trade whilst Karthago emerges.

 

"Well, well. Look who it isn't. I heard you were dead. I also heard I was supposed to meet you elsewhere." He looks around, eyes flitting over the squads of Judges. "But I suppose here will do. What did you need?"

 

Falk:

Haldane comes online and absorbs your report. "Excellent work Magistrate. Saying it to your face I hope is better than dry text. We have an extraction plan for you, and information we didn't want put about."

 

"Firstly, the Canthus Mercenaries. Securing support from the Navy has been both a blessing and a curse. It has eased pressure around the vital transit hubs. We're getting more Arbites personnel to where we need them, but unfortunately, this has facilitated a breakout. Our React Team redeployed as we discussed, arresting Lord Fabian Canthus and his fiancée." His face becomes blank, almost rigid.

 

"The man Greyson, and several teams under his direct command have fled into the hive. We had a sighting of persons matching their description around the heat sink cap, midhive, but we lost them after that."

 

"We've scrambled a Navy Valkyrie to come and pick you and the team up. Remain at the Gallows, they'll be with you in three hours. Set your chrono now. Is there anything else you need while I'm online?"

 

Nicios ONLY:

Spoiler

Your meditations delve deep into your teaching, your learning. You recollect the strange Wyrds and Hedge-Psykers of your opposition training, a mutant psyker strain which used compulsion and telepathica disciplines, fuelled by life forces. This, coupled with your codified knowledge of Mirror Psykers, and combat with the woman herself, grants you a deeper understanding as your concentration coalesces:

 

You already know Helene is a vampiress, improved natural weapons, step aside, I'm guessing, so as per your DoS and experience:

• Helene's PR rating is 6
• Helene has Unnatural Stats based on how much she's been able to 'drink' (you can tell this from experiencing her power in the throne room, compared to how much she'd wallowed in down in the free market).
• Helene has specifically modified variants of the Traits: Phase, and Stuff of Nightmares. (You recognise these as the closest categories from your training).

If you were wanting something more specific, we can discuss that.

 

Scourge:

 

The commander's quarters have been yielded to Lady Gwynne as a mission critical VIP. The Judges escort you and the blind seer to the partitioned room, although a little better than the regular trooper, it is nowhere near what an officer in the guard or navy would have access to, or someone uphive. Indeed, it is as close to a 'plush'  isolation cellblock as can be without holding a prisoner.

 

Spartan, functional.

 

Gwynne does not complain. She taps around, occasionally reaching out to clasp your elbow. She smiles often as she senses you hesitate for her, or shorten your step to accommodate her smaller stride. She gains the bedchamber door.

 

"Thank you, Scourge. I am grateful to you all, really." She looks up at you, unerringly finding your face, your gaze. "I must rest. I am not used to such...excitement. Wake me when all is ready."

 

The air grows a little cool as she grips the staff. "I envy your courage. Living from moment to moment, unaware of the chains that bind you to fate. I have courage for only one moment. The brief moment that comes soon, but my dear friend, I have said too much, and I cannot say too much."

 

She turns the door handle. "I am sorry, I'm very tired. We will speak again soon."

 

She goes within and locks the door.